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The suit didn't quite fit him the way it used to.
Ethan Vale stood in front of the cracked mirror in his small apartment, fingers adjusting the knot of his tie for what felt like the tenth time. The fabric was slightly worn, the edges no longer as sharp as they once were, but it was the best he had.
His only formal outfit.
The one he had saved for "important days."
Today counted.
Or at least—
He hoped it would.
Ethan exhaled slowly, his hazel eyes scanning his reflection. Blonde hair, hastily combed but still slightly unruly. A faint crease between his brows from too many sleepless nights. The exhaustion was there—he could see it—but he tried to ignore it.
He had to.
There was no room for doubt today.
"…Just get through this," he murmured under his breath.
Not for himself.
For her.
His gaze flickered briefly to the small table near his bed, where a stack of medical bills sat, untouched but impossible to ignore.
Then he looked away.
He couldn't afford to think about that right now.
With one last adjustment to his tie, Ethan grabbed his worn bag and headed out the door.
.....
The city was already alive by the time he stepped outside.
Cars filled the streets, people rushing past in neatly pressed suits and polished shoes, their lives moving at a pace Ethan felt like he was always struggling to catch up to.
Calloway Tech Industries stood at the center of it all.
Towering.
Imposing.
Untouchable.
Ethan stopped across the street, staring up at the building for a moment longer than necessary. Its glass exterior reflected the morning light, gleaming like something out of reach—like something that didn't belong to people like him.
"…Yeah," he muttered quietly. "Definitely out of my league."
And yet—
He stepped forward.
Because turning back wasn't an option.
....
The lobby alone was enough to make him hesitate.
It was vast, clean, almost too perfect. Marble floors gleamed under the overhead lights, and the air carried a faint, expensive scent he couldn't quite place. Employees moved with purpose, their footsteps measured, their expressions focused.
Everyone looked like they belonged.
Everyone except him.
Ethan resisted the urge to tug at his sleeves as he approached the front desk, forcing his posture to remain straight.
The receptionist looked up as he arrived—a woman in her late twenties, poised and professional, her smile polite but distant.
"Good morning. How may I help you?"
Ethan cleared his throat.
"Hi, uh… I'm here about the job opening?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I saw the hiring poster outside."
Her expression shifted slightly—just a flicker of recognition.
"Ah, yes. The open position."
Her fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.
"Do you have an appointment?"
Ethan hesitated.
"…No."
A brief pause.
For a moment, he thought that would be the end of it—that she would apologize and send him away like so many others had.
But instead—
"Please wait a moment," she said, her tone still composed.
Ethan nodded, stepping aside as she made a quick call.
He stood there quietly, hands clasped loosely in front of him, trying not to draw attention to himself.
That was when he heard it.
"…He's really doing it himself?"
"Yeah. Every applicant."
Ethan's gaze shifted slightly, catching sight of two employees passing by. Their voices were low, hushed, as if they didn't want to be overheard—but not low enough.
"That's insane," one of them muttered.
"Doesn't he have better things to do?"
The other let out a soft scoff.
"You're talking about Mr. Calloway. When has he ever done things normally?"
Ethan's attention sharpened.
Calloway.
"…Still," the first one continued, "personally interviewing every applicant? That's… intense."
"Not really," the other replied. "He just doesn't trust anyone else to choose."
A beat.
"Or maybe he just likes watching people crack under pressure."
They both laughed softly, though there was no humor in it.
Ethan swallowed.
Cold.
Demanding.
Unforgiving.
That was the kind of man running this place.
"…Mr. Vale?"
Ethan turned quickly at the sound of his name.
The receptionist gestured toward him.
"You're in luck," she said. "We're still accepting applicants today. You'll be interviewed along with the others."
Relief flickered through him.
"Thank you."
She gave a small nod.
"The interviews are being held on the top floor. Please take the elevator to level thirty-two."
Ethan's chest tightened slightly.
Top floor.
Of course it was.
"And…" she added, her gaze lingering for just a moment, "you'll be interviewed directly by the CEO."
There it was.
Confirmation.
Ethan forced a small nod.
"…Got it."
....
The elevator ride felt longer than it should have.
Each floor number that lit up felt like a countdown—each second bringing him closer to something he wasn't sure he was ready for.
