The sweet melodies of morning birds pulled me out of a dream. I stretched, blinking at the sunlight filtering through the window. As I opened it, my eyes immediately found the towering structure of Jay Enterprises, rising proudly in the heart of the CBD. I whispered a quiet prayer.
Please, let me get this job. Let this be the chance that changes everything—for me and my brother.
The thought of him made my chest tighten. It had been too long since we last spoke. I missed his voice, his annoying jokes, even his lectures. I reached for my phone and called him. It rang. Once. Twice. No answer. Disappointed, I sighed.
I just wanted to hear him say, "You've got this, Emma."
I shook off the feeling and went straight into prep mode. Today wasn't just another interview. This one mattered.
I wore my best outfit—a crisp white blouse tucked into a sleek, well-ironed pencil skirt that hugged my curves just right. Not to brag, but puberty had been generous. I had that classic hourglass shape, and people noticed. I didn't have time to admire myself in the mirror though—I quickly made some cereal, ate in haste, and ran out to catch a taxi.
As the cab drew closer to Jay Enterprises, my stomach twisted in knots. My heart pounded violently, as if trying to escape my chest. If this didn't work out, I'd have no choice but to pack my bags and return to my hometown. Manhattan was chewing through my savings like fire through dry grass, and I didn't have many months left.
A taxi finally pulled up.
"Jay Enterprises, please," I said, slipping inside.
"Alright, miss," the driver replied.
He hit the gas, and the engine's growl only made my anxiety worse. It felt like an earthquake was brewing inside my chest—if it erupted, all of Manhattan would crumble. Just as I was beginning to calm my nerves, the traffic came to a painful halt.
"Driver, can't you go any faster?"
"Sorry, ma'am. Heavy traffic. Nothing we can do but wait."
Great. Just great. I sat, tapping my foot anxiously until, finally, the congestion began to ease. Relief washed over me.
But my joy was short-lived.
A loud crash sounded ahead. The car jerked to a stop.
"Seems there's been an accident up front. We can't go through this road. Should I take a different route?"
I glanced at my watch. Panic clenched my chest. I couldn't afford another delay.
"No, it's fine. I'll walk from here. Thank you!"
"All the best, young lady," he called as I climbed out. I liked to think he meant it—not just out of courtesy, but perhaps because I reminded him of his daughter.
I ran like hell.
I wasn't just fighting time—I was fighting fate. This had to be the day everything changed.
I burst through the company doors, ignoring the sleek architecture and luxurious decor. Straight to the receptionist.
"Good morning, how can I help you?" she asked politely.
"My name is Emma Stone. I'm here for the secretary interview."
"You're number four. Head to the second floor—just take the elevator. Others are already waiting."
I nodded and stepped into the elevator. When the doors opened, I was greeted by the most elegant waiting area I'd ever seen. The chairs looked too fancy to sit on, like they belonged in a museum. I perched carefully on the edge of one and tried to calm myself. My shirt clung slightly to my back—running had made me sweat.
One by one, candidates went in and came out with grim expressions. Were the questions that bad?
Then, finally, it happened.
"Number four, Emma Stone—you may now enter."
I stood up with shaky confidence, smoothed my skirt, and took a step forward—and crashed.
My heel snapped and I fell hard.
Gasps echoed around the room. Some people looked concerned. Others? They were smirking. Pathetic, their faces said.
But in that moment, I saw my family's faces in my mind, all smiling at me, cheering me on. That vision gave me strength. I took off my good shoe, broke its heel to match, and walked proudly into the interview room as if nothing had happened.
Inside, the room fell silent. Everyone stared at my shoes. I ignored them.
And then, I saw him—Alexander Allan. The coldest pair of eyes I'd ever met. This had to be the infamous CEO.
Two could play this game.
I straightened my shoulders and smiled.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Emma Stone."
"Good morning, Miss Stone," one of the panelists said. "Please have a seat."
I sat with practiced grace, ignoring the chilly stare burning into me. My heart thudded, but I kept my expression calm.
The questions started—background, experience, skills. Then he spoke.
"So, Miss Stone... With all your so-called qualifications, what exactly do you bring to this company?" His voice was cold. Provocative.
"Well, that depends, sir."
"Depends? What do you mean? Be clear."
"I mean," I began carefully, "my role is to manage my employer's schedule. So, the value I bring depends largely on how demanding or efficient my employer is."
He interrupted again, scoffing. "You think a mere secretary contributes to a company's prosperity?"
This time, I didn't let him finish.
"Yes, sir. A secretary's efficiency reflects directly on their boss's productivity. If my employer is hardworking, I'll ensure his time is managed down to the second. If he's lazy… then I suppose I'll have nothing to organize at all."
"How dare—"
"That's enough, Mr. Allan," an elderly panelist cut in. "Our time with Miss Stone is up."
I rose, gave a polite nod, and walked toward the door, heels still broken, head still high.
And then I saw it—a massive screen near the exit. The waiting room. It had been recording everything. Which meant… they saw the fall.
Kill me now.
I left quickly, returned to my apartment—my tiny, beloved shoebox—and dialed my best friend.
"Amber, I need a girls' night. You, Brittany, and pizza. Please."
"You read my mind. We're already heading to your place. Brittany's got questions."
When they arrived, they didn't even greet me before bombarding me with laughter and questions.
"You fell? In front of everyone? Girl, you're insane!" Amber howled.
I told them everything—heels, the CEO, even the insult about apes.
"Handsome or not, that man's got issues," Amber said.
"He's not that bad," Brittany countered. "I'd still marry him."
I rolled my eyes. Brittany had a thing for emotionally unavailable men.
"Let's hit the club," Amber said suddenly. "You need a drink."
"But don't you have salon clients tomorrow?"
"That's why I hired Mary. Let's go."
We didn't know it then, but that night, fate wasn't done with me. The devil himself had seen us enter the club… and chaos was just beginning.