Today was the day she would either make a difference or not. The sun was beginning to rise over the rows of concrete houses as she stepped into the street, heels clicking like a metronome with cautious purpose.
Cayla didn't make it halfway down the block before disaster nearly struck.
A black SUV, which was moving too fast for a street that narrow, turned around the corner. Its engine hummed low but fast. It was so fast that she barely had any time to react, but her instincts screamed, and she dove backward in the nick of time. She fell to the ground, scraping her elbow on the curb as the vehicle skidded to a stop half an inch in front of her.
The car door opened immediately, and a lean, tall man stepped out of the vehicle. His well-tailored suit fit perfectly as the flag on his lapel shimmered faintly over the morning light. He was dignified with a distinct air of authority. His tone was embroidered and crisp.
"I am so.. sorry," he said, stepping forward and lifting her. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"
Cayla blinked. It took her a fraction of a second to recognize him.
Governor Rafael Leviste.
Of course, she recognized him. She had seen his face on posters, on several news channels, in interviews, and in election campaigns. He was a powerful man with an even more powerful network. But what was he doing in this part of town?
"I'm fine," Cayla responded quickly, brushing the dust off her pants as she snapped out of her trance. "I wasn't looking." She knew better than to blame the governor for her misfortune.
"You are not to blame for my driver's mistake. You shouldn't blame yourself," the governor said with a frown etched on his features. "Are you headed to work?" He asked softly as his frown receded.
"I'm headed for an interview," she replied.
His eyes shifted as he appraised her. "You want to work in the city?"
"Hopefully," she said, backing away slightly. "I need to go. Thank you, Governor."
"Wait—"
But she was already rushing back toward her house, her tense mind spiraling once again. He stood there for a moment, trying to get a read on her. There was something about her that felt so familiar, and he couldn't just place it.
Her bruised elbow throbbed, and her once neatly washed and ironed blouse had caught a streak of dust from the pavement. The day was not going how she had envisioned it, and she had not even left her neighborhood yet. She looked at her watch and swore under her breath.
6:30 AM.
Traffic will be murder. And now she had to change. The only thing she was grateful for was that she had prepared a backup shirt. A habit she had been forced to pick up when her siblings decided it would be fun, ruining her clothes the night before she needed them. She was stranded once before an important school event and swore never to let it happen again. They had stopped over the years, but it was now a habit engraved in her.
She burst through the front door like a storm, startling both Cara and her mom, who were cleaning up the table after breakfast, but she didn't stop to explain. She had already picked up her backup blouse and was tugging it on. She splashed cold water on her face and fixed her hair with trembling fingers.
Sonia and Cara started with curiosity and concern, while the twins threw curious glances and made mocking faces.
"Cayla?" Sonia called concern etched her tone, making Cayla look back and respond.
"I was almost run over by a car," she muttered. "I'm okay. I just—I need to go. Now."
"You seem to be having random brushes with death lately. Did Prince Charming save you again? Cara queried.
Cayla was too busy to respond as she was already rushing out the door. Sonia smacked Cara's head slightly and called out to her daughter.
"Take the bus by the corner!" Her mother called out as Cayla rushed down the street again, clutching her bag tightly to her chest.
It was already sweltering when she eased herself into the back of the bus filled with office workers, students, and parents with their kids who clung to their breakfast buns. The minutes crawled by agonizingly slowly as she checked her watch every few seconds.
7:42 AM One gridlock interception after the other.
Then 8:00 AM. Horns blasting.
Then 8:05 AM. Another gridlock, interception, and blasting horns. She sighed in dejection.
Then 8:30.
Her interview was 9:00 AM sharp.
"I can't be late. I can't."
By the time she got off the bus in the city, her neatly pressed blouse was slightly wrinkled from the ride, and her nerves stretched to the point of snapping. She sprinted the last four blocks to Arison Tower, her low heels pounding heavily against the pavement like warning drums.
The massive building loomed ahead. It was all blue glass and steel tower, its name carved in gold on the side like it belonged to a legend. She could barely catch her breath as she stood in front of it. She looked so small in comparison to the massive glass tower looming before her.
Two security guards watched her tiny form approach, one raising an eyebrow as she stepped onto the pristine marble floor of the lobby.
"Good morning," she panted, pushing damp strands of hair from her face. "Cayla Hart, I—I have an interview. Management Training Program."
The guard checked the list on his clipboard and nodded. 26th floor. Elevator to your left."
"Thank you," she said as she headed toward the elevator. She pressed the button and waited. Waited. She kept waiting.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
She sighed in relief as the elevator doors opened with a whisper, and she slipped inside, her reflection staring back at her, polished and refined. She took deep, calming breaths, adjusted her blouse, and wiped a smudge of mascara from her face.
"You are not the girl from the suburbs."
"You are the girl from Cape, and you belong here.
The elevator doors slid open again, and she stepped out onto a floor that smelled like what she knew Success should smell like. Cold air conditioning, fresh paint, and expensive wood polish. A woman with a tablet greeted her at the reception area.
"Name?" She asked with a professional tone.
"Cayla Hart."
The woman nodded. You're just in time. Please wait by Conference Room B. The panel will call you in shortly."
Cayla sat on one of the sleek leather cushions outside the Conference Room that was still made of glass. Her knees bounced ever so slightly. Seated across from her was a man in a tailored navy suit who tapped away at his phone absentmindedly. By his side was a woman with glossy hair and red-bottomed heels who smiled politely at her. It was the kind of smile that said, "I hope you do well, but not better than me."
Cayla smiled back hesitantly, although intimidated by the people she saw. What she was wearing was rags in comparison to their tailored apparel.
Cayla clenched her fists, then opened them again. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath when the appearance of a certain man flashed in her mind.
Where was Adrian?
Strangely, in her moment of panic, it was his calm and soothing presence she craved. She hadn't seen him since the street. She half-expected him to appear any second. With a clipboard in hand, nodding affirmatively as if the universe had made a decision she was not aware of. She had no idea why her mind wandered to him at this very moment.
But he never came.
At 9:07, her name was called.
She stood up, smothered her blouse, and walked through the glass door into the lion's den — heart pounding, hands steady, determination written in every step.
It was time to show them what she was made of.