The air in the room had shifted. Sharp. Thin. Every breath I took felt like I was inhaling glass.
Lucas sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable, eyes cold and distant—nothing like the boy I once knew. And yet, everything about him still echoed that boy. Just... armored now. Covered in expensive suits and polished detachment.
I swallowed the knot in my throat.
"You look... different," I said, the words small, almost fragile.
His eyes flicked to mine briefly, then dropped to the folder in front of him.
"You've been well, I hope?" I pushed again, searching for something. Anything.
He didn't answer that. Instead, he cleared his throat and turned over a printed résumé. My résumé.
"You studied business administration, worked two internships, and were a PA for a media firm for two years. Why did you leave?"
A punch to the gut would've been gentler.
He wasn't going to acknowledge it. The years. The pain. My questions.
Just business.
I blinked, forcing the tremble in my chest to quiet.
"They relocated. I couldn't move with them. Family reasons."
He nodded slightly, jotting a note. Still no reaction. No emotion. Not even anger. Just… cold indifference.
The rest of the interview passed in a blur of questions and my practiced, rehearsed answers. My back was straight. My voice steady. But inside, I was unraveling. Every time his eyes met mine, it was like staring at a locked door I no longer had a key to.
Finally, he closed the folder and leaned back, folding his hands.
"We'll contact you with our decision. Thank you for your time, Miss Sinclair."
And just like that, it was over.
I nodded, forced a smile, and stood. My legs felt like they were made of air.
As I walked out of that towering building, I didn't let myself cry. I didn't even let myself breathe. Not until the city swallowed me whole.
—
My feet carried me toward my rental apartment—an old brownstone with creaky stairs and water-stained ceilings. But it was mine. Or at least, mine for the next week before rent was due.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
I needed that job. Not for pride. Not for comfort. But survival.
There was no one left to fall back on. No safety net. Just a mess of overdue bills, half-paid debts, and dreams I could barely afford to hold onto anymore.
And now\... now he was my only chance. Lucas.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.
If he didn't want to talk—if he didn't want to resolve anything between us—I wouldn't beg. I wouldn't break.
I'd be professional. I'd earn my place.
Even if it killed me to look at him every day and not scream.
Later that night, I sat on the tiny rusted fire escape outside my window. The city pulsed beneath me—cars, sirens, life.
But I looked up instead.
At the sky. At the stars that were barely visible through New York's haze.
We used to do that. Lucas and I.
We'd sneak out and lie on his rooftop, whispering dreams to constellations, swearing we'd escape the world someday. Together.
My heart clenched.
"Do you still wish on stars, Lucas?" I whispered. "Because I don't even know if I believe in them anymore."
A gust of wind picked up, brushing against my cheeks like the ghost of a memory.
I held my knees to my chest, fingers digging into denim.
Would he give me the job?
And if he didn't… what would I do?
I had no plan B. Just the weight of the past... and the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time the universe would throw me a lifeline.