The drive to the office felt like an everlasting journey to me.
Everything inside me was restless—my fingers, my legs, even my breathing. The air in the car was cool, calm, but my chest was hot with worry.
Maybe it was because I was sitting beside Dave, who kept stealing glances at me, pretending to stare out the window whenever I turned my head slightly.
Or maybe I was just overthinking everything—
Did I overdress?
Was I too simple?
Was the gown too plain?
I didn't know.
It was just a simple gown… but why did both brothers look at me like I transformed overnight?
The car rolled through the city and finally slowed in front of a massive building—so tall it seemed to touch the sky. My eyes widened as I read the inscription in bold silver letters:
"JOHNSONS GLOBAL ENTERPRISE."
It glowed like it owned the entire street.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
So… this is their company.
My heart beat wildly. The place was enormous—people in sleek corporate clothes rushed in and out, some holding files, some answering calls, some walking with intimidating confidence.
Everything screamed… power.
Before I could fully take it in, a man in a suit ran toward our vehicle. He almost slipped but caught himself and quickly opened the front door for Mr. Thompson.
"Good morning, sir," the man said breathlessly.
Thompson stepped out without acknowledging him, eyes fixed on his phone. The man hurriedly took his suitcase and followed behind him like a shadow.
I was still processing all this when the back door on my side opened gently.
I turned—
It was Dave.
Opening the door… for me.
I froze.
No one had ever done that for me before.
Not politely. Not gently.
Not like I was someone that mattered.
I stepped out carefully, trying not to look overwhelmed, even though everything inside me was screaming in awe.
Dave walked beside me as we followed Thompson toward the main entrance. My heart was beating too loudly. I hoped no one heard it.
The entrance alone looked like something from a movie—shiny glass doors, large marble floors, and two giant flower vases on each side. The moment we walked in, cool air blew across my face, carrying the smell of expensive furniture polish and lavender.
The walls were so white and clean that I was scared to breathe too close to them.
They had cleaners everywhere—polishing tables, dusting plant leaves, arranging magazines.
The environment was spotless.
Even my footsteps sounded too loud for a place like this.
We entered an elevator with silver buttons and a digital screen. As it began to rise, I saw the reflection of my nervous face in the shiny walls.
Dave noticed and gave me a soft smile, like he wanted to reassure me but didn't know what words to use.
After what felt like ten floors up, the elevator stopped and opened into an even more beautiful space.
This floor looked special—quiet, carpeted, exclusive.
The walls were decorated with framed photos of Mr. Thompson—at business conferences, shaking hands with international investors, speaking on fancy stages. He looked so important in every picture.
Just a few steps ahead, another man in a suit opened a large glass door the moment he saw Thompson approaching.
We stepped into a huge office—bigger than any living room I had ever seen.
A massive table sat at the center, neat and shiny, with files arranged in perfect order.
Two expensive chairs sat across from it.
Thompson walked straight to his seat without looking at anyone. He dropped his phone, leaned back, and rubbed his forehead like he had the world sitting on his head.
Dave nudged me gently and gestured for me to sit.
I sat in the chair in front of Thompson.
Dave sat beside me.
Thompson flipped through some files, pretending to focus, but I could feel his eyes sneaking in my direction.
Then finally, he looked up fully.
His gaze paused on me—
Not in a bad way,
Not in a strange way—
But in a way that said even he wasn't expecting me to look the way I did.
He stared for some seconds, his eyebrows lowering slightly as if trying to understand something.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Welcome to my company, Chant."
I smiled politely.
"Hope you're okay? Do you care for some coffee?"
I opened my mouth to refuse—
But before the word 'no' could even come out properly, the door opened and a lady in a sharp black skirt suit walked in gracefully.
She pushed a small tray with three cups of coffee and served each of us without being told.
Her movements were so neat and professional.
One cup for Thompson.
One for me.
One for Dave.
Thompson didn't waste time. He took a sip immediately.
Dave lifted his own cup and tilted his head slightly at me, giving a signal:
Drink. Don't be shy.
I nodded and took a small sip.
The coffee was surprisingly sweet.
For a few minutes, the office was quiet.
No sound except the ticking of a small golden clock on Thompson's table.
I wondered if this was normal—this silence.
Or maybe we were supposed to finish our coffee before anything started.
Then Thompson grabbed his phone and made a call. I didn't really catch the details because I was trying to calm my nerves.
Some minutes later, the door opened again.
This time, it wasn't another corporate staff.
A lady walked in wearing a beautiful white gown and high heels that clicked perfectly on the marble floor.
Her makeup was flawless—eyeshadow blended smoothly, lips shining, hair styled in soft waves.
She looked elegant.
Like someone that belonged in magazines.
She smiled warmly when she saw me.
Thompson gestured toward me.
"Miss Clara, this is Chantel—our model."
My heart jumped.
Our model.
The word sounded too big for me.
Miss Clara stepped closer and gave me a genuine, admiring smile.
"She's really beautiful," Clara said, still looking at me. Her voice was playful and warm.
Clara turned and nodded at Thompson with a friendly expression before returning her eyes to me.
"Chant, this is Miss Clara—our makeup artist and designer. She will take care of everything about your look today."
I stood and greeted her quietly.
She returned my greeting politely, her smile never fading.
"Miss Chantel, we need to go now," she said gently.
"My studio is the next door after Mr. Thompson's office. Come with me."
I nodded and followed her, my heart beating faster with every step.
As the door closed behind us, I heard Thompson speak softly in the office:
"She really looks different today."
Dave responded quietly:
"Yes… she does."
Thompson hummed thoughtfully.
"Okay. Let's move into the partnerships."
Then the sound of business talk began as we walked away.