Closure In Chaos

Circe’s POV

The shrill sound of my phone ringing breaks through the silence of my room, reverberating off the walls and slamming into my skull like a freight train. I groggily roll over, my eyes squinting against the harsh morning light that filters through the blinds. I can’t remember the last time I felt so disoriented; I was deep into a dream, the kind that wraps you up and won’t let you go, and now this damned phone is ripping me out of it.

I groan in irritation, throwing the blanket off of me, only half-aware of the way it tangles around my legs. I never was a morning person. I live for sleep—the kind that lets you forget everything, even your name. So whoever is calling this early in the fucking morning had better have a damn good reason.

I glance over to the nightstand, eyes half-lidded, and see my phone lying beside the gun tucked in my bedside drawer. I reach for it, the phone heavy and foreign in my hand as I squint at the screen, still hazy from sleep. There’s no caller ID. A number I don’t recognize. My confusion swells as the call registers as missed, my fingers hovering over the screen. Why on earth would some rando be calling me at this hour?

Then my eyes fall on the phone case, and I do a double-take. It’s my phone for hacking work—that quick flash of recognition hits me like a bolt of electricity. I swear under my breath and scramble to call the number back.

I fumble with the phone, swiping to turn on the voice-changing feature. It’s a habit—part of the reason I take extra precautions in the world I live in. You can never be too careful.

The line clicks, and an arrogant, authoritative voice rings through, cutting the silence like a hot knife through butter. “Is this Chaos?”

I’m caught off guard by the audacity of his voice. My heart starts to beat a little faster, but I push the sudden rise of adrenaline away. This guy sounds powerful, in control—like he’s used to getting exactly what he wants. But somehow in a normal way -as normal as my “clients” get anyways- that he’s just gotten used to.

He begins to make his offer, and for a moment, I almost let myself get swept away by the sound of it. It’s not the worst gig I’ve ever heard of. And honestly, his proposition sounds... well, tempting. Too tempting.

But then, just as quickly, reality slaps me in the face. I don’t get involved with people like him -aka my clients- ever. Not without a good reason. So, despite the allure, I force myself to decline.

“Are you sure?” His voice takes on an adacious, almost amused edge, the arrogance dripping from every word, like he expects me to cave. The question feels more like a challenge than anything else.

Before I can even muster a response, he ends the call abruptly, cutting off whatever was left unsaid. The audacity of it hits me in the chest. He’s gone, leaving me holding the phone with nothing but static on the other end.

I sit there for a moment, phone in hand, trying to shake off the strange mixture of anger and curiosity bubbling up inside me. I know I shouldn’t care—he’s just another voice on the other end of a phone line, just another manipulative jerk trying to pull strings. But damn, his voice stays with me. It’s lingering in my mind, wrapping around my thoughts like a vine I can’t seem to pull free.

I take a long breath and let it out slowly, trying to regain some semblance of focus. My stomach growls, a stark reminder that my body has been neglected in all this mental chaos. That, and my alarm blaring from the corner of the room finally brings me back to reality.

I sigh, dragging myself out of bed and heading straight for the kitchen. A cup of cold coffee is all I can muster before I jump into the shower, rushing through my morning routine. I get dressed, grab my bag, and head straight out the door, feeling like I’m already behind schedule.

My first stop is the main branch of my café chain, Circe’s Cakery ‘n’ Café. It’s a bustling place, but I’m no stranger to the chaos. I’m the owner—well, one of the owners—and I handle a lot of the day-to-day operations. I swing by to grab my caramel cappuccino and a chocolate croissant to go, the warm pastry almost immediately making me feel a little more human as I make my way to the next stop.

After fueling up, I head to the CrossFit ‘n’ Cheerleading centre. It’s one of my businesses too, and it needs my attention. I give the new coaches a quick tour, introduce them to the students, and check in on everything. Things seem to be running smoothly, so I hand the students over to them and head back to the café, since they’ve called about an emergency.

When I arrive back at Circe’s, I’m expecting a minor issue—maybe a misplaced order, or someone calling out sick. But when I walk in, I’m hit with a surprising sight: the café is in chaos. Not a single staff member in sight. A bunch of customers are waiting, annoyed and impatient, but nobody is around to serve them.

I sigh, rolling up my sleeves. Looks like I’m working brunch service today.

After a hectic lunch rush, I’m finally getting a chance to breathe, wiping down tables and trying to make the place look presentable again. That’s when the door swings open, and a man steps in, his presence filling the room immediately. He’s attractive, there’s no denying that, but there’s something about him that radiates control, almost as if he’s used to commanding attention wherever he goes.

He strides up to the counter with a slow, deliberate pace, the sort of movement that makes you pay attention. When he orders an americano with a shot of almond milk, I barely hold back a cringe. The request itself isn’t the problem. It’s that moment when I hear his -arrogant- voice and look up at him to see his face—his arrogant expression—and it hits me.

It’s him.

The same guy who called me this morning. The unknown caller. The voice that sent shivers down my spine. The one who almost convinced me to take his job offer.

My stomach drops, and I try to keep my expression neutral, but I’m pretty sure the shock registers on my face. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. I quickly shake myself out of my stupor, remembering that he won’t recognize me. I used the voice-changing feature on my phone.

I quickly prepare his order, keeping my hands steady even though my pulse is racing. As I hand it to him, I tell him the price, trying my best to sound professional.

He slaps the cash down on the counter—no tip. No thank you. Just cold, impersonal cash.

“Since you won’t be taking the job offer,” he says, voice low and almost mocking, “there’s no need for me to keep your little identity a secret.”

I freeze, my blood running cold as he picks up his drink, his smirk spreading across his face like he’s won some silent battle.

He sits down at a table, an arrogant, aloof posture as he stretches his legs, crosses them at his ankles and leans back, hands behind his head. The whole café feels like it shrinks with him in it. And as if I hadn’t already been thrown off enough, he adds, his voice smooth like honey, “But if you did take me up on my offer, I wouldn’t mind keeping your little identity a secret.”

In a last-ditch effort, I maintain my poker face and feign ignorance, hoping he’s testing me. I respond, “I’m sorry, sir, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never met or spoken to you before.” I finish with, “But there’s an asylum and a hiring agency on the next street; if you go there, I’m sure you’ll get what you need,” which seems to amuse him somehow.

He looks at me with an annoyingly arrogant expression, his gaze full of condescension, as he says, “Sure, you don’t, but I’m sure those bounty hunters looking for a lead on Chaos’ whereabouts won’t care to check.” He smirks as he says it, clearly taking pleasure in my discomfort.

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. There’s no way out of this. I’m cornered. He’s giving me no choice.

I can feel the weight of the decision pressing down on me, the only way out being an acceptance of the offer that I had just rejected.

There’s no turning back now.

I grit my teeth, clenching my jaw as I lock eyes with him for just a moment

longer than I should.

I have to accept his -demand- offer.

I have no choice.