Chapter One: A Misplaced Ball and a Dark Encounter

The sun was beginning to dip below the skyline of New York City, casting long shadows across the park. Laughter echoed in the air, mingling with the distant sounds of traffic and the rustling of leaves. Among the scattered groups of people, young Robert was lost in his game, skillfully dribbling a basketball he had recently saved up to buy.

Robert's eyes sparkled with pride as he bounced the ball, remembering why it was special. Today was his mother’s birthday, and the ball was part of his surprise—a tribute to her love for basketball. His mother had once been a passionate player, and this gift was his way of honoring that part of her.

In his excitement, Robert didn’t notice as the ball slipped from his hands during a high pass, sailing across the pavement and landing at the feet of a woman sitting alone on a bench. The woman, with sharp features and an unsettling calm, picked up the ball without a word.

Robert jogged over, hesitating slightly when he noticed her intense gaze. "Excuse me, Miss," he said, trying to sound polite. "Can I have my ball back?"

The woman’s lips curved into a slight smirk. "Come and take it yourself, kid," she replied, her tone cool and dismissive.

Robert took a step forward, then stopped. "Please, could you throw it to me? I really need to go home. My mom’s waiting."

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Your mom?”

“Yes,” Robert replied earnestly. “Today’s her birthday. I got this ball for her because she used to play basketball.”

The woman’s smirk faded, replaced by a look of boredom. “Enough with your little stories,” she said, clearly unmoved.

"Please, just give me my ball," Robert repeated, his voice softening.

With a sigh, the woman reached into her handbag, pulling out a small silver pin. In one swift motion, she stabbed it into the ball. A loud hiss escaped as the ball deflated, its shape crumbling in her hands. She tossed it towards him, her expression devoid of regret. “There. Take it. Gift that to your mother.”

Robert’s eyes filled with hurt and frustration. “You’re awful! I’ll tell the guard what you did!”

Unfazed, the woman stood, taking a step closer. Her voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “If you say a word to anyone, I’ll make sure your mother regrets it.” Her eyes narrowed as she added, “Understand?”

Robert froze, fear flashing in his young eyes. Without another word, he turned and sprinted away, his broken gift dangling from his fingers as he wiped at the tears beginning to stream down his face.

The woman watched him go, her face a mask of cold amusement. After a moment, she slipped on her sunglasses and strolled across the park toward a nearby café.

The café was quiet, the warm scent of coffee and pastries wafting through the air. She stepped inside, surveying the place before making her way to the counter.

“Barista!” she called out, her voice ringing with authority.

A young man named Steve hurried over, wearing the uniform smile of a service worker. “Good evening, ma'am. How can I help you?”

“I want a hot coffee,” she snapped, barely looking at him. “And make it quick.”

“Yes, ma'am. Right away.” Steve bustled away to prepare her order, and within moments, he returned, setting the steaming cup before her.

She took a sip, her face immediately twisting into a scowl. “Barista!” she called again, her voice sharp.

Steve returned, his smile faltering as he saw her displeased expression. “Is something wrong, ma'am?”

“What did I ask for?”

Steve looked confused. “A coffee, ma'am.”

“I asked for hot coffee,” she said icily, tapping the cup with a manicured nail. “Do you think I can’t tell when it’s not hot?”

Steve stammered, trying to stay calm. “Ma'am, it’s steaming... It just came off the machine.”

“Do you think I’m blind?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the quiet café. “Where’s your manager? And what’s your name?”

“Steve… Please, ma'am, it’s not necessary to make a scene,” he replied quietly, growing visibly uncomfortable.

With a look of pure disdain, she lifted the cup and flung its contents directly at him. Steve flinched in pain, a gasp escaping his lips as the hot liquid burned his skin. Several customers looked over in shock, and in an instant, the café’s owner, Cupid, rushed forward with a bowl of cool water.

“I’m the owner. Is there an issue here?” he asked, his voice steady but his gaze hardened.

“This employee disrespected me and served me a lukewarm coffee,” she sneered. “I expect proper service!”

Cupid glanced at Steve, who was clutching his reddened skin, and then back at the woman. “Let me get you a fresh cup, ma'am,” he said, his tone carefully controlled.

He prepared another coffee and returned, setting it before her. “Here you go, ma'am. Fresh from the machine.”

“Keep it here and get back to work,” she replied dismissively.

But Cupid didn’t move. “No, you’re going to drink this coffee now,” he said firmly. “Or apologize to Steve and pay for his treatment.”

The woman’s eyes flashed with anger. “Excuse me? I’m the customer. Show some respect.”

“Respect is a two-way street, ma'am,” Cupid replied calmly. “You either drink the coffee now, or you pay for the damage you’ve caused.”

Furious, she sneered, “No. I won’t be bullied by the likes of you.”

Cupid’s patience finally snapped. He picked up the coffee and, before she could react, threw it back at her, hot liquid splashing across her face. She shrieked, her face turning red as she stumbled back, glaring at him with pure hatred.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed, storming out of the café and into a waiting taxi, vowing revenge.

After she left, Cupid helped Steve, and together they went to the hospital to treat his burns. The doctor recommended rest, and Cupid stayed by Steve’s side until late into the night.

When Cupid finally returned home, exhausted, he found himself with an unexpected visitor. A large owl perched on his windowsill, its dark eyes following him as he entered. As Cupid approached, the owl transformed, taking on the form of a tall figure cloaked in shadows—Whiro, the god of health.

“What brings you here, Whiro?” Cupid asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“Just wanted to see the infamous god of love in action,” Whiro smirked, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

Cupid sighed. “Enough games. Why are you really here?”

Whiro leaned back, mockingly innocent. “Consider it a friendly visit. Your mortal life amuses me.”

Cupid, his patience worn thin from the day’s events, shook his head. “If that’s all, you can leave. I need rest.”

Whiro’s smirk faded slightly, but he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Whiro slipped back into the night, returning to his domain where the goddess Eris waited, watching him with a knowing smile.

“Did you see him?” she asked, her eyes glittering with curiosity.

“Yes,” Whiro replied, shaking his head. “Stubborn as ever. I don’t know how he manages as the god of love.”

Eris’s eyes glinted with a subtle curiosity. Cupid’s indifference toward his fellow gods had always baffled her, and now, his dismissive behavior with Whiro only added to her disdain.

“He’ll learn,” she murmured, a sly smile crossing her lips. “I’ll make sure of it.”

As night blanketed the city, mortal and immortal lives began to intertwine, unseen forces shifting around Cupid while he slept, blissfully unaware of the storm slowly gathering on the horizon.