Sarah sat in the waiting room of Carter Techs' headquarters, her fingers laced tightly together in her lap as if she could physically hold herself steady. Around her, the air buzzed faintly with the muted hum of conversation and the sharp clicks of heels on the polished marble floor. Other women were there too, each one poised, confident, exuding a kind of self-assurance that Sarah felt she had misplaced somewhere along the years of her crumbling marriage.
They looked sleek, professional, polished—like women who knew exactly where they were going and had no doubt they belonged in a place like this. By comparison, Sarah felt like an impostor. Her blouse suddenly seemed too plain, her shoes too stiff, her voice—if it ever came out—too small. Doubt crawled its way through her veins like a slow poison.
[What am I even doing here? she asked herself. I don't belong in a place like this. These women… they're confident, ambitious, and driven. I've spent years just being a housewife. What could I possibly offer compared to them?]
Her instinct screamed at her to get up, to flee before she embarrassed herself. But she stayed seated. She couldn't turn back now. She'd already come this far and did want to waste Rachel's effort. Whatever happened, she would see it through to the end. Nothing more, nothing less.
While waiting, Her mind drifted back to the club, to David, to the undoing of her marriage that had brought her here. It had only been a few days since that night, but the memory clung to her skin like smoke. One very morning, she had received an email inviting her for this interview. And later, almost as if fate wanted to twist the knife deeper, the private detective she'd hired had sent her a new set of photographs.
Pictures of Lisa Hargrove.
Sarah had stared at them until her eyes burned. Lisa, smiling, smug, comfortable—wearing Sarah's clothes. Her designer handbags. Her jewelry. Even the silk scarf David had once given her on their anniversary, one she had treasured and only brought out for special occasions. All of it. Taken. All the things that were missing were actually taken by Lisa.
Sarah's throat had tightened until it was hard to breathe. It was one thing to know about David's affair, but another to see Lisa inhabiting her life—slipping so effortlessly into the spaces she once filled. And the most devastating part? David had let it happen.
For a time, Sarah had fooled herself. After that day she had met him outside his office and remembering the chaos at the club, she had wondered—just faintly, foolishly—if David was finally waking up. Maybe, just maybe, he was realizing who really mattered. When he had dragged her from the crowd into that darkened hallway, her heart had betrayed her, leaping at the thought that he might want her back. That he might fight for her.
But she should have known better. His words hadn't been tender confessions; they were accusations. His accusations were like poison tipped with rage and when he started accusing her, she had to come back to her senses, because she realised that his coming to the club obviously wasn't for business purposes and that when he saw her, he had only wanted to bring her back under his control; to him it had been about control.
She had steeled herself then, forced her voice into strength, let him see a facade of courage. She told him her mind, but deep down, every word had cracked against the longing in her chest. Because the truth—the bitter truth she couldn't admit even to herself—was that she still wanted him.
She still wanted her husband back.
But reality was merciless. One mistress after another. One betrayal following the next. No remorse. No apology. Not even the faintest promise of change. David expected her to stay silent, to swallow it whole, as if his infidelity was just another one of her wifely duties.
That night, when she finally lay in bed, her pillow damp with tears, she realized something inside her had shifted. The pain hadn't lessened, but her tolerance had. She couldn't pretend anymore.
"Sarah Cadwell?"
Her name jolted her back to the present. She stood, smoothed her skirt with trembling hands, and followed the assistant into a small, plain-looking office.
Inside sat a man—tall, neatly dressed, his posture straight, exuding a quiet but undeniable authority. There was something about him, something in the air that made her spine straighten, her nerves sparked with alertness. His aura was commanding without being harsh, and Sarah instantly felt a little smaller in his presence.
But then she looked at his face.
Her breath caught. Recognition slammed into her chest like a wave.
It was him.
The stranger from the club. The man who had stepped between her and David, shielding her when no one else dared.
For a moment, Sarah could only stare. A hundred questions flickered through her mind. What was he doing here? Why was he sitting in front of her, acting as though they had never crossed paths? Had he forgotten her face—or was he deliberately pretending not to know?
He gestured for her to sit. His eyes were professional, cold, giving away nothing.
"Let's begin," he said, his voice smooth but firm.
Sarah swallowed and nodded, her palms damp as she settled into the chair.
He opened her CV, glanced through it with sharp precision, then began asking questions.
