The office is cold not from the air conditioning, which hums softly in the background, but from the way it's designed to intimidate. The walls are glass spotless and pristine framed by steel beams that make the space feel more like a fortress than a workplace.
I step in slowly, my soaked heels creating an awkward squelch with each step. I tighten my grip on the folder in my hands, trying to stop my fingers from trembling. Sitting behind the glass table are two individuals: a sharply dressed man in a navy suit with steely eyes and a woman who looks like she stepped right out of a luxury advertisement with perfect hair, perfect makeup, and a gold pin gleaming on her lapel.
"Miss Ava Carter?" the man says, glancing briefly at my papers.
"Yes," I whisper, my voice cracking slightly.
The woman barely conceals her distaste as she gives me a slow once-over. Her lips are pursed, and her manicured nails tap rhythmically against the desk. I feel the heat rise in my face, wishing I could shrink into myself and vanish completely.
"We received your application," the man says. "Impressive GPA, marketing minor, journalism experience, strong references. Hmm. It seems you worked part-time through college?"
"Yes, I had to support myself," I reply, my voice gaining strength. "I worked at a bookstore and also did freelance writing online."
He nods, flipping through my papers. "Resourceful."
The woman cuts in, her tone sharp. "And yet here you are, presenting yourself like this?"
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"Look at yourself," she says with a slow, dismissive wave of her hand. "Wet clothes, unbrushed hair, no makeup. You expect to be the front-facing representative of Duckknight Enterprises dressed like that? You look like you just wandered in off the street."
My stomach drops, and my chest tightens.
"I got caught in the rain," I say quietly, humiliated.
"That's not an excuse," the woman snaps. "Our image is everything. We handle billion-dollar clients. Do you honestly believe they'd trust us with someone who looks so… unkempt?"
The silence in the room becomes unbearable.
Something inside me breaks not the kind of break that leads to tears, but the kind that turns heat into fire.
I clench my fists at my sides. "You know what?" I begin, my voice trembling but not from fear. "I didn't sleep last night. I barely had a decent outfit to wear. I borrowed heels that don't even fit me right. And yes, I got rained on. But I still came. I still showed up."
The woman's eyes widen in shock.
I step forward, fire flashing in my gaze. "You say appearance is everything? Then maybe you're not looking closely enough. If you were, you'd see someone who works harder than anyone else you'll interview today. Someone who didn't grow up with private schools and spa days and designer wardrobes someone who wants this opportunity so badly that she'd walk through a storm literally just to sit here and prove herself."
My voice rises without me realizing it. Passionate, furious, real.
"You don't know what you're losing," I say, my chest heaving. "But someday, you will."
For a moment, there is complete silence.
Then…
Clap. Clap. Clap.
I turn back to see the man in the navy suit, the one who read my file smiling.
"Now that," he says, leaning back in his chair, "is what I call spirit."
I blink, confused.
"Welcome to Duckknight Enterprises, Miss Carter," he says, extending his hand.
The woman beside him looks stunned, her mouth parted in disbelief.
"Wait…" I start, confused. "Are you serious?"
"As serious as a heart attack," he replies, shaking my hand firmly. "That's the vigor we're looking for. Someone who fights for their place. Someone real. But," he tilts his head with a knowing smirk, "you do need to show up tomorrow looking the part: clean, pressed, and ready."
I stand frozen, my heart hammering.
"I… I will. I promise."
He nods. "You'll report directly to the executive office. We'll see how long you can survive upstairs."
I turn and leave the room, stunned, floating more than walking.
As the door closes behind me, I lean against the wall in the hallway and stare at the ceiling.
Did that just happen?
My body still trembles, but it isn't from nerves anymore.
It's victory.