Tracy's POV
The waiting room was bright, the walls painted a pale cream that somehow made the air feel even heavier. My palms were damp, and I kept wiping them on the sides of my dress, though the fabric could only take so much before it began to cling. A few other applicants sat beside me, some flipping through their files confidently, others scrolling on their phones as if this interview was just another small step in their long, stable lives.
For me, it was not small at all. It was everything.
This was not just a job interview. This was the first real step into a new life, one that I had to build with my bare hands now that everything else had been stripped from me. The family, the company, the so- called friends— they had all closed their doors in my face. And now, here I was, hoping that this door, just this one, would stay open long enough for me to slip inside.
I kept whispering silently to myself: You can do this. You are smart. You are capable. You have worked in boardrooms before… this isn't new.
But my heart did not believe it. It thudded inside my chest like a drum being beaten too hard.
The receptionist finally called my name.
I stood, legs shaky, and followed her down a narrow hall. Each step felt heavier, like I was walking toward something that could make or break me. She opened the door for me, and I walked in, clutching my folder as if it could shield me from judgment.
And then I froze.
Sitting at the head of the long polished table was him— the man from the elevator.
For a second, my heart stopped completely. My mind scrambled to put the pieces together. The neat suit. The quiet authority in his voice. The way people seemed to look at him with respect when he walked in earlier. And now, here he was, sitting in the seat that clearly belonged to someone important.
The CEO.
The man I had whispered "sorry" to in the elevator. The one who had looked at me a moment too long, like he had seen something in me no one else bothered to notice.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. My stomach twisted with fear. Oh God… what if he thinks I'm unprofessional? What if he recognizes me from the news? What if he dismisses me before I even get a chance to speak?
"Have a seat." one of the executives said, gesturing politely. His voice snapped me out of my daze, and I quickly sat down, trying to steady my breathing.
Ethan Cole— though I only realized his name now— leaned back slightly in his chair. He did not say much at first, just observed. And that, somehow, made it worse. His gaze was calm but piercing, and I felt as though he could see every nervous thought swirling in my head.
One of the other interviewers began the formal questions. They asked about my previous work experience, my organizational skills, how I managed deadlines. I answered carefully, truthfully, though I left out the name of that company, the family business where I had once been the shining star but was now a ghost, erased from history.
The questions rolled on, but every time I glanced up, I caught Ethan's eyes lingering. Not in an intimidating way, not mocking, but quietly curious. It unsettled me, made my heart race faster.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was deeper than I remembered in the elevator, calm but firm. "What do you think makes someone reliable in a workplace?"
It was such a simple question, but my mouth went dry. Everyone was waiting. I gripped my folder tightly under the table, forcing myself to breathe.
"Reliability…" I began, my voice trembling before I steadied it, "isn't about being perfect. It's about showing up, even when you are tired, even when it is hard. It's… consistency. Knowing that others can lean on you because you won't give up halfway. That is what makes someone reliable."
The room was silent for a moment. I lowered my gaze, cheeks burning. Was that too much? Too personal? Did I sound desperate?
But then, to my surprise, one of the executives nodded approvingly, jotting something down. Another smiled slightly. And when I finally dared to glance at Ethan, he was watching me with an expression I could not read— half intrigued, half thoughtful.
The interview went on for a little while longer, but my nerves began to settle. I spoke carefully, but I spoke with heart, because that was all I had left.
When it ended, I stood, thanked them politely, and walked toward the door. My legs were weak, but I forced myself to keep my steps steady.
Just before I left, I heard his voice again.
"Good luck." Ethan said, the same way he had in the elevator, only this time his words lingered, heavier, as though he meant them.
I paused for just a second, my chest tightening, then whispered back, "Thank you." before slipping out of the room.
And as I walked down the hall, I realized my hands were no longer shaking quite as much. Something about that interview had shaken me, yes— but it had also lit a small spark. A spark I thought I had lost forever.