He shifted his weight slightly, his reflection staring back at him from the mirrored walls.
"You'll be fine," he muttered quietly.
The elevator dinged.
The doors slid open.
And suddenly—
There was no turning back.
The waiting area was already full.
Ethan paused just outside, taking in the sight of neatly dressed applicants seated in a row, all of them looking far more prepared than he felt.
Some reviewed documents.
Others whispered among themselves.
A few simply sat in silence, their expressions tense.
Ethan exhaled slowly and stepped inside.
He found an empty seat near the middle and sat down, placing his bag at his feet.
His hands rested on his knees, fingers tapping lightly in an unconscious rhythm.
He tried to stay calm.
Tried to steady his thoughts.
But it wasn't easy.
Not when every person in the room looked like they belonged here more than he did.
"First time?"
The voice caught him off guard.
Ethan turned slightly, his gaze meeting a woman who had just taken the seat beside him.
She smiled.
Warm.
Friendly.
A stark contrast to the cold tension in the room.
"…Yeah," Ethan admitted. "That obvious?"
She laughed softly.
"Just a little."
Her eyes were kind, observant.
"I'm Clara Whitmore," she said, offering her hand.
Ethan hesitated for only a second before shaking it.
"Ethan Vale."
"Nice to meet you, Ethan."
There was something easy about her presence—something that made the air feel a little less suffocating.
"So," Clara continued, leaning back slightly in her seat, "what made you apply here?"
Ethan shrugged lightly.
"Needed a job."
She raised an eyebrow.
"That's it?"
"…Pretty much."
Clara studied him for a moment, then smiled again.
"Honest. I like that."
Ethan huffed a quiet breath.
"What about you?"
"Oh, me?" she said, tilting her head slightly. "I actually have experience in corporate administration. Thought I'd try my luck here."
"'Try your luck,'" Ethan repeated. "That's one way to put it."
She laughed.
"Hey, no harm in aiming high, right?"
Ethan didn't answer right away.
Because for him—
There was harm.
There was risk.
There was everything riding on this.
"…Yeah," he said finally. "I guess not."
....
Time passed slower than expected.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the tension in the room rising with every name that was called.
One by one—
Applicants stood.
Walked through the doors.
And didn't come back.
Clara filled the silence with easy conversation.
"So," she said at one point, glancing at him, "are you nervous?"
Ethan let out a quiet breath.
"…Yeah."
"Same," she admitted. "Though I heard he's… intense."
"That's one word for it."
She leaned in slightly.
"I heard he once rejected someone in under a minute."
Ethan blinked.
"…You're joking."
"I wish I was."
He let out a low whistle.
"Great. That's reassuring."
Clara grinned.
"Hey, look on the bright side—at least it'll be quick if we fail."
Ethan huffed a small laugh despite himself.
"You're weirdly optimistic."
"Someone has to be."
Another name was called.
Another person left.
The room grew quieter.
Heavier.
Ethan's leg bounced slightly, his nerves beginning to show despite his efforts to stay composed.
Clara noticed.
"You'll be fine," she said gently.
He glanced at her.
"You don't know that."
"No," she admitted. "But you don't look like someone who gives up easily."
That caught him off guard.
"…What makes you say that?"
She shrugged.
"Just a feeling."
Ethan looked away.
If only she knew.
The door opened again.
A man stepped out this time.
Tall. Well-dressed. Expression unreadable.
The room fell silent almost instantly.
Even without being told—
Ethan knew.
This was someone important.
"Next."
The man's voice was calm, firm.
Controlled.
His gaze scanned the room briefly before settling on a list in his hand.
Ethan's chest tightened.
This was it.
The moment was here.
The man's lips parted.
And then—
"Ethan Vale."
Time seemed to stop.
Ethan's breath caught.
Beside him, Clara gave a small, encouraging smile.
"Good luck," she whispered.
Ethan stood.
His legs felt heavier than they should have, but he forced himself to move.
Step by step.
Closer to the door.
Closer to whatever waited on the other side.
His hand tightened briefly at his side.
One shot.
That's all he needed.
Just one.
He stopped in front of the man, who gave him a brief, assessing look before stepping aside.
"Mr. Calloway will see you now."
Ethan swallowed.
Then—
He stepped forward.
And walked in.
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(End of Chapter 1)