Chapter 9: The Call

By Wednesday, I was already feeling the weight of the week. Working under Richard Morgan was like standing in a storm you had to keep steady or you’d be swept away. Every day was charts, numbers, edits, rewrites. I was learning, yes, but I was also drained. 

That afternoon, the cafeteria felt like an escape. The noise, the chatter, the smell of food it reminded me I was still human. 

“Selena Monroe!” 

I turned and spotted Alia waving me over with her usual bright smile. She had a tray so full of food it was almost comical. 

“You’re alive,” she teased as I sat down. “I was starting to think Richard had locked you in his office for good.” 

I laughed weakly. “Almost. I think I’ve forgotten what sleep feels like.” 

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If you can survive Morgan’s standards, you can survive anything.” 

Her confidence in me was comforting, but then her tone shifted. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “By the way… I heard Cassandra talking.” 

My stomach tightened. “What did she say now?” 

“That you won’t last. That you only got this position because of reputation, not talent.” 

The words stung more than I wanted to admit. 

Alia shook her head, stabbing at her salad. “She’s jealous, Sel. You’re doing what she couldn’t. Don’t let her get to you.” 

I sighed, picking at my food. “She doesn’t even need to try. She always knows how to get under my skin.” 

“Then don’t let her,” Alia said firmly. Then, softening, she smiled again. “You’ve got this. And if you don’t believe in yourself, believe in me. Because I know you’re stronger than she thinks.” 

Her words were simple, but they warmed me. I felt a little steadier, like maybe I really could handle this. 

That night, my phone buzzed as I worked through another stack of notes. When I glanced at the screen, my heart jumped. 

Mom. 

I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. 

“Hi, Mom,” I said quickly. 

“Selena, sweetheart.” Her voice was soft but full of love. Just hearing it made my chest ache. “I just wanted to know how you’re doing.” 

I sank back into the couch. “Busy. Richard Morgan has me working directly with him. It’s… intense.” 

“That’s good,” she said gently. “Intense means you’re being trusted.” 

There was a pause, then she asked carefully, “And what about your sister? Are you and Cassandra getting along?” 

The question made me freeze. Cassandra’s sharp voice echoed in my mind. Not everyone’s reputation can be saved by whispers of promise. 

“We… manage,” I said, my voice quieter. 

Mom sighed. “I know Cassandra can be hard. But don’t forget blood matters. You two need each other, even if you don’t see it now.” 

I swallowed, my throat tight. “I’m trying, Mom.” 

“I know you are,” she whispered. Her voice dipped lower. “I regret leaving you girls with him for so long. I thought I was protecting myself, but I should have been there for you, too.” 

Her mention of Dad hung heavy between us. We didn’t say his name, but I could feel the weight of him in every silence the anger, the drinking, the bruises. 

“I’ll be fine,” I said quickly. 

“You’re more than fine,” she said, her voice stronger now. “You’re better than I ever was. Just promise me something don’t lose yourself in that company. Work hard, but remember you’re more than your job.” 

I blinked back sudden tears. “I promise.” 

Her tone brightened as if she wanted to lift me up again. “Now, tell me everything. What’s work really like? Who do you eat with? I want details.” 

So I told her. About Richard’s strict corrections. About Alia’s endless energy. About how I sometimes stayed late just to finish things perfectly. Mom laughed softly, encouraging me, asking questions, listening to every word. 

By the time we said goodbye, I felt both heavy and light. Heavy from what we didn’t say about Dad. Light because she still cared enough to call. 

The next day, Cassandra struck again. 

I saw her standing outside Richard’s office, her posture flawless, her lips painted with that perfect, fake smile. 

“So it’s true,” she said when her eyes landed on me. “You’re still working with Richard.” 

I clutched my folder tighter. “Yes.” 

She tilted her head, her voice sweet but sharp. “Be careful. Richard doesn’t forgive mistakes. And when you fail, he won’t protect you. Not everyone gets saved by whispers and promises.” 

The words were meant to slice, and they did. She turned and walked away before I could answer, her perfume lingering like smoke. 

For a second, I just stood there, shaken. But then I remembered Alia’s encouragement, Mom’s warning not to lose myself. I straightened my shoulders and walked into Richard’s office without looking back. Cassandra would not get the satisfaction of seeing me break. 

That evening, I opened my laptop and scrolled through Roth Enterprise’s internal network. The project discussion threads were buzzing. And there it was Damien Roth’s name. 

His posts were short, direct, commanding. A single comment from him could change the entire direction of a project. 

I read one twice before daring to reply. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, my heart racing. Finally, I typed a response careful, professional, polished. Then I hit send. 

I sat back, pulse quickening. He hadn’t spoken to me in person for days, but through that small online space, I still felt his presence steady, sharp, impossible to ignore. 

And in the quiet of my apartment, Cassandra’s words echoed again: Be careful. He doesn’t tolerate mistakes. 

But I wasn’t thinking about Richard. 

I was thinking about Damien. 

And that thought both thrilled and terrified me.