Sophie's POV
The eviction notice arrived on a Tuesday morning, three weeks after I walked out of that hotel suite.
You have seventy-two hours to vacate the premises, the building manager said, not meeting my eyes. Mr. Sterling owns this building. He's invoking the clause about immediate family emergencies.
I stared at the paper in my hands. Marcus didn't just destroy my job and reputation—now he was taking my apartment too.
I've been paying rent on time, I said numbly.
It's legal, miss. I'm sorry. He actually did look sorry. His family owns half the buildings in this neighborhood. You might want to look in Brooklyn.
Rachel found me two hours later, surrounded by boxes, crying into my last bottle of wine.
That's it, Rachel said, grabbing her phone. You're moving in with me. Today. Right now.
Your apartment is tiny
And you're my best friend. Pack your stuff. We're getting you out of this bastard's building.
By nightfall, my entire life fit into Rachel's closet. Literally. She'd converted her walk-in closet into a bedroom—a mattress on the floor, room for exactly one person if they didn't mind being unable to stretch their arms.
It's perfect, I lied, staring at my new reality.
It's temporary, Rachel corrected. Until you get back on your feet.
That was three weeks ago. Since then, I'd sent out sixty-two job applications and received sixty-two rejections.
My phone buzzed with another email. I didn't even need to open it to know what it said. They all said the same thing in different words: Thanks, but no thanks.
Another one? Rachel asked from the kitchen.
Morgan Stanley this time. I deleted the email without reading it. That's every major firm in Manhattan. Marcus's father must have called them all
What about outside finance? You have an MBA from Columbia
With a reference from Sterling & Associates saying I'm a thief. I laughed bitterly. Nobody wants to hire someone accused of stealing client files, even if the charges were dropped.
Because Marcus had been smart. He'd made accusations, spread rumors, destroyed my reputation—then withdrew everything before I could prove my innocence. Now I just looked like the girlfriend who got dumped and cried wolf.
My mother's latest text sat unread: Victoria's bridal shower is next month. She specifically asked for you to come. It would mean a lot to her.
I blocked the number. That made five family members blocked in three weeks.
You need a win, Rachel said, sitting beside me on her tiny couch. Something to prove you're more than Marcus Sterling's ex.
I need a miracle.
My laptop pinged with a new email. I almost didn't check it, probably just another rejection.
But the subject line made my heart stop: Interview Request - Ross Industries.
Rachel. My voice came out as a whisper. Rachel, look at this.
She grabbed my laptop and her eyes went wide. Ross Industries? THE Ross Industries? How did you even apply there?
I didn't. I mean, I did, but that was two weeks ago. I thought they'd rejected me already.
The email was brief: Ms. Mitchell, we reviewed your application for the Strategic Planning Associate position and would like to schedule an interview. Are you available this Friday at 10 AM? Please confirm at your earliest convenience.
This is it, Rachel breathed. Sophie, this is your shot. Ross Industries is huge—if you get this job, Marcus's blacklist won't matter anymore.
My hands shook as I typed a response: Yes, I'm available. Thank you for this opportunity.
The reply came within minutes: Excellent. Please bring your resume and be prepared to discuss your corporate strategy experience. The interview will be with our HR director and potentially Mr. Ross himself, schedule permitting.
Mr. Ross, I whispered. Damien Ross. The CEO.
Rachel was already pulling up articles. Let me see what we're working with here.
She turned her laptop toward me. The search results showed dozens of business articles, but very few photos. Damien Ross was notoriously private—no social media, rarely photographed, never gave personal interviews.
The few images available showed a tall man in expensive suits, always photographed from a distance or with his face partially turned. In one photo, he stood in front of Ross Industries headquarters, but shadows obscured his features.
He's like a ghost, Rachel said. Thirty-two years old, built the company from almost nothing after his parents died, known for being brilliant and absolutely ruthless. They call him the 'Ice King of Manhattan' because nobody's ever seen him lose his cool.
I studied the blurry photos, trying to make out his face. Something about his posture seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it.
Says here he's never been publicly linked to anyone romantically, Rachel continued reading. There were rumors about an engagement years ago, but nothing confirmed. He keeps his personal life completely private.
Probably smart, I muttered. People are terrible.
Hey. Rachel grabbed my hand. You're going to nail this interview. You're brilliant, Sophie. You graduated top of your class. You saved Sterling & Associates three major accounts before Marcus destroyed you. Any company would be lucky to have you.
Tell that to the sixty-two companies that rejected me.
Those companies are run by cowards who listen to Marcus Sterling's daddy. Damien Ross doesn't strike me as the type who cares what old money says. She squeezed my hand harder. This is different. I can feel it.
I wanted to believe her. But after three weeks of rejection and betrayal, hope felt dangerous.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I practiced interview questions in the dark, trying to sound confident instead of desperate.
Why did you leave your previous position?
Because my ex-fiancé's father fired me for catching his son cheating. Professional answer: I'm seeking new challenges and growth opportunities.
