Gina's POV
I knew I was in trouble the moment I opened my eyes and saw sunlight instead of my alarm clock.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Today wasn't just any day—it was the day that could change everything for me and my sister.
And I had already messed it up by oversleeping.
I shot out of bed so fast I nearly tripped in my rush.
It didn't matter that I barely slept last night or that I was running on cold anxiety instead of coffee.
Missing this interview wasn't an option.
The house rent was due and my sister's medications weren't cheap.
Plus, Mr. Calder didn't pull strings lightly.
His recommendation was the only reason I had a chance at a position that normally required years of experience... which I didn't have.
I hurried into clothes that were supposed to make me look professional and competent, but when you're shaking while buttoning your shirt, nothing feels right.
My hands kept fumbling, and every missed loop felt like the universe reminding me that people like me weren't meant to be in places like Harrington & Cross.
"Come on, Gina," I muttered to myself. "Just get there."
I grabbed my worn handbag, locked the door behind me, and rushed down the street.
Every passing minute dug deeper into my nerves.
The city was already awake—cars blaring, people shouting, the usual chaos I normally ignored.
Not today.
Today, every sound felt like another countdown ticking against me.
Halfway to the bus stop, I forced myself to breathe.
I could not afford to panic.
Not when this job could finally give my sister the stability she deserved.
And then the universe laughed at me.
A sleek black luxury car sped through a deep puddle beside the curb, drenching me head to toe in filthy brown water.
The shock punched the breath out of me.
My blouse, my trousers, my shoes—everything clung to my skin, wet and cold.
I froze, rage filling the space where panic used to be.
I stared at my ruined outfit. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."
The car didn't even slow down.
Something in me snapped.
The stress, the fear, the exhaustion—everything boiled up at once.
My eyes landed on a loose brick near the sidewalk. Before my brain caught up with my body, my hand was already gripping it.
"You're not doing this," I thought to myself, but apparently I was.
The car slowed at a red light just up the road.
It was too tempting.
I launched the brick.
It hit the back window with a loud crack that echoed down the street.
For a second I stood there, stunned.
I actually did that.
The car jerked to a stop.
I swallowed.
The driver's door opened, and a man stepped out wearing a suit that probably cost more than my yearly income.
He moved like someone used to being obeyed, annoyed that the world dared inconvenience him.
"You—" he began.
But then the back door opened, and another man got out.
I felt the air shift.
A cold, sharp presence filled the space between us.
Tall, controlled... So sharply and meticulously put together he looked like he was carved rather than born.
His eyes locked onto me, and the weight of his stare made my stomach flip. I didn't know him, but something about him radiated danger.
He glanced at the cracked window, then at me.
His jaw tightened.
"Did you throw that?" His voice was low, even, but it carried an authority that made the other man—whom I assumed was his driver—step back as if he'd spoken a command.
I resisted the instinct to shrink. "You drenched me."
"You damaged my property," he replied.
"And you ruined my clothes."
His eyes traveled over my soaked outfit.
Not with sympathy—just observation with a cold assessment.
He didn't say anything, but his expression made it clear he considered his window significantly more important than my entire life.
"You'll pay for that," he said.
Something stubborn flared inside me. "Send me the bill."
He took a step closer, studying me as if committing me to memory. "I intend to."
I forced myself not to back away.
I refused to let some arrogant stranger intimidate me. "Good. Then I can assume that we're done here."
I walked past him before he could respond, my heart hammering so hard it drowned out every other sound.
I didn't look back. I couldn't.
If I did, I might realize how reckless that entire moment was.
I shook my head... Willing the memory of what just happy to go away.
By the time the headquarters came into view, my clothes were drying stiff on my skin, and my nerves were frayed to dust.
The towering glass building was even more intimidating in person.
Every inch of it screamed success and power—two things I desperately needed but didn't feel like I belonged around.
At the entrance, security immediately stopped me.
"Interviews are over," the guard said, eyeing my appearance with suspicion.
Of course he would, I looked like a hobo.
My stomach twisted. "Please—I have an appointment. Executive level."
That seemed to do it.
Suddenly, they were checking lists, calling names, confirming details and when the guard finally nodded and stepped aside, relief washed through me so fast my knees weakened.
I followed the directions to the 38th floor, where Mr. Calder was waiting in the corridor.
The moment he saw me, his eyes widened.
"Gina… what happened?"
"I—there was an incident on the way." I tried to smile, but it came out shaky. "I'm here. That's what matters."
He sighed, looking torn between concern and urgency. "The CEO's schedule is tight. There's no time to change, but go to the executive lobby. Try to compose yourself, alright?"
"I'll do my best."
"That's what I'm counting on," he said gently.
The executive lobby was all polished marble, soft lights, and quiet tension.
The other candidates looked like they came straight from fashion magazines with their sleek hair, perfect makeup, tailored suits.
I caught a few stares that some threw my way. It was obvious that most pitied me, some were even amused.
I sat down, clasped my hands, and took slow breaths.
I rehearsed answers in my head but none of it felt real when my mind kept replaying the stupid brick incident.
What if he pressed charges? What if the driver reported me? What if—
"Gina Moretti?"
My name snapped me out of my spiral.
The assistant standing by the double doors offered a polite smile.
"You may enter."
My pulse quickened.
This was it.
Everything depended on what happened in the next few minutes. I stood, smoothed my damp clothes, and walked forward.
The assistant opened the door.
I stepped inside.
And froze.
The man behind the massive desk slowly lifted his gaze from the file in his hand and I instantly almost had a heart attack.
The cold stranger whose car I had attacked.
The one I walked away from.
The one who promised to make me pay.
His eyes widened slightly in recognition.
A slow, unreadable expression settled across his face.
My stomach dropped.
He wasn't just some random rich guy.
He was the CEO and my interviewer.
The reason I was here.
"Oh God," I whispered before I could stop myself.
His voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"You."
He stood up, each movement precise and controlled.
For a moment, he just looked at me—soaking wet, nervous, and already halfway to unemployment.
Then he spoke again, and the cold certainty in his tone sent a shiver down my spine.
"Close the door, Miss Moretti. We need to talk."
The door clicked shut behind me.
"Oh God…"