The air in the room was heavy, as the room was silent enough to hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Marcus Delacroix sat behind his mahogany desk as his cold stare was fixed on the girl in front of him. Alexa.
She was nineteen but didn't even look like it. She didn't flinch or get anxious at his cold look. Clara, on the other hand, stood like a ghost at the bookshelf, as she held a folder tight around her arm. She was silently praying that this one, Alexa, wouldn't go out crying or shaking like the others.
Marcus moved his fingers slightly. His voice was calm, but it managed to cut through the silence.
"Name," he asked, his voice showing no sign of kindness.
"Alexa," she replied, matching his cold nature.
"No surname?" he asked, raising a brow.
She tilted her head, unfazed. "Does it matter, Mr. Delacroix?"
This made Clara bite her lip. Alexa was bold... too bold.
Marcus, on the other hand, didn't flinch. "To me, everything matters."
Alexa leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. "Then make a note: I don't waste words. Or lies."
For a moment, Marcus looked like he was impressed. He stared at her, then leaned back in his chair. "Why do you want this job?" he asked.
"To protect your son," she replied without hesitation.
He let out a laugh that carried no humor with it. "That's everyone's answer. You think I'll buy it?"
"I don't care if you buy it," she replied smoothly. "I'll prove it."
That phrase alone had already earned half of his attention. He rose from his chair, his tall frame casting a shadow over her.
He walked slowly around her chair, as the sound of his shoes echoed against the hardwood floor.
"Do you know what happens if you fail me?" he asked, voice dropping lower as he stopped behind her.
"Yes."
"And?"
"I won't live long enough to regret it."
Clara swallowed hard. Alexa didn't even blink.
Marcus leaned downward near her ear, slowly, deliberately.
"What do you fear most?"
"Failure," she said again. "But not because of you. Because of me."
He smirked weakly and then moved around to face her again. "And what if my enemies offer you money? More than you've probably ever dreamed of?"
"I don't take bribes," Alexa said flatly. "Besides, money doesn't resurrect the dead."
Clara blinked, caught by the weight of her words. Marcus's jaw tightened, just slightly.
He pressed further. "What if they threaten you? Torture you?"
"Then I'd let them. A broken body still heals. A broken loyalty doesn't."
That hit. Marcus circled again, this time slower, studying her. "And what if my son refuses you? He doesn't like strangers. Doesn't trust easily. If he doesn't accept you, you're useless to me."
Alexa crossed her legs and leaned back. "Then I'll win his trust. Not with tricks, not with bribes. By being exactly what he needs."
Marcus narrowed his eyes. "And what if what he needs is his mother?"
Silence. Heavy. Clara almost interrupted, but Alexa finally spoke, steady as stone.
"Then I'll remind him that his mother isn't here. But safety still is. I'm not here to replace her. I'm here to make sure he lives long enough to miss her."
Clara's chest tightened. Even Marcus paused; his expression became unreadable.
"You're sharp," Marcus muttered, pacing back to his desk. "Too sharp for someone your age. Tell me, Alexa, what do you really want out of this?"
Alexa tilted her head. "Does every question of yours come with a hidden blade, Mr. Delacroix?"
He smirked faintly. "Answer."
"I want a roof over my head, a stable income, and the chance to do what I'm good at: protecting someone worth protecting. That's it."
For the first time, Marcus chuckled under his breath. Not amused — impressed. He stood again, walking back to her. "You know… you're the first one today who hasn't trembled in this chair. Nineteen applicants. All gone. You're still here."
Alexa's lips curved into a ghost of a smile. "Maybe I like the chair."
Clara nearly choked on her breath. Marcus… smirked. A real one this time.
He turned sharply. "Clara. Leave us."
Clara hesitated, then gave Alexa an encouraging glance before leaving. The door clicked shut.
Marcus leaned on the desk, staring down at Alexa. "One last thing. If it came down to your life or my son's, what would you do?"
"His life. Every time," she answered almost immediately.
He searched her face for a crack, a lie, a hesitation. There was none.
Finally, he straightened, adjusting his cufflinks. "You may go."
Alexa rose, bowed her head slightly, and exited without another word.
The door closed. Clara slipped back in, anxious. "Sir… did she pass?"
Marcus didn't look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the city lights beyond the glass.
After a long silence, he spoke, voice low, deliberate.
"Tell her to pack her things. She's coming with us to the mansion."
Clara's eyes widened. "…So, she passed?"
He didn't answer. He only smirked faintly, as his reflection in the glass looked every bit the king he was.
"She's the one."