A woman with a sleek chignon and an impeccably fitted black blazer glances up from her monitor, offering a polished smile. “Welcome to Castor & Wyatt. Who are you here to see?”
“Hi. I’m Olivia Bennett,” I say. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “I’m here for the final interview for the Management Associate Program.”
She smiles. “They’ve been expecting you. Please have a seat—the partners will call you in shortly.”
I nod and turn toward the lounge area, sinking into a leather chair that probably cost more than my tuition.
I belong here too,I remind myself. I made it this far. No matter what happens, I’ve proven something—to them, to myself.
But as I wait, my thoughts drift back to Nathaniel. To his voice, trembling when he begged me not to leave him. To the promise I made—that I’d come back to him tonight. And I will.
I just hope I’ll have the strength to look him in the eye when I do.
“Miss Bennett?” a voice calls gently.
I look up and see another perfectly put-together employee with a clipboard tucked under one arm and a pleasant, impersonal smile.
“Right this way,” he says.
I rise to my feet, smoothing down my skirt, and follow him through a sleek corridor into a room that exudes quiet power—dark walnut panels, minimalist décor, wide windows that flood the space with cold, natural light. It feels invasively open. Exposed.
The partners rise from their seats as I enter, introducing themselves as Mr. Hudson and Ms. Spencer. They’re poised, impeccably dressed, their eyes sharp with the kind of experience that doesn’t miss a thing. I greet them calmly, shaking handswith practiced ease, but I can already feel the weight of their scrutiny. They don’t waste time.
The questions begin, swift and sharp. Market strategy. Crisis management. Cross-border operations. I draw from my internships, class projects, team conflicts—all the hours I spent preparing start to pay off. I find my footing. My voice steadies. I lean into my training.
Bit by bit, I start to feel like myself again. Not Nathaniel’s Olivia. Just me. Focused. Capable. I tell myself that I’ve earned this.
But then, something shifts.
Ms. Spencer closes the folder in front of her with a soft snap. Her smile is pleasant. “We’ve heard great things about you,” she says.
I nod politely, even as confusion prickles at the edge of my mind.
“And we always admire candidates who come with such strong recommendations,” she adds.
Before I can speak, Mr. Hudson leans in slightly. “Especially when those recommendations come from someone as esteemed as Mr. Caldwell. He spoke very highly of you.”
My stomach turns. My skin flushes hot, then cold.Nathaniel intervened.
I don’t know when he did it. Before the fight? After? Was this his idea of support or control? Either way, he broke the unspoken agreement.
But I school my expression. “That’s very…generous of him,” I say, voice even.
Ms. Spencer seems satisfied. “It’s not often we receive such strong endorsements—especially from someone of his standing.”
Of course not.I feel the weight of it settle in my chest like a stone. Nathaniel Caldwell’s word isn’t just persuasive—it’s final.His reach extends everywhere, even here. Even into the room I’d hoped would be mine alone.
And now, I don’t know if I got here because of me…or because ofhim.
The rest of the interview passes in a blur of strained smiles and polished answers. I finish with dignity, thank them for their time, and leave without looking back.
In the elevator, I stare at the steel doors until my reflection sharpens into focus. The suit is perfect. The expression serene. But beneath it, I’m spiraling.
Did I ever really stand a chance on my own?
I already know who I’ll ask. And I already know he’ll have an answer.
It just might not be the one I want to hear.
