Chapter 1
The clock struck 12:30 AM as I dragged my exhausted body out of Grind & Bloom coffee shop, clutching today's meager tips in my trembling hands.
Columbia MBA tuition was crushing me, but I refused to complain. As I fumbled with the keys to lock up, they rattled several times in my shaking hands. The exhaustion from another fourteen-hour workday was finally catching up.
"Damn it..." I muttered under my breath, frustrated with my clumsiness.
That's when I heard the rustling sound from near the dumpster.
I looked up to see a man crouched beside the garbage bin, carefully searching through the contents. Even in the dim moonlight, I could make out his worn coat, though something about its cut seemed oddly sophisticated despite its shabby condition.
"Sir?" I called out tentatively.
He jerked his head up, and I was struck by his eyes – unusually clear and bright against the night, completely at odds with his disheveled appearance. His face was sharply defined, and even with his unkempt hair and dirty clothes, there was an unmistakable nobility to his features.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," he said, slowly rising to his feet. His voice was deep and magnetic, carrying the refined accent of someone with an excellent education. "I haven't eaten in two days..."
My heart immediately softened. Looking at this obviously starving man, I remembered the two cinnamon rolls still in my bag.
"It's not charity," I said, pulling out the food and a still-warm cup of coffee. "These would just go to waste anyway."
When he reached for the food, his fingers accidentally brushed against mine. His hands were surprisingly smooth and soft – nothing like the rough, calloused hands you'd expect from someone living on the streets.
"Your kindness means more than you know," he said, and for a split second, I thought I saw something calculating flash in his eyes. But it passed so quickly, I convinced myself I'd imagined it. "I'm Ryan, by the way."
"Ava," I replied with a friendly smile.
Over the next week, Ryan appeared every night when I finished work. He'd help carry trash bags, sweep leaves from the storefront, and even hand me tools when I was overwhelmed with closing duties.
"You really don't need to come help every night," I said while cleaning up the shop entrance.
"I want to repay your kindness," Ryan replied earnestly. "And... it makes me feel useful again."
I noticed that despite his apparent destitution, Ryan's behavior carried an incongruous politeness. He'd wait for me to go through doors first, bow slightly when handing me things, and even his way of saying thank you had an almost aristocratic elegance to it.
But I chose to ignore these details. Everyone has their story, right?
At 1:15 AM that night, I walked through the dark East Village alley on my usual route home. The streetlights flickered erratically, and the graffiti on the walls looked particularly menacing in the dim light.
Suddenly, two drunk men emerged from the shadows, blocking my path.
"Hey there, beautiful. Pretty dangerous for a girl to be walking alone this late," one of them slurred, his eyes filled with malicious intent.
"Get out of my way!" I backed up a step, my heart pounding.
"Come on, sweetheart, just want to have some fun," the other man reached out to grab my arm.
In that terrifying moment, a figure flashed out from the darkness.
"The lady said no. I suggest you listen." Ryan's voice was ice-cold, and his entire demeanor transformed instantly.
I was shocked by what I witnessed. Ryan was no longer the helpless homeless man who needed assistance – he had become a dangerous predator.
The two drunks clearly didn't sense the threat. One swung his fist toward Ryan.
What happened next was the most stunning thing I'd ever seen in my life.
Ryan caught the man's wrist with lightning speed, executing a perfect shoulder throw that sent the attacker crashing to the ground. Before the second man could react, Ryan's precise punch dropped him instantly.
The entire confrontation lasted less than ten seconds, and both men were groaning in pain on the pavement.
Ryan's fighting skills were frighteningly professional – every movement showed signs of training. This was definitely not something an ordinary homeless man could possess.
"You'd better disappear. Now." Ryan looked down at them with undeniable authority in his voice.
The two men scrambled away in terror.
When Ryan turned around, I noticed blood streaming down his forehead.
"Ryan!" I cried out, rushing toward him. "You're hurt! This is my fault... Let me help you."
"It's nothing, just a surface wound," Ryan smiled weakly, secretly observing the worry and guilt on my face.
My Upper East Side studio apartment wasn't large, but it was warm and clean. Books were neatly arranged on a simple bookshelf, and the air carried a gentle coffee fragrance.
"I can't let you go back to the streets tonight," I said firmly, supporting the injured Ryan. "Please, stay here."
"I don't want to be a burden..." Ryan hesitated deliberately. "I've forgotten what it feels like to be safe."
My heart melted again. I carefully cleaned the wound on Ryan's forehead, my movements as gentle as if I were handling precious china.
"Everyone deserves a warm place to sleep," I said seriously. "Just until you get back on your feet."
Ryan nodded "gratefully," though I missed the flash of satisfaction in his eyes. His gaze quickly swept over the apartment layout – the window positions, door locks, and my living habits.
All information was silently catalogued in his mind.
At 2:30 AM, while I went to get blankets from the bedroom, Ryan began removing personal items from his worn backpack.
He moved carefully, but when pulling out a change of clothes, something silver and gleaming accidentally slipped out.
It was an exquisite Swiss watch, its face glowing with luxury under the lamplight. Just the small diamonds embedded in that watch face could probably pay for my entire year's tuition.
Ryan's expression changed instantly as he hurriedly stuffed the watch back into his bag. But it was too late.
"That's a beautiful watch," I said, emerging from the bedroom with curious eyes. "It looks expensive."
Ryan took a deep breath, pain flickering across his features. "It was my father's... the only thing I have left of him."
His acting was flawless – just the right amount of tremor in his voice to make any kind-hearted person sympathetic.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said gently, touching his shoulder. "Good memories are worth more than money."
"Good night, Ryan."
"Good night, Ava."
As I closed my bedroom door, I couldn't shake the feeling that something didn't quite add up about Ryan. His fighting skills, his refined mannerisms, that expensive watch... pieces of a puzzle that didn't fit the homeless man narrative.
But exhaustion won over curiosity, and I fell asleep thinking about his kindness in protecting me, pushing my doubts to the back of my mind.