"Why do you want to work at Carter Techs?"
She steadied her voice. "Because I'm ready to grow. I want to be somewhere that challenges me, where I can contribute meaningfully. I believe Carter Techs is a place that values excellence, and I want to be part of that."
His brow lifted, but he said nothing, moving on.
"You'll be reporting directly to the CEO. That means handling sensitive information. Can you manage confidentiality?"
Sarah's spine straightened. "Yes. I understand the importance of discretion. I've lived it. I can be trusted."
For a second, his gaze lingered on her, as if weighing the depth of her words. Then he nodded and continued.
The interview went on smoothly, her answers surprising even herself. Confidence she didn't know she had begun to slip through her, cautious but real.
At last, he closed the file. "That will be all, Mrs. Cadwell. You may wait for further response."
Sarah rose to leave, her thoughts spinning. Still, she couldn't help but wonder. Was he really just part of HR? Why act like we were strangers? Did he think I'd forgotten him, too?
Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she headed toward the door—until one stiletto wobbled beneath her.
She stumbled.
Before she could fall, strong hands caught her.
Her body collided lightly against his chest, her nostrils filling with the subtle spice of his cologne. Time seemed to freeze. Their eyes locked—three seconds, maybe less, but it felt longer, weighted with something she couldn't name.
Heat rushed to her cheeks as he helped her back to her feet, his touch steady and reassuring.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice smaller than she intended.
He only nodded, releasing her gently.
Sarah walked out of Carter Techs headquarters, her heels clicking against the pavement as the morning sun spilled across the city. Tired from the stress of the interview, inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, then she reached for her phone.
She dialed Racheal.
"Sarah!" Racheal's cheerful voice burst through the line. "How did it go? Don't keep me in suspense—tell me everything!"
Sarah let out a shaky laugh. "It went… surprisingly well, I think. I mean, I didn't stammer, I didn't forget my own name, and I managed to answer the questions without fainting."
"That's my girl." Racheal's grin was audible. "See? I told you, you're stronger than you think. So, what's got you sounding like you just swallowed a lemon?"
Sarah hesitated, biting her lip. Then the words rushed out. "Racheal, you won't believe who interviewed me. It was him."
"Him?" Racheal asked slowly, her tone sharpening. "Wait. Don't tell me—you mean the guy from the club? The one who stepped in when David was acting like a madman?"
"Yes!" Sarah hissed, ducking into a quiet corner as if people could overhear. "It was him. The stranger. Except he wasn't a stranger. He was sitting behind the desk, in a suit, asking me interview questions like we'd never met."
There was a long pause, then Racheal's laugh rang out. "Oh my God, Sarah, this is fate. The universe literally threw you into his arms twice now. Twice!"
Sarah groaned. "Racheal, this isn't funny. What if it affects my chances? What if he thinks I'm unstable, or that I'll drag my personal mess into the workplace? He probably sees me as some damsel in distress who can't keep her life together."
"Sweetheart," Racheal said, her voice softening, "the man saw your husband practically assault you, and he still treated you like a professional today. That says a lot. He's clearly not judging you the way you're judging yourself."
Sarah pressed her forehead against the cool glass of a bus stop. "But what if he is? What if he only pretended not to know me to stay professional? Maybe he's already thinking I'll be a liability."
"Or," Racheal countered firmly, "maybe he respects you more for showing up. Think about it—most women would've curled up in bed and hidden from the world after what you've gone through. But you? You got up, you put on your heels, and you walked into Carter Techs with your head held high. That's not weakness, Sarah. That's guts."
Sarah closed her eyes, the tightness in her chest easing just a little. "You really think so?"
"I know so. And besides…" Racheal's voice turned sly, teasing, "if the universe keeps throwing this man in your path, maybe it's trying to tell you something."
"Racheal!" Sarah sputtered, heat rushing to her cheeks. "This is not about romance. I just need a job."
"Mhm. Sure." Racheal chuckled. "But don't come crying to me if your mysterious knight in a tailored suit turns out to be more than just your co-worker."
Sarah shook her head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at her lips. "You're impossible."
"And you," Racheal replied warmly, "are stronger than you realize. Trust me. You've got this."
Unbeknownst to Sarah, the man who had just interviewed her was no ordinary HR official. He was none other than the CEO himself.