The air was thick with tension as Demian gently guided Isabella out of the workplace. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her shoulders trembled with silent emotion.
"I'm so sorry this happened to you," he said softly.
Isabella wiped her face, trying to mask her vulnerability. "It's fine. I just… I really needed that job."
Demian stopped walking and looked at her seriously. "Come with me. You can stay at my place for now—just until things settle."
She hesitated, eyes wide. "I… I don't know, Demian. Thank you, but… I need to go home first. I have to get my things."
Demian nodded, concern flickering in his eyes. "Will you need a ride or something?"
She forced a small smile and shook her head. "No, I'll be fine. Really."
He didn't press further. "Alright. Just… be safe."
She gave him a grateful nod and turned to leave, unaware of the sleek black car that trailed her at a careful distance
the entire way.
The night air was cooler than usual, brushing softly against Isabella's skin like a whisper of the pain she carried inside. Her footsteps echoed faintly as she walked away from the incident that had just changed her life—again.
Demian stood at the entrance of the building, watching her leave, the weight of concern in his eyes. Her pride had kept her from asking for help, but something told him she wasn't going anywhere good. So, without a word, he followed. Quietly. Carefully. Just to make sure she got "home" safely.
From a few cars back, he trailed her cab. His mind kept circling the same question: Why didn't she want a ride? What was she hiding?
When the cab finally pulled up in front of a run-down gate surrounded by crumbling walls and faint graffiti, his eyes widened in realization.
"An orphanage?" he muttered under his breath. His heart gave a small, uncertain squeeze.
She walked slowly toward the gate, dragging a small bag she had kept with her. She looked around, her expression cautious—maybe even ashamed. She hesitated before knocking.
"Please," she called softly at first, then louder. "Please, I just need to get my things."
A man's voice came from inside. Harsh. Cold.
"We told you, Isabella. You were supposed to be gone this morning. You're already eighteen. We can't keep you here anymore."
"But I have nowhere else to go!" she cried, louder now, panic rising in her voice. "Just let me stay one more night. Please. I'm begging you!"
The heavy gate creaked open, and two men came out. One held her bag, the other looked impatient and exhausted. "You had your time. Rules are rules. We have younger kids who need the bed. Go."
"Please, please! I'll leave tomorrow. I just need—"
The man shoved the bag into her arms and slammed the gate behind her. Her knock became a desperate pounding.
"Please! Don't do this! I have no one!"
From his car, Demian sat frozen. He'd never seen someone so broken, so discarded, as though she didn't matter. It tore at something in him—something deeper than sympathy. A need to step in.
Isabella dropped to her knees at the gate, sobbing openly. The moonlight glistened on the tears that rolled down her cheeks. She pressed her forehead against the iron bars.
"Please…" she whispered one last time.
Demian's hand clenched around the door handle.
This isn't right.
He got out.
Isabella didn't notice the sound of footsteps behind her. She was too lost in the storm of pain and rejection. But then she heard a familiar voice—deep, smooth, and comforting.
"Isabella…"
She turned around quickly, startled.
Standing a few feet away was Demian, hands in his pockets, eyes glowing with silent fury—but not at her. At the world. At what he had just witnessed.
She blinked in shock. "Demian? W–What are you doing here?"
"I followed you," he admitted simply. "You said you'd be fine… but this doesn't look fine."
Her lips trembled as she clutched her bag tighter. "You saw all of that?"
"Yes," he said quietly. "Every second of it."
Shame filled her eyes. She looked down, trying to hide her face. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this. I didn't want anyone to know."
He stepped closer. "You didn't deserve that. None of it."
She tried to wipe her face, but the tears wouldn't stop. "I'll figure something out. I always do…"
"No," Demian said firmly. "You don't have to figure it out alone."
She looked up at him again, this time confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean come with me," he said, voice low but certain. "Not because I pity you. Because I want to help you. Because no one should ever be left on the streets like this. And definitely not you."
Isabella's throat tightened. She tried to speak, but no words came out. No one had ever said that to her. Not with that kind of honesty.
"Let me help you, Isabella," he said, softer now. "Just… let me be there for you."
And in that moment, something shifted. She didn't know what it meant. She didn't know if it was trust, or hope, or something scarier—like love beginning to bloom in the darkest places. But she nodded.
"Okay," she whispered.
Demian gave a faint smile, walked over, and gently took her bag from her trembling hand. Without another word, he opened the car door for her.
And together, they drove away from the only place she'd ever known—and toward something completely unknown.
Something that just might become home.