I stood in front of the bathroom mirror in my cramped apartment, adjusting the collar of my white shirt for the third time. A long strand of hair kept falling loose, so I tucked it behind my ear and took a breath that I tried to make steady. Today mattered. This interview was the narrow plank across the yawning pit of bills and worry; this was the chance to pull myself out of the rut my father's mistakes had made for me. I pressed my lips together and whispered to myself, You can do this.
My father was still asleep on the couch, the TV murmuring reruns into the dim room. He had grown weaker these last months, and last night had been a cruel reminder of how small our luck had grown: one too many drinks, one too many rounds lost, and a beating that left him blinking like a man remembering where pain lived. I forced myself not to think about it now. If I could secure this job, I could put food on the table and medicine in the cabinet and, maybe, start chipping away at debts that felt like chains. That thought straightened my back as I grabbed my bag and left for the bus.
The city center looked like a different planet from the bus windows, an ocean of glass and steel throwing back the morning like a dare. I clutched my bag tighter as I stepped into the Valenciaga Corporation lobby. Marble underfoot gleamed so bright it felt like walking through someone else's wealth. A chandelier hung like an accusation, scattering light over people in crisp suits: heels tapping, voices low, all the efficient motion of arteries feeding a heart that did not know hunger.
I cleared my throat at the reception desk. "Good morning. I am here for the secretary interview."
The receptionist gave me a polite smile and handed me a badge. "Take the elevator to the twenty-first floor. Someone will guide you from there."
I thanked her and squeezed into the elevator with two other applicants. They whispered, just loud enough for me to catch, little rumors that slithered into my chest.
"I heard the CEO is impossible to please," one said.
"Of course. He is young, rich, and ruthless. People say he has ruined careers in a single meeting," the other replied.
I pressed my lips together to keep from reacting. Their words sent a chill through me, but I told myself they were noise. I had survived worse than a hard boss.
When the elevator doors opened I stepped into a hallway lined with glass walls. A woman in a fitted suit approached and asked, "Vance Cavendish?"
"Yes."
"Follow me. The CEO will see you now."
"Now? I thought there would be a panel or some kind of assessment," I said, surprised.
Her expression softened only a fraction. "The CEO prefers to handle this personally."
My heart kicked its pace as she led me into an office that made the rest of the floor feel like a broom closet. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city; a sleek black desk occupied the center, and bookshelves held volumes that looked like they had been chosen for texture rather than reading. Behind the desk someone was bent over a file. When he looked up my world tilted, saline and sharp.
Nikolai Valenciaga.
For a second everything blurred. Three years had passed but there was no mistaking those dark eyes, that jaw like a blade, the intensity that made him seem carved out of winter. He was older, colder, every wispy remnant of the boy I had known in college stripped away until only an image remained, polished and dangerous.
He smiled, but the smile had no warmth. "Vance Cavendish. What an interesting surprise."
My hands went slick on my bag strap. "Nikolai... you are the CEO?"
He leaned back, eyes fixed on me as if measuring the right way to chop wood. "Did you think I would stay in college forever? Or did you not bother to wonder what became of me after you moved on?"
His words landed like punches I was still learning how to take. I swallowed. "I came for an interview. I did not know this was your company."
"Then consider yourself lucky," he said smoothly. "Because the position is yours."
I blinked. "I... I got the job?"
"Yes. Effective immediately. You will start today." He rose, his height throwing a shadow across the desk. "I do not like delays, Vance. I expect you to be useful. Sit. Take notes. Do not fall behind."
A bad feeling curled in my gut, sour and electric, but the thought of walking away with nothing made my throat raw. "But I was not prepared to start today. I have no training. I thought..."
"You thought wrong." His tone cut through whatever protest I had forming. "I do not care about excuses. If you want this job, you will do as I say. Or you can leave now, and I will make sure every other company sees your name blacklisted by tonight."
The threat dragged at my lungs like a weight. I forced myself to nod. "Fine. I will start today."
"Good. Not like you had other ways anyway." He handed me a stack of documents. "Summarize these reports by noon. Then arrange a meeting with the board for tomorrow. If you fail either task, you are out."
I took the papers and retreated to the small desk in the corner, fingers already trying to tame the words. The reports loomed with numbers and jargon that felt like a foreign language. I scribbled and erased, the lines blurring at the edges as my hands began to ache. Every so often I looked up and found him watching, the same cold scrutiny that had never allowed for error.
Hours folded into each other. My head throbbed, but I forced clarity into the summaries until the last sentence sat where it needed to. I carried the stack back across the polished floor like something fragile. "Here. I summarized them to the best of my ability."
He took the papers and scanned them, his face close to unreadable. Finally he murmured, "Not bad. You are still sloppy, though. You will stay late today to correct the errors."
My mouth opened. "Stay late? I thought—"
"You thought again. That is your mistake." He placed the reports down. "You are not here to think, Vance. You are here to follow orders."
Frustration fizzed under my control, hot and sharp. "Why are you treating me like this?"
Nikolai leaned forward, his voice thin as wire. "Because people like you deserve to know how it feels to be used and discarded. And do not pretend you are some great martyr."
His words hit like ice. Before I could answer he leaned back, cool once more. "Get back to work. You have much to prove."
I returned to my corner desk feeling smaller, my mind reeling from the man who had been someone else in a life that felt like a different street. The Nikolai I had known in college was gone; in his place sat someone who looked at me as if I were an opponent. I could not understand why, and maybe I never would. One thing was clear, brutal and simple: this was only the beginning, and my arrival at Valenciaga had just opened a door into a new kind of personal hell.