Chapter Three:
(Chloe's POV)
The morning of the interview, I barely slept.
Eli had another coughing spell around midnight, and by the time he finally drifted off, I was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at my reflection in the dark window. My coffee had gone cold hours ago.
"Just breathe," I whispered to myself.
It didn't help. My heart was still racing.
I hadn't been inside a corporate building in years. My last few jobs were small freelance design gigs, café logos, and a children's book illustration that never got published. The idea of walking into Titan Holdings felt like walking into another universe.
Still, I needed this.
I pulled my only clean blazer from the back of the closet. It was a little too big on the shoulders, a little too small at the waist, but it would do. I tied my hair back and touched up the makeup under my eyes. The woman in the mirror didn't look like a confident designer. She looked like a single mother pretending to have everything under control.
Eli stirred as I grabbed my portfolio. "You'll be okay with Aunt Maya for a few hours?" I whispered, brushing his hair from his forehead.
He nodded sleepily, his small hand clutching mine. "You're gonna get the job, Mommy."
My throat tightened. "I hope so, baby."
The city was already awake when I stepped outside. Cars honked, heels clicked, and the air carried that sharp winter chill that made you feel both alive and small.
Titan Holdings towered above everything fifty stories of glass and ambition. The logo glinted silver in the morning sun, the same crest that had haunted my dreams.
I hesitated at the revolving doors. My reflection stared back at me nervous, fragile, pretending to belong.
Inside, everything gleamed. Marble floors. Gold trim. People in tailored suits moving with purpose.
A receptionist smiled politely. "Good morning. Appointment?"
"Chloe Carter," I said, trying to sound steady. "Interview for the Junior designer position."
She checked her screen, nodded, and handed me a visitor badge. "Take the elevator to the top floor. Mr. Sinclair will see you shortly."
When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into a space that looked like a magazine spread open, with windows, white walls, and the city sprawling endlessly beyond.
Roy Sinclair sat behind a wide glass desk, dark suit sharp against the morning light, every inch the man in those photographs controlled, commanding, unreadable.
He didn't look up right away. He was reading something on his tablet, one hand resting against his chin.
For a second, I almost turned around. Walked out. Pretended I had the wrong office.
Then he spoke.
"Miss Carter?"
The voice. The same deep tone that had once told me, Maybe I'm the first one to mean it.
My throat went dry. "Yes. Thank you for seeing me."
He finally looked up.
Gray eyes. The same storm-colored gray I'd memorized without meaning to.
But they didn't flicker with recognition. Not even a spark.
He gestured toward the chair across from him. "Please, sit."
I did, trying not to fidget.
He glanced at my résumé. "I see you studied fashion design at Parsons?"
"Yes," I managed. "I'm finishing my final portfolio remotely this year. I had to take some time off."
He nodded once. "Your samples are impressive."
"Thank you."
"I like the focus on structure and detail. It's rare these days. Most young designers chase trends; you seem to understand form."
That was the way he spoke, low and thoughtful, which pulled something deep in my chest.
"Form is what lasts," I said quietly before I could stop myself.
His eyes lifted to mine. Something flickered there confusion, maybe familiarity gone in an instant.
"You've worked in catering as well?" he asked, flipping the page.
I froze. My breath caught. "Yes, part-time. Just to keep things steady."
His pen paused above the paper. His tone softened, just slightly. "There's no shame in that. Work is work."
For a heartbeat, the air changed, and an invisible thread connected something long buried.
He leaned back in his chair. "Tell me, Miss Carter, what makes you want to work for Titan Holdings?"
My pulse stuttered. Of all questions.
"I…." I began, then caught myself. Be honest, I thought. But not too honest.
"I've followed Titan's creative division for years," I said carefully. "You take risks. You don't just sell clothes you build stories around them. That's what I want to be part of." I did some research so I lied
He studied me quietly. The weight of his gaze made it hard to breathe.
"Stories," he repeated. "That's not an answer I hear often."
"I think stories are what make people remember you," I said softly. "The right design doesn't just change how you look. It changes how you feel."
Something shifted behind his eyes that flickered again, that sense that he almost knew.
But then the mask slid back in place. "Interesting perspective."
He stood, signaling the interview was nearly over. "We'll be in touch."
I rose, clutching my folder. My knees felt weak.
I turned toward the door. My hand was on the knob when I heard him call softly, "Have we met before?"
I froze.
Every cell in my body went still.
Slowly, I looked back. He wasn't smiling, but his brow furrowed slightly, as if searching through memories that refused to surface.
My mouth went dry. "I… don't think so."
He studied me for one more heartbeat, then nodded once. "Hmm. Must be mistaken."
I forced a small, polite smile and stepped out.
The door closed behind me with a quiet click, and my chest finally loosened.