"Mom, I'm leaving now. Bye!" Camalina called, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
"Alright, my daughter. Take care, okay? No trouble, and don't start any fights out there," her mother replied, her voice tinged with worry.
"Mom, I'm grown up now," Camalina said, smiling confidently.
"Fine…" Camila muttered, shaking her head with a sigh. She knew her daughter all too well—how trouble seemed to follow her wherever she went. "Hm…"
Arriving at the company, Camalina paused in front of the towering building, its reflective glass gleaming in the morning sun. She marveled at the height and sheer presence of it.
Unaware, she realized it was already five minutes past nine, but she didn't mind; she was on time in her own way.
Her eyes swept over the crowd of women around the entrance—body-hugging gowns, sky-high heels, perfectly styled hair, lips painted in bold reds or soft pinks. Every detail screamed confidence, wealth, and attention.
Camalina glanced at herself, smoothing down her outfit and brushing back her deep black hair that cascaded to her waist. Her clothes were simple, practical, and suited her personality.
A small smile tugged at her lips. "Everyone does what they want. This is my style," she whispered.
She stepped forward, determined. A few curious glances followed her as she walked, but she ignored them, focusing on the task at hand.
At the reception desk, she greeted the receptionist with a polite smile. "Hi, I'm here to submit my files."
The receptionist's sharp eyes immediately assessed her. "Oh! You are new, right? Which department are you applying for, Miss…?"
"Camalina," she said.
"Managing files," she added.
"Alright, let me take you there," the receptionist said, motioning toward the elevator.
Inside, the receptionist pressed the third-floor button. The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, each floor passing quietly.
When the doors opened, they stepped into a corridor lined with office doors. They walked past five doors before stopping at the sixth—the department where Camalina would submit her files.
She handed over her documents, exchanged greetings with the staff, and felt a small sense of accomplishment. As she turned to leave, she suddenly collided with a woman stepping out of a nearby office.
"Oh! Sorry, Miss—" Camalina began, but the words caught in her throat as the woman snapped at her.
"You lowly—do you know what you've done?!" the woman barked, her voice sharp and full of disdain. Her designer outfit and gold accessories immediately marked her as wealthy and entitled.
Camalina's eyes narrowed, her voice calm but firm. "You stupid being—stop cursing."
The woman's face flushed with anger. "You dare speak to me that way?!"
"Who started speaking like that?" Camalina shot back evenly, her gaze unwavering.
The woman's hand shot up, aiming to slap her across the face.
Quick as lightning, Camalina caught it in a tight grip, halting the slap. Her expression turned icy, controlled, radiating a calm power that made the woman hesitate.
"Miss, don't cross your line, please. I'm being patient with you, okay?" Camalina said, her tone more a statement than a question.
Slowly, she loosened her grip, giving the woman enough space to step back, though her eyes remained sharp and unyielding.
A tense silence hung in the corridor, broken only by the distant hum of the elevator and muffled office chatter.
Camalina straightened her shoulders, brushed imaginary dust off her outfit, and continued toward the elevator without looking back.
Her calm defiance left a lasting impression—this was a woman who would not be intimidated or pushed around.
Inside the elevator, Camalina took a deep breath, steadying herself. One step at a time. Submit the files. Nothing else matters right now.
The hum of the elevator felt like a quiet countdown to whatever challenges awaited on the next floor.
By the time she reached the ground floor, she felt a surge of quiet determination. The day had barely begun, yet already it had tested her resolve—and she had not faltered.
Stepping out, she adjusted her bag, gave herself a small nod in the reflection of the glass doors, and whispered, "Wait for me, MX Company. I'm coming."
Every confident step carried her closer to her goal, each one a small victory in a world that often underestimated her.
And somewhere in the distance, beyond the bustling office and glossy surfaces, the wheels of fate had already begun to turn.