The Sterling-Morrow headquarters didn't just rise into the sky—it commanded it. Thirty stories of glass and steel that caught the morning sun and threw it back at the world like a challenge. Teya stood at the base of the tower, craning her neck upward until her head spun, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. 😔
This is where the powerful live, she thought. People who never wonder if they can afford milk.
She clutched her folder tighter and walked through the revolving doors.
The lobby was a cathedral of wealth. Marble floors so polished they reflected the ceiling like still water. A reception desk that stretched longer than her entire apartment. People moved with purpose—sharp suits, clicking heels, voices low and efficient. No one smiled, but no one needed to. They belonged here.
Teya looked down at herself. Her simple cotton suit, washed and pressed until the fabric had softened with age, suddenly felt like a costume. She could see the faint lines where the iron had struggled with stubborn wrinkles. Her shoes, the same ones from last night, were clean now, but they were still old. Still cheap. Still screaming I don't belong here with every step.
She pulled her shoulders back. You're not here to belong. You're here to work.
A receptionist with perfect hair directed her to the 12th floor. The elevator ride was silent, surrounded by people who didn't look at each other. When the doors opened, she followed signs to a waiting area outside the interview rooms.
And there, her heart stopped.
The room was filled with women. At least fifteen of them, seated in plush chairs along the walls, and each one looked like she had stepped off the cover of a high-fashion magazine. Designer dresses in muted colors. Handbags that cost more than Teya's monthly rent. Shoes that had never seen a puddle. Their nails were perfectly manicured, clicking against the latest smartphones as scents of expensive perfume mingled in the air.
Teya found an empty chair in the corner and sat. She kept her folder on her lap, hugging it like a shield. A woman across from her glanced up, let her eyes travel over Teya's outfit with surgical precision, and then looked away with the faintest smile. The kind of smile that said this one isn't competition.
Teya's cheeks burned.
She looked down at her hands. Her nails were clean—she had made sure of that—but they weren't manicured. Her fingers showed the small calluses from household work, from carrying groceries, from the thousand small tasks that came with being the responsible one. They'll never understand, she thought. They'll never know what it's like to interview for a job you need to survive, not just another line on a resume. 💅
From the corner of her eye, she caught another woman's subtle inspection. The woman's gaze lingered on Teya's shoes—the ones that had survived last night's disaster but couldn't hide their age, and then drifted away with that same dismissive smile.
Teya closed her eyes for a moment. She whispered to herself, so quietly no one could hear: You didn't come here to show makeup, Teya. You came here for your family. For Mom. For Kavi. For Anu and Mali. You came here because you have no choice. And that makes you stronger than all of them.
When she opened her eyes, she was ready.
But then the room changed.
A hush fell, so sudden and complete that Teya felt it in her bones. The confident women straightened in their seats, tucking phones away, smoothing skirts. Even the receptionist at the desk stood a little taller.
The elevator doors opened.
Aryan Samuel walked out.
He was surrounded by people—three men in suits, all speaking urgently, all holding tablets and papers. But Teya barely noticed them. She saw only him. The sharp jaw. The midnight-blue suit that fit like armor. The eyes that had looked through her last night as if she were air.
He moved through the waiting area like a storm passing over still water. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, on something none of them could see. He didn't glance left or right. He didn't acknowledge the fifteen women who held their breath as he passed.
He walked directly toward the interview rooms, his entourage scrambling to keep pace.
Teya's heart slammed against her ribs. It's him. It's really him. The man from the storm. The man whose car had splashed her. The man who had said I don't have time to waste on pointless arguments while she stood soaked and humiliated on a public street.
As he passed—only a few feet from where she sat—the scent of expensive cologne reached her. And with it came the memory of that cold authority, that utter indifference that had crushed her spirit just hours ago.
Her hands trembled in her lap.
But something else stirred too. Something hot and fierce that pushed through the fear.
He doesn't remember me, she realized. I was nothing to him then. I'm nothing to him now.
Aryan Samuel disappeared through a door at the end of the hall. His people followed. The door closed. And slowly, the waiting room exhaled.
The women around her began whispering.
"That's him—Aryan Samuel, the CEO."
"I heard he's not even thirty yet."
"Rich families. Old money. He could buy this entire building."
"And single, I heard. Completely single."
Teya stared at the closed door. Her heart was still racing, but her mind had gone cold and clear.
He's the CEO. This is his company.
The woman who had smiled at Teya's shoes earlier was now frantically reapplying lipstick, glancing toward the interview room door with new desperation. As if impressing Aryan Samuel mattered more than the job itself.
Teya looked down at her folder. Her resume. Her degree. Her mother's prescriptions folded in the back pocket because she couldn't afford to lose them.
He's just a man, she told herself. A horrible, arrogant man who doesn't see people like me. But he's just a man.
She straightened her simple cotton suit. She lifted her chin.
And she waited for her name to be called. 👀