~Karla's Pov~
Thursday starts like any other day, coffee, emails, and calendar alerts.
I'm halfway through editing a presentation slide for the Winterwell team when Claudia pokes her head into the design pod.
"Karla," she says, casually but her tone is anything but casual. "Dom wants you in his office in ten."
I blink. "Me?"
"Yes. Just you."
She disappears before I can ask anything else.
Panic buzzes under my skin like caffeine with nowhere to go. Dominic Vale doesn't ask interns for private meetings. He summons them. And usually not twice.
I grab my laptop and a notebook I don't need, mostly to give my hands something to do. Liam raises an eyebrow from across the room, but I don't stop. I'm already mentally spiraling.
What did I mess up? Was it the mock-up? Did I forget to reply to that email?
By the time I reach the double glass doors of Dominic's office, my heart is racing like I'm about to walk into a courtroom.
I knock twice. He doesn't answer. Just waves me in with a flick of his pen.
"Sit."
His tone is clipped. Formal. Barely looks up from his screen.
I sit across from him at his massive desk. Everything is sleek and cold black glass and marble. Like someone styled his office for a movie villain and forgot to give him a personality.
He finally closes his laptop and looks at me. Not through me, at me.
"There's a brand partner meeting tomorrow," he says. "The Winterwell campaign is part of the pitch lineup. I want you to walk them through your concept."
I blink. "Me?"
"Yes, you. You pitched it. You've been working closely with Claudia's team. This is your chance to show them the vision."
My heart kicks against my ribs. "But… shouldn't Claudia lead that?"
"She's already presenting on two other campaigns," he says, leaning back slightly. "You're more than capable. Aren't you?"
His eyes narrow slightly, like he's testing me. Like he wants me to flinch.
I sit straighter. "Yes, I am."
He nods. "Good. We'll run through it together today. Conference room 5B. One hour."
I blink. "Just… you and me?"
He lifts an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"
"No," I say quickly. "Just unexpected."
He closes his laptop and stands. "That's the thing about opportunity, Karla. It rarely waits for you to feel ready."
*******
One hour later, we're seated across from each other in a smaller, more private meeting room. There's no noise, no distractions—just the occasional hum of the air conditioning and my pulse beating in my ears.
He listens as I talk through my slides, eyes fixed, posture unreadable.
When I finish, there's a stretch of silence.
Then....
"You're holding back," he says.
I stare at him. "Excuse me?"
"You've got something good here. But you're walking through it like you're afraid of being wrong."
I swallow. "I just didn't want to overstep."
"You're not here to stay small, Karla," he says, voice lower. "That might have worked in other rooms. But not this one."
There's something in the way he says it controlled, but not cold. Like he sees right through me.
I square my shoulders. "Fine. Then let me show you the full concept."
His lips twitch, like he wasn't expecting me to push back. But he gestures to the screen. "Go ahead."
So I do.
With every slide, every word, something shifts. I speak with more clarity, more intention. He watches—really watches, not interrupting, not correcting.
By the time I finish, his expression has changed.
Still serious. But there's a crack in the marble.
"That's more like it," he says quietly.
And for the first time since I started this job, I think Dominic Vale might actually respect me.
Or worse, he might actually see me.
We keep going.
Slide after slide.
Idea after idea.
What was supposed to be a one-hour run-through morphs into an intense strategy session. Dominic doesn't just sit back he challenges me, reworks transitions with me, and asks sharp questions that force me to dig deeper.
And I match him, point for point.
At some point, we move from reviewing slides to reimagining the entire presentation together.
I don't even notice how the light outside has dimmed.
The hum of office chatter is gone.
The sound of footsteps, keyboards, and calls vanished.
It's just… silence. And him. And me.
I look up at the clock on the wall and freeze.
8:13 PM.
"No. No. No!"
I gasp and push back from the chair suddenly. "No, no…"
Dominic blinks at me, confused. "What is it?"
"I'm late," I say, scrambling to close my laptop. "I'm so late for my classes."
His brows draw together. "You have class now?"
"Yes, Media Law. It started an hour ago." I sling my bag over my shoulder, heart pounding. "And I still have another lecture after that."
He straightens but doesn't move to stop me. "You didn't say you had night classes."
"You didn't ask," I say, rushing toward the door.
There's a pause. Then "Karla."
I stop halfway out.
He looks at me, not stern. Not even annoyed. Just… unreadable.
"You did well today."
I blink, startled. "Thanks. I'll… try not to flunk out before tomorrow's pitch."
He gives a faint smile, small but real. "Let me know if you need time off after the meeting. To catch up on school."
I nod slowly, heart still racing. "Thanks. I'll let you know."
And then I'm gone rushing through the eerily quiet halls of Vale & Co., my heels echoing as I race toward the street, trying to catch the last bus that'll get me halfway across the city.
Work is important. This opportunity is big. But school is still part of the dream. And I can't afford to let either one slip.
By the time I get to campus, I'm breathless, my laptop bag digging into my shoulder and my phone clutched in a sweaty grip. I push through the heavy glass doors of the building and into the lecture hallway, hoping—praying—I haven't missed everything.
But the moment I glance through the window of the first lecture room…
Empty.
Chairs pushed back. Notes erased from the whiteboard. The professor is long gone.
"Great," I mutter under my breath. "One down."
I head to my second class of the night, determined not to let it slip through my fingers, too. Thankfully, the room is still full when I walk in—students half-asleep, the professor mid-lecture, and one empty seat near the back.
I slide in as quietly as possible, pulling out my notebook just in time to catch the tail end of a case study breakdown. My head is buzzing from the meeting with Dominic, my feet aching from the run, and my stomach rumbling with neglect—but I focus.
Barely.
By the end of the class, I feel like a puppet someone forgot to take the strings off.
But I made it.
That's what matters.
The sky is completely dark by the time I make it home.
I fumble with the keys at the door, my head already planning what leftovers might still be edible in the fridge.
I push the door open—
And freeze.
The lights are low, and there's a soft flicker of light in the middle of the living room.
Tessa, standing in her socks, holding a tiny chocolate cupcake with a single candle lit.
"Surprise!" she says, grinning like a lunatic. "I thought I did surprise you—because I missed you."
I stand there, caught between laughing and crying.
"You didn't have to overdo it," I manage, stepping in and dropping my bag to the floor.
"It's not overdoing it. It's a tiny cupcake," she says with mock offense. "You're the dramatic one."
I laugh, walking over and blowing out the candle. "Thanks, Tess."
She shrugs, handing it to me. "It's probably stale. But it's the thought, right?"
"Definitely the thought."
We collapse onto the couch together, the room still glowing gently in the low light.
And for the first time today, I feel full of something soft and good.