The Stranger I Married-Chapter 65: The Gossip

Ella kept her head down as she stepped out of Nicholas’s car, the hood of her sweatshirt tugged low and her hair pulled around her face like a curtain. She hadn’t let him drop her off directly in front of the coffee shop—insisted he stop around the corner instead. Too many eyes. Too many phones.

He hadn’t been happy about it. In fact, he’d argued with her the entire ride here.

"You shouldn’t be going in today," he said, gripping the wheel so tightly she saw the whites of his knuckles. "Let me talk to the manager. Or hell, I’ll buy the damn shop and put you on payroll to sit at home until this blows over."

She’d snorted at that. "I don’t need to be rescued, Nicholas. I need to work."

He’d glanced at her, jaw tense, eyes burning like storm clouds behind glass. "They’re going to talk. They’re already talking. You don’t have to walk into that."

"I’m not ashamed," she whispered. "Let them talk."

And with that, she had unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the handle, but Nicholas caught her wrist gently.

"I mean it, Ella. I can find you another job. Somewhere better. Safer."

"I don’t want better," she said. "I want normal. Just for a day."

His expression didn’t change, but his grip loosened. "At least let me walk you in."

"No." She shook her head. "Just... wait a few minutes before you drive off. Please."

And now, as she stepped toward the familiar side entrance of the shop, her heart beat wildly against her ribs. Each step felt like wading deeper into a storm. She kept her eyes lowered, fingers fiddling with the frayed hem of her sleeve, and pushed through the staff door.

The moment she walked inside, she knew everything had changed.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that settled into your bones. She didn’t need to look up to feel the shift—the stiffness in the shoulders of her coworkers, the subtle pause in the clink of cups, the sudden silence of half-started conversations.

Ella moved toward the back to stash her bag in the cubby. Her fingers trembled as she tied on her apron.

The usual cheerful chime of the coffee grinder sounded harsher today, like static against her skin. It was Marta who finally spoke, her voice low but clipped.

"You’re here," she said, half surprised, half unsure.

Ella glanced up. "Yeah. I’m still on schedule, right?"

Marta nodded slowly. "You are... I just didn’t expect..." She trailed off, eyes flickering toward the front of house. "You sure you want to work today?"

"Positive."

Marta pressed her lips into a line, then gave a short nod. "Then let’s just get through it. I’ll keep you on the espresso bar for now. Leah’s covering register."

Ella was grateful for that. It gave her something to focus on—grinding, tamping, pulling shots, steaming milk. But even in the rhythmic hum of routine, the whispers still cut through.

"Is that really her?"

"She’s the one from the video, right?"

"Did you see how that guy protected her? Wasn’t that Nicholas Carter?"

She pretended not to hear, staring hard at the silver pitcher in her hand, watching the milk swirl into soft, white clouds.

Don’t let it get to you.

She repeated it like a prayer. Like armor.

But when she looked up for a split second, she caught Marta and Leah huddled near the back, talking in hushed voices. The second their eyes met hers, Leah flinched and turned away.

A hollow ache opened in Ella’s chest. These were the same girls she laughed with on slow shifts, who snuck her pastries when she forgot to eat, who texted her memes at midnight.

And now? Now they barely looked at her.

She turned back to the machine, blinking hard. She could do this. Just get through the shift. Just breathe.

But then, she felt it.

A presence. A tension she didn’t need to see to recognize.

Her breath hitched slightly, and when she glanced up, there he was.

Nicholas Carter.

Standing just inside the entrance of the café, dressed in slate gray and charcoal, looking impossibly out of place among the chipped tables and faded menus. His arms were crossed, expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were locked on her like a silent promise.

He hadn’t left.

He’d stayed.

Ella’s lips parted in disbelief. A flicker of warmth pierced the numbness that had wrapped around her all morning.

He caught her eyes and tilted his head slightly. You okay? the gesture seemed to say.

She gave the tiniest nod in return.

And just like that, she wasn’t alone anymore.

The door chimed again behind him, but Nicholas didn’t move. He wasn’t here for coffee.

He was here for her.

And the customers knew it too. One woman leaned across the counter, whispering loudly to her friend, "That’s the billionaire from the gala."

"You mean the one who picked her up like a movie scene?" the friend giggled. "He’s hot."

"I heard he canceled his entire meeting schedule for the week."

"Maybe she’s not just some waitress after all."

Ella forced herself to ignore it all and kept making the drink in front of her. But her hand didn’t shake this time.

When she handed off the finished cappuccino, her eyes flickered back to Nicholas again.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.

But he was there.

That was enough.

Marta finally came up beside her, watching the room with narrowed eyes. "Is he staying the whole day?"

Ella shrugged, voice quiet. "Guess he’s worried."

Marta snorted. "Well, it’s good for business. Tips have doubled already."

Ella let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh.

Maybe today wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

But then her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. She slipped it out discreetly, shielding it behind the espresso machine.

A text from an unknown number: Gold digger.

Another one followed immediately: How much did you charge him to pretend you were innocent?

Ella’s throat tightened.

She shoved the phone back into her apron, ignoring the sudden rush of heat crawling up her neck. The whispers around her grew louder, or maybe it was just her own pulse roaring in her ears.

Still, she straightened her shoulders. Nicholas was here. Watching. Protecting.

She wasn’t going to break. Not here. Not in front of them.