Marcus texted me the night before.
MARCUS:
Hey. The company I told you about? They opened another slot. Short notice interview tomorrow.
I stared at the message longer than I should have.
It felt important not because it was a perfect opportunity, but because it was mine. Something I'd chosen without orbiting around anyone else's rules.
I replied yes before I could overthink it.
i got up early in the morning and went ahead without trying to find if ziven is home or not i didnt wanted to face him for some reason
The building was taller than I expected.
Glass front. Clean lines. The kind of place that made you straighten your posture without realizing it. I checked the address twice before stepping inside, palms already damp.
The lobby buzzed with low conversation. A few other candidates sat scattered across the waiting area, folders clutched tightly, eyes flicking toward the reception desk every time someone moved.
I checked in and took a seat.
That was when I heard it.
"Did you hear?" someone whispered nearby.
"The CEO's doing interviews today."
I looked up.
"No way," another voice said. "I thought he never bothered."
"Apparently, he had a disagreement with the last panel. Something about standards."
My stomach tightened.
The receptionist confirmed it a few minutes later. "There'll be a delay," she said politely. "About two hours. Thank you for your patience."
Two hours.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly. Waiting wasn't the problem. Sitting with my thoughts was.
After twenty minutes of staring at the same spot on the carpet, I stood.
I needed coffee.
The café down the block was busy, but efficient. I ordered quickly, fingers tapping against the counter while the barista worked. When my cup was handed over, still too hot to hold comfortably, I cradled it carefully and headed back.
I was already rehearsing answers in my head when I turned the corner.
And collided with someone solid.
The coffee sloshed violently, the lid popping loose as dark liquid spilled forward.
"Oh-shit!" I gasped.
It soaked straight into a crisp white shirt.
The man stepped back sharply, breath hissing through his teeth. He looked down once, taking in the damage with visible irritation, then lifted his gaze to me.
He was tall. Not towering, but composed in a way that made the space around him feel smaller. His suit was dark, fitted perfectly, like it belonged to him rather than the other way around. His expression was calm but cold.
"I'm so sorry," I said quickly, fumbling with napkins. "I wasn't looking where I was going. I'll pay for the cleaning-"
"I don't have time," he said.
His voice was flat. Not raised. Not sharp.
Just done.
"I-..please," I said, mortified. "It was an accident."
He looked at me like he was deciding whether I was worth acknowledging at all.
"Watch where you're going next time," he said. "People are working."
Then he stepped around me and walked away.
Just like that.
No name. No lingering glance.
I stood there, heart pounding, staring at the coffee-stained napkins in my hands like they'd betrayed me.
By the time I got back to the building, my coffee was gone and so was any illusion of calm.
The receptionist called my name shortly after.
I followed her down a sleek hallway into a conference room that smelled faintly of citrus and something expensive. Three people sat at the far end of the table.
My eyes landed on the man in the center.
My breath caught.
Same suit. Different shirt.
Clean. Immaculate. Like the accident had never happened.
He met my gaze immediately.
Recognition flickered there brief, precise.
He remembered.
I swallowed and stepped forward.
"Please, have a seat," the woman on the left said.
I sat, forcing my hands to still.
The man in the center leaned back slightly, fingers steepled, eyes never leaving my face.
"Let's begin," he said.
My throat felt dry. "Thank you for the opportunity."
My voice wavered.
Just for a second.
Then I steadied myself.
The questions came one by one. Experience. Problem-solving. Ethics. Long-term goals. I answered honestly, carefully, drawing on everything I had without overselling it.
I could feel his gaze the entire time.
Not impatient.
Evaluating.
At one point, he interrupted me mid-sentence.
"Why do you want this position?" he asked.
The room went quiet.
I hesitated, then answered truthfully. "Because I want to build something I can stand behind. And because I don't want my life defined by waiting."
Something shifted in his expression.
Barely.
The interview ended without ceremony.
"Thank you," he said. "We'll be in touch."
I stood, nodded to the panel, and left the room without looking back.
Only once the elevator doors closed did I let out the breath I'd been holding.
By the time I reached home, exhaustion settled into my bones.
I dropped my bag by the door and leaned against it, eyes closed.
I hadn't planned to meet anyone new today.
I hadn't planned to be noticed.
And yet
Somehow, I'd stepped into a space where attention felt heavier than distance ever had.
And the unsettling part wasn't the interview.
It was the certainty that the man in the suit hadn't forgotten me.
Not for a second.
i sighed, what if he is someone who takes grudges and because of it, he won't give me this job? How troublesome I lay in exhaustion on the couch