Mila's Rooftop Reckoning Rage

From the edge of the café rooftop, Mila's honey blonde curls caught the faint city glow, her blue eyes flashing with fury as she confronted Lena. But when she turned, spotting me lurking in the shadows like the jealous fool I was, something shifted. Her lips parted, rage twisting into invitation. I couldn't stay away. That night, in the dark alley below, our collision would shatter every boundary. I'd been nursing a coffee at the café longer than I cared to admit, my eyes glued to Mila Anderson ever since she started her shift. She moved behind the counter with that effortless charm, her slim frame slipping through the crowd like she owned the place, honey blonde curls bouncing softly with every step. Sweet, approachable—that was Mila. But tonight, something simmered beneath her smile. I saw her slip out the back door toward the rooftop, phone clutched tight, and curiosity pulled me after her. Up on the roof, the city hummed below us, a distant roar against the sharp crack of voices. Mila stood toe-to-toe with Lena, the barista who'd been giving her grief for weeks. 'You think you can just waltz in and take everything?' Lena spat, her arms crossed tight. Mila didn't back down. Those blue eyes of hers, usually so warm, burned now. 'I'm not taking anything that isn't mine,' she shot back, voice steady but laced with rage. I hung back by the access door, heart pounding. Part of me wanted to let them hash it out, but the jealous knot in my gut—the one that twisted every time I saw Mila laugh with another regular—wouldn't let me. Their argument twisted unexpectedly. Lena's shoulders slumped. 'Fine. Truce. But watch your back.' Mila nodded, exhaling sharply, and that's when she saw me. Our gazes locked across the...