He stopped in front of her, catching his breath. "Hey," he said, startling her.
Amber's heart skipped a beat. Calvin was talking to her.
"Can you do me a favor?" he asked, holding out a black plastic bag.
Amber hesitated only for a moment before nodding eagerly. "Sure, anything."
"Great. Can you deliver this to the third stall on the left in the girls' restroom? It's for a girl named Iris. She needs it urgently."
The words hit her like a blow. The excitement she had felt seconds ago evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache. But Amber swallowed her feelings and took the bag.
"Thanks," Calvin said, flashing a brief smile before running off.
Amber had done as he asked, rushing to the restroom to deliver the bag to Iris, who looked up at her with teary gratitude. Even then, Iris had the same effect on people—a delicate vulnerability that made you want to protect her.
Years later, here Amber was again, running errands for Iris, this time in a storm.
By the time Amber made it home, the first rays of dawn were beginning to creep over the horizon. She was soaked to the bone, her body heavy with exhaustion. All she wanted was to climb into bed and sleep, but her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she hadn't eaten.
In the kitchen, she prepared a simple bowl of noodles, the steam rising to warm her cold, damp face. She sat at the counter, staring blankly at her phone.
The screen lit up repeatedly, but it was never a message from Calvin. No updates, no thanks, no acknowledgment of her existence.
The housekeeper, Florence, came downstairs to start her day and stopped in her tracks when she saw Amber. The sight was jarring: Amber, pale and gaunt, picking listlessly at her noodles.
Florence hesitated, then softly asked, "Mrs. Sawyer, are you alright?"
Amber looked up, offering a weak smile. "I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep."
Before the Danton Family went bankrupt, Amber had lived a life most could only dream of, where even the smallest details of her existence—right down to every strand of her hair—were meticulously tended to. Raised as a privileged heiress, she carried herself with an air of entitlement. She walked with her head high, never sparing a glance at her feet, secure in the belief that her path would always remain smooth, free of obstacles. She was like a proud white peacock, resplendent and untouchable.