The morning of the interview arrived like a threat.
I woke up at 6:15, before my alarm, before Naomi, before the sun had fully committed to rising. The apartment was gray and quiet. Miso was curled on my chest, her purr a small motor of indifference.
I lay still for a long time, staring at the ceiling.
10 AM. Farrow Tower. Julian Farrow.
My stomach turned over.
I had nothing to wear. Nothing to say. Nothing to offer except five years of invisible labor and a reputation that Derek had systematically destroyed.
Why was I even going?
I could cancel. Send an email. "Something has come up. I apologize for the inconvenience." They would forget about me in five minutes. I would go back to applying for jobs that would never call back. I would run out of money. I would become a burden to Naomi. I would disappear into the city's underbelly, another forgotten woman with a failed marriage and a hollow future.
That was one path.
The other path involved putting on clothes and walking into a building where I didn't belong.
I closed my eyes.
Worst case, I told myself. Worst case, they laugh at me. Worst case, I embarrass myself. Worst case, I come back here and nothing changes.
But what if the best case was something I couldn't even imagine?
Naomi woke up at 7:30.
She found me sitting on the couch, still in my pajamas, staring at the wall.
"You're not dressed," she said.
"I'm not going."
She stopped. Crossed her arms. "Say that again."
"I'm not going. It's a mistake. They emailed the wrong person. I'll just embarrass myself."
Naomi walked over to the couch, sat down directly in front of me, and took my face in her hands. Her palms were warm. Her eyes were fierce.
"Listen to me, Sloane Hayes. You are going to that interview."
"Naomi—"
"Worst case, you waste an afternoon. That's it. That's the worst thing that can happen. You waste a few hours, you come back here, and you're exactly where you are right now."
I opened my mouth to argue.
She cut me off. "Best case, you get the job. You start making money. You start building a life that doesn't include Derek Vance or his lies or his mistresses. You become the person you were supposed to be before he got his hands on you."
My eyes burned.
Still no tears. But close.
"What if I freeze?" I whispered. "What if I get in there and I can't speak?"
"Then you freeze. And then you unfreeze. And you keep going." She let go of my face and stood up. "Now get in the shower. I picked out an outfit for you."
"You picked out—"
"It's on my bed. Go."
I went.
The shower was hot. I stood under the water longer than necessary, letting it wash away the last of my hesitation. By the time I stepped out, my skin was pink and my mind was clearer.
Naomi's bedroom smelled like her perfume — something floral and bright. On the bed, she'd laid out:
A black sheath dress. Simple. Professional. The kind of dress that didn't scream for attention but demanded respect.
A pair of low heels. Comfortable enough to walk in, elegant enough to pass inspection.
A blazer — charcoal gray, tailored, the sleeves rolled up just slightly because Naomi was shorter than me.
And on the pillow, a note in Naomi's handwriting:
"You built an empire for a man who didn't deserve a cardboard box. Imagine what you can build for yourself."
I read it twice.
Then I got dressed.
Naomi did my makeup.
Not much — a little concealer under my eyes, a swipe of mascara, a neutral lip. She brushed out my hair until it fell in soft waves around my shoulders.
"There," she said, stepping back. "You look like a woman who could kill a man and hide the body."
"That's the look I was going for."
"Good. Now let's go over your talking points."
We sat on the couch. Naomi had printed out a list of common interview questions — Tell me about yourself. What are your strengths and weaknesses? Why do you want to work here? — and we rehearsed until my answers felt natural.
Or at least, not fake.
"One more time," Naomi said. "Tell me about your experience with contract negotiation."
"I drafted over two hundred contracts for Vance Enterprises, including NDAs, merger agreements, and vendor terms. I also negotiated directly with clients to ensure favorable terms."
"Good. Now tell me why you want to work at Farrow Industries."
I hesitated.
This was the question I'd been avoiding. The honest answer was: Because I'm broke and desperate and you're the only company that responded. But I couldn't say that.
