Chapter 6: First Day, Last Breath

Aria's POV

I arrive at 7:00 AM. The tower is already buzzing with activity, executives striding through the lobby clutching their coffee and purpose like armor. I'm wearing my best suit—navy blue, two years old, pressed until the creases are sharp enough to cut through doubts. Still, it’s not enough. I can tell by the way the receptionist’s eyes flicker over me, assessing, cataloging, quickly deciding I don’t belong.

"Aria Holt." I hand her my new employee badge. "First day."

"Twenty-second floor." She doesn't smile. “HR will meet you at the elevator”

The ride up feels longer than it did on Friday. My reflection stares back at me from the polished doors - pale face, dark eyes too wide, touching my father's watch for courage I don't feel but desperately need.

The doors open to the open-plan office. Rows of cubicles stretch endlessly, inhabited by people who seem untouchable—confident,polished,expensive.Floor-to-ceiling windows line the far wall, but instead of freedom, they make the space feel exposed.

Elena Santos waits, her professional smile kind but shadowed by warning in her eyes—the same fear I caught last Friday.

"Welcome to Marketing." She gestures to the maze of cubicles. "Let me show you to your desk."

We weave through the workspace. Conversations die as we pass. Heads turn. I feel the weight of their stares, hear the whispers that start the moment we're past.

"That's her?"

"Holt's daughter. Can you believe"

"Why would Cross hire her?"

My spine stays straight. But inside, something withers.

Elena stops at a cubicle in the far corner. Small. No window view. The desk is standard issue, computer already set up, a stack of folders waiting.

"Here you are." Elena's voice is gentle. "Victoria Cross will be by shortly to go over your initial assignments. If you need anything, HR is on the thirty-fifth floor."

She leaves quickly, like she can't get away fast enough.

I sit in my new chair and stare at my new computer. The folders on my desk are intimidating - thick, labeled with project names I don't recognize. I'm reaching for the top one when footsteps approach.

"Ms. Holt." The voice is sharp. I stand and turn.

Victoria Cross is stunning—the kind of beautiful that hits deep. She is tall, blonde and wearing a cream suit that’s way expensive. Her eyes are calculating and cold with a taut smile and barely concealed disdain.

"I’m Victoria Cross, CFO and your direct supervisor." She offers no hand.   "I trust Elena showed you to your desk?"  

"Yes, ma’am. Thank you for"

She interrupts, lifting the stack of folders with an almost mocking strength.  "These are your assignments for today: Market analysis for Santiago, competitor research for three clients, The proposal revisions, preliminary Q4 strategy."

She drops them on my desk with a sound that echoes through my chest.

"All will be completed by the end of day." She checks her gold watch. "It’s nine AM. That should be plenty of time for someone with your qualifications."

My stomach twists. Market analysis alone demands twenty hours of work, the competitor research is a mountain, and the rest is impossible. "Ms. Cross, I don’t think"

"Problem?" Her eyebrow lifts. "Surely a top graduate from UCLA can handle basic marketing tasks."

The trap snaps shut.

If I say it’s too much, I’m incompetent. If I stay silent, I accept the impossible. "No problem." I say.

Her smile sharpens. "Excellent. I’ll check your progress this afternoon. Welcome to Cross Technologies, Ms. Holt. I do hope you meet our standards."

She clicks away in heels that strike like on the floor. The moment she’s gone, whispers ignite again.

"Did you see her pile?"  

"No way she finishes."  

"Cross wants her to fail."

I sink into my chair, opening the first folder as my  hands shake. The numbers blur together. My head pounds. I read the same paragraph three times before it makes sense.

Around me, the office noise continues—keyboards clicking, voices murmuring, the coffee machine gurgling in the break room. Normal sounds. A normal day for everyone else. But for me, every minute feels like drowning. I force myself to focus and keep working.

They set me up. Of course. This is Damien Cross’s revenge, and I’m already in it.

I work through lunch. Through the afternoon. My fingers fly across the keyboard, my eyes burning from the screen. Around me, people pack up at five. Then five-thirty. By six PM, the floor is nearly empty. I'm maybe a third of the way through.

The market analysis is incomplete. The competitor research is half done. The revisions are not complete. The Q4 strategy document is still blank.

I failed. On my first day, I failed. My desk phone rings, the sound sharp in the quiet office. I stare at it for two rings before answering.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Holt." The voice was crisp and sounded like a  female. "Mr. Cross's office on the Fortieth floor. Now."

The line goes dead as my blood turns to ice.

I stand on shaking legs, smooth my wrinkled suit, and walk to the elevator. Each step feels hollow as the other employees who are left watch me go, their expressions a mix of pity and curiosity.

Everyone knows what a summons to the fortieth floor means. The executive level is silent when I arrive. The lights are dimmed. Most offices are dark except one.

Damien's door is open as light  spills into the hallway. I can see his silhouette against those massive windows, standing with his back to me. I knock softly on the doorframe.

"Come in, Ms. Holt." He doesn't turn. "Close the door."

I step inside and the door clicks shut behind me with the finality of a cell door closing.

"Sit." He says.

I sit. Damien finally turns. His tie is loosened. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms that speak of time in the gym. He looks like he's been here for hours, perfectly composed despite the late hour.

He picks up a folder from his desk. My work. "Let's review your first day, shall we?"

He stretched out his hands for the folders, and I submitted them to him. He picks one of the folders, takes the first glance and closes it almost immediately.

“You won’t last a week,” he says.