What's your biggest weakness?
Trusting people who destroy me. Professional answer: I can be too detail-oriented, but I'm working on balancing perfectionism with efficiency.
Around 2 AM, exhaustion finally pulled me under.
And I dreamed about him.
Silver-gray eyes watching me with an intensity that stole my breath. Strong hands gentle on my face, in my hair, tracing patterns on my skin. His voice rough with emotion: You're incredible. Don't let anyone make you forget that.
I woke up gasping, my body aching for something, someone, I'd never have again.
Three weeks since that night, and I still felt his touch like a ghost against my skin. Still heard his voice in quiet moments. Still wondered if he'd found me, if he was looking, if that text had been real or if I'd imagined it in my desperate hope for connection.
Stop it, I whispered to myself in the darkness. He's gone. Move on.
But moving on felt impossible when every night brought dreams of silver-gray eyes and hands that had held me like I mattered.
I got up and made coffee at 3 AM, then spent the next four hours researching Ross Industries. Revenue streams, recent acquisitions, market position, competitive threats. By the time Rachel woke up, I had three pages of notes and a strategy presentation ready just in case.
You're insane, Rachel said, seeing my research. The interview isn't until Friday. It's only Wednesday.
I need to be perfect. This is my last chance, Rachel. If I don't get this job— My voice broke.
You'll get it. Rachel hugged me tight. And then you'll show Marcus and everyone else exactly what they lost.
Friday morning, I put on my only professional suit—navy blue, slightly worn at the elbows, but clean and pressed. Rachel had stayed up late helping me iron out every wrinkle.
You look amazing, she said as I got ready to leave. Confident. Capable. Like someone who belongs in a corner office.
I look like someone who's one bad interview away from a complete breakdown, I corrected.
Same thing in corporate America. She kissed my cheek. Now go show Damien Ross what you're made of. And if he doesn't hire you, he's an idiot.
I rode the subway into Manhattan, watching the city wake up around me. Somewhere in this maze of steel and glass was my future, if I could just convince one man to take a chance on me.
The Ross Industries building towered over Fifth Avenue, all gleaming glass and sharp angles. I stood on the sidewalk, staring up at forty-five floors of power and success.
This was it. My last chance.
I walked through the revolving doors and gave my name to security.
Ms. Mitchell for a 10 AM interview, the guard said into his phone. Then to me: Take the elevator to the fifteenth floor. HR will meet you there.
My hands shook as I pressed the button. The elevator climbed, and with each floor, my anxiety grew. What if I wasn't good enough? What if they'd already heard Marcus's lies? What if—
The doors opened.
A warm-faced woman in her fifties greeted me. Sophie Mitchell? I'm Linda Chen, Director of Human Resources. Welcome to Ross Industries.
We shook hands, and she led me to a conference room. For the next hour, Linda asked questions about my experience, my goals, my approach to strategy. I answered honestly, confidently, letting my knowledge shine through.
This is excellent, Linda said finally. You're exactly what we're looking for. I'd like to offer you the position pending final approval from Mr. Ross.
My heart soared. Really?
Really. Mr. Ross reviews all strategic hires personally, but based on your interview, I can't imagine he'll have any concerns. She smiled warmly. Welcome to Ross Industries, Sophie. We're lucky to have you.
I left the building floating on air. I'd done it. Actually done it. After sixty-two rejections and three weeks of hell, I'd gotten the job.
I called Rachel from the street. I got it! Linda basically offered me the position on the spot!
I KNEW IT! Rachel screamed into the phone. I'm so proud of you! When do you start?
She said pending final approval from the CEO, but it sounds like a formality. She's going to call Monday with details.
We're celebrating tonight. Wine, pizza, and watching you delete all those rejection emails.
I laughed for the first time in weeks. Real laughter that came from joy instead of bitterness. That sounds perfect.
That night, Rachel and I got tipsy on cheap wine and made a list of everything I'd accomplish at Ross Industries. Big goals. Ambitious goals. Prove-everyone-wrong goals.
You're going to be amazing, Rachel said, already slurring slightly. And Damien Ross is going to promote you so fast that Marcus Sterling will choke on his trust fund.
I raised my glass. To new beginnings.
To leaving terrible men in the past where they belong.
We drank, and for the first time since that engagement party disaster, I felt like maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay.
I had no idea that Monday morning, I'd walk into Ross Industries for my first day and discover that the past I was trying to leave behind was about to collide with my future in the most impossible way.
No idea that the stranger I'd spent three weeks dreaming about was the CEO whose approval stood between me and my fresh start.
No idea that in seventy-two hours, those silver-gray eyes would look at me across a boardroom and everything I thought I knew about my new life would shatter.
But that night, drunk on hope and cheap wine, I let myself believe in second chances.
I let myself believe that the worst was behind me.
And I dreamed about a stranger's hands one last time before Monday morning changed everything forever.