"Because Farrow Industries is at the forefront of renewable energy and biotech," I said carefully. "I want to use my skills to support a company that's actually making a difference."
Naomi nodded. "Decent. A little corporate-speak, but decent."
"I'm not good at lying."
"Then don't lie. Find a version of the truth that works."
I thought about it.
"The truth," I said slowly, "is that I spent five years building someone else's dream. I want to build something real. And from what I've read, Julian Farrow builds things that matter."
Naomi smiled. "That's perfect. Say that."
"What if he asks about Derek?"
"Then you say, 'My marriage ended, but my professional skills remain intact.' Then you change the subject."
I took a breath. "Okay."
"Okay." She stood up. "Now go. It's 9:15. You have forty-five minutes."
I grabbed my bag. My phone. The folder of printed resumes that Naomi had insisted I bring.
At the door, I stopped.
"What if I'm not ready?"
Naomi looked at me. Really looked at me. The way she had in college, when I was crying over a breakup that felt like the end of the world. The way she had in the ER, when I was scared and alone and convinced I was going to die.
"You're not ready," she said. "That's why you have to go."
I hugged her.
She hugged back.
Then I walked out the door.
The bus ride to Farrow Tower took twenty-two minutes.
I spent them staring out the window, watching the city transform from Naomi's quiet neighborhood to the gleaming skyscrapers of the financial district. The buildings grew taller. The sidewalks grew crowded. The air grew sharper, somehow — more expensive.
I got off at the stop in front of Farrow Tower and looked up.
The building was glass and steel, rising forty stories into the gray morning sky. The entrance was a vast atrium, all white marble and chrome. Men and women in expensive suits moved through the revolving doors like fish in a current.
I was a minnow among sharks.
Worst case, you waste an afternoon.
I walked inside.
The lobby was even more intimidating up close. A massive sculpture hung from the ceiling — twisted metal and glass, catching the light in a thousand different ways. The reception desk was a curved slab of white stone, behind which sat a woman so polished she looked like she'd been carved from marble herself.
"Name?" she asked, not looking up from her computer.
"Sloane Hayes. I have an interview with—"
"Tenth floor. Elevators on your left. Someone will meet you."
No smile. No eye contact. Just a wave of her hand toward the elevators.
I went.
The elevator ride was smooth and silent. The doors opened onto a lobby that was smaller than the main floor but no less intimidating. A second reception desk, a second polished woman, and this time, a nameplate: Farrow Industries — Executive Offices.
"Sloane Hayes," I said. "Interview with Mr. Farrow."
The woman looked up. Her expression shifted — not quite recognition, but something close. "Yes. Please take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly."
I sat down on a leather couch that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
The walls were lined with framed photographs — Farrow Industries projects, I assumed. Solar farms. Research labs. A hospital wing with a plaque that read Donated by the Farrow Foundation.
And one photograph that didn't fit.
It was a landscape. A frozen pond, surrounded by bare trees, the water dark and still. There was no building, no logo, no obvious connection to the company.
But something about it made my chest ache.
I stared at the photograph.
The ice. The trees. The way the light hit the water.
Where had I seen that before?
"Sloane Hayes?"
I turned.
A woman stood in the doorway — mid-forties, sharp suit, kind eyes. She smiled, and for some reason, that smile made me want to cry.
"I'm Olivia Chen," she said. "Head of Talent Acquisition. Thank you for coming in."
"Thank you for having me."
She gestured down the hallway. "Mr. Farrow is ready for you. Follow me."
I stood up.
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Worst case, you waste an afternoon.
I followed Olivia Chen down the hallway, past closed doors and hushed voices, toward whatever waited at the end.
I didn't know it yet, but that hallway was the threshold between the woman Derek had broken and the woman she would become.
And on the other side of the door?
A pair of eyes that had been waiting for her for fifteen years.