Aria's POV
The chair I was sitting on had a wobble to it. Not enough to make me fall, just enough to make me feel like even it didn't trust me to stay. The manager sitting across from me hadn't looked up from his tablet in a full minute. He was scrolling through something with a look that made me feel like I had already failed. I cleared my throat, hoping maybe that would remind him I was still here.
"So," I said softly. "I have experience working the register, bussing tables, and I'm a quick learner."
"Mmhmm," he muttered, eyes glued to the screen. "We'll call if anything opens up."
That was it. No thank you for coming. No fake smile. Just a brush-off so dry it made my skin itch.
I stood up slowly, gripping the straps of my backpack. "Thanks for your time."
He didn't respond. Not even a nod. I walked out of the tiny café and stepped into the sunlight like someone waking up from a bad dream. The streets were busy, full of people with somewhere to be, jobs to do, lives that were moving forward.
I looked down at my list, the edges crumpled and soft from being folded too many times. A few lines were already crossed out. The cafés, the bookstores, the diners that had smiled politely before telling me they weren't hiring. Or worse, that I "wasn't what they were looking for."
I sighed and shoved the paper back into my bag. My stomach growled but I didn't have time for lunch. Not with rentless panic pacing inside me like a clock ticking too loud.
School started in a week. My scholarship only covered sixty percent. The rest? I was supposed to figure that out. I'd known it wasn't going to be easy starting over, but I didn't think it would be this hard just to find a job that paid minimum wage.
I had left everything behind. My old town. My old life. People I didn't want to think about. I came here to breathe. To build something from scratch. But it felt like the city had already decided I didn't belong.
The only thing I had going for me was that I didn't have to worry about rent. I had Kael Wolfe to thank for that. Mr. Tall, Grumpy, and Condescending. He probably thought I was sleeping on gold sheets just because I wasn't paying to stay in his pristine apartment. If only he knew the truth. I was barely surviving.
I checked my list again. Only one place left. A fancy restaurant at the edge of downtown. I'd written it down on a whim, not thinking I'd actually go. Now, with nothing else left, I figured I might as well try.
The building stood tall with big glass windows and a gold sign I couldn't pronounce. As I stepped inside, cold air wrapped around me. Everything smelled like lemon polish and money. A woman behind the front desk blinked at me. Her lips were painted the kind of red that looked expensive. She looked me up and down without a word.
"I'm here about the job posting," I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
She didn't smile. Didn't even nod. Just disappeared behind a curtain for a minute before returning with a man in a suit so sharp I was afraid to stand too close in case I wrinkled it.
He took one look at me and sighed.
"We're looking for someone more refined," he said.
That was all.
I nodded stiffly, trying to ignore the heat crawling up my neck. "Right. Of course. Thanks."
I walked out, my hands in my pockets. I could feel their eyes on my back. Judging. Dismissing. Like I was something unfortunate that had wandered in from the street.
I stood outside the restaurant for a few seconds longer, trying to steady my breathing as the door clicked shut behind me. My reflection stared back at me from the glass—scarlet hair pulled into a messy ponytail, cheap flats scuffed at the toes, a faded black backpack hanging off one shoulder. I looked like a girl pretending she belonged somewhere she clearly didn't. My fingers curled around the strap tighter, the sting of their judgment still fresh in my chest. The way the manager's eyes swept over me, pausing on my clothes, my hair, my visible discomfort, told me everything I needed to know before he even opened his mouth. I wasn't what they wanted. Not clean-cut, not elegant, not invisible enough to blend in. I felt like an unwanted smudge on a perfectly polished window. It wasn't just this place, either. Every interview, every rejection felt like a tiny crack forming inside me, slowly spreading across my resolve. I was trying. God, I was trying so hard. But no one saw the effort, only the things that made me wrong. The color of my hair. The way I stood. The fact that I dared to hope they'd see something more in me. As I turned away from the restaurant and walked back toward the street, I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted blood, forcing myself not to cry. Crying didn't pay tuition. Crying didn't feed you. Crying didn't make them see you. I kept my head down and kept walking, the city swallowing me up again like I had never existed at all.
"Not refined," I muttered. "Fine. Just say you don't want someone with scarlet hair dirtying your fine establishment."
The sun felt hotter now. Or maybe it was the sting of rejection settling into my bones. Seven rejections today. And it wasn't even two o'clock yet.
By the time I reached the apartment, my feet were aching, and my head felt stuffed with cotton. I fumbled with the key and pushed the door open, expecting the usual quiet and maybe Kael hiding in his room pretending I didn't exist.
Instead, I froze.
There was a woman standing in the hallway. And not just any woman. She looked like she had walked straight out of a power suit magazine. Her skirt was black and pencil-straight. Her blouse was buttoned all the way up. Her heels were sharp enough to kill. And her dark hair was slicked back so tightly it made my own scalp hurt just looking at it.
She stared at me like I had just broken in. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth tightened.
"Who are you?" she snapped. "And what exactly are you doing here?"
I blinked, caught completely off guard.
My brain was slow, my mouth slower. My entire day rushed through my head like water flooding a sink.
And then I opened my mouth to speak.
But the words got caught.