The hallway was silent except for the clicking of the woman's heels as she led me deeper into the building. Every step echoed in my ears, louder than the pounding of my heart.
She stopped before a door and pushed it open. "Inside," she said curtly, not bothering to look at me again.
I swallowed hard and stepped into the room.
It wasn't enormous, but it was intimidating. A long polished table stretched across the space, and at the far end sat two people: a middle-aged man with silver-framed glasses and a woman with her hair pulled back so tightly it looked painful. Their sharp eyes flicked up as I entered, scanning me like I was a problem to be solved—or dismissed.
"Name?" the man asked without preamble, pen poised over a clipboard.
"Elena Carter," I said quickly, my voice a little breathless.
"Age?"
"Twenty-two."
The woman leaned forward, her gaze narrowing. "Previous work experience?"
I clasped my hands together, fighting the urge to fidget. "I worked as a receptionist at a hotel for three years. Then I was promoted to concierge, where I assisted guests, gave directions, and handled complaints."
Her eyebrow arched. "Why did you leave?"
My throat tightened. The memory clawed at me—the manager's unwanted hands, the way my refusal cost me everything. But I forced a calm tone. "There was… a disagreement with management."
"Disagreement?" she pressed.
I kept my eyes steady. "Yes, ma'am. But I left on my own terms."
A pause. They exchanged a glance I couldn't read, and my stomach knotted tighter.
"What makes you think you're suited to work here?" the man asked.
For a moment, I faltered. What did make me suited? I had no fancy degree, no polished background. Just desperation. But desperation could make people work harder than privilege ever could.
I lifted my chin slightly. "I don't give up easily. I know what it means to work under pressure, to deal with difficult people, and to keep going even when I'm tired. I may not have much, but I learn fast. And I will do whatever it takes to do this job well."
The words surprised even me. They rang with a strength I hadn't expected.
The woman's gaze softened just a fraction, though her lips remained tight. The man scribbled something on his clipboard.
"You understand this is a live-in position?" he said. "You'll be required to stay at the Knight residence for extended periods, sometimes without leaving. You'll follow strict rules and confidentiality agreements. The employer values privacy above all else."
"I understand," I said firmly, even though a flicker of unease stirred inside me. Staying in a stranger's house? A billionaire's mansion? What kind of rules would they enforce?
But I couldn't back down now.
The woman set her pen down. "Very well. You'll be notified if you're shortlisted. That's all."
Dismissed.
I stood, my knees weak, and gave a small bow before leaving the room. The door clicked shut behind me, and suddenly the air in the hallway felt thin.
Had I done enough? Probably not. The other applicants were polished, confident, better dressed. Compared to them, I was just… ordinary.
I sank onto one of the waiting chairs, my shoulders heavy. Around me, a few girls whispered excitedly, convinced they had impressed the panel. My confidence shriveled.
Maybe I was foolish to hope.
Still, when the woman in navy returned to the hall an hour later, her voice cut through the room like a blade.
"The following names have been selected for the next stage."
She began to read.
"Clara Benson. Rachel Myers. Olivia Grant. Daniel Hughes."
Gasps and murmurs filled the room. Some faces brightened with relief, others fell with disappointment. Elena's hands trembled as she pressed them together, praying she would not leave here empty-handed.
"And finally… Elena Carter."
For a heartbeat, she thought she had misheard. But the hush that fell over the room told her otherwise. Her name had been called.
Elena rose on shaky legs, her cheeks warm with disbelief.
"Congratulations," a girl beside her whispered with a small smile. Another young man gave her a polite nod.
But not every face was friendly. Rachel Myers shot her a sharp look, the kind that said you don't belong here. Olivia gave a faint scoff before turning away, as if Elena wasn't worth her time.
Elena lowered her gaze, steadying herself.
Not everyone wanted her here. But not everyone resented her either.
And that, perhaps, was enough.
This was just the beginning.