The Turning Point

Eight years later

My heart beats fast when I walk into the lobby of a reputable firm that sent me an employment offer after a year of applying. According to the HRM, I didn't pass the interview. So, what changed?

I walk towards the front desk, my legs wobbling, my hands clammy. I'm anxious the email was sent accidentally. It should be a mistake. 

Getting clients and finding a job have been impossible; everyone keeps bringing up my parents' crimes instead of focusing on my qualifications. Some people who hired my services charged me very little, taking my parents' staged crime as an advantage. “How can I help you?” The female receptionist's gentle voice pierces my thoughts; only then do I realize I'm standing in front of her desk.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't be here,” I say, turning and scurrying towards the exit door.

I should be at the produce shop, the place that keeps my family and me alive. I opened a produce shop in Moon Pack last year with the prize money I won from several school contests. The shop has been the reason I was able to stand on my feet after my career failed. I can't believe I left it closed for a firm's system glitch.

“Hillary?” A female voice calls in a friendly tone, and I tilt my head right, looking at a face I've never seen. She has a fake smile I used to have on my face when approaching a prospective client or law firm.

“I'm sorry,” I say as the total stranger stands before me. “Do I know you?”

“I'm Lindsey,” she says, her voice pleasing. “The director of Order Firm.”

Surprised by her utterance, I look her up and down, recollecting the face I saw on the day of the interview a year ago. If I remember correctly, the firm had a male director. Did something happen to the previous director?

Lindsay continues, “We're so sorry—”

I continue leaving when her heels clatter behind me as she scurries to meet me the second time.

“Why are you leaving?” She asks beside me. “Don't you want to see what your office looks like?”

“Office?” I pause, turning my attention completely to her. “You mean I really got the job?”

“Yes.”

I palm my mouth, taming the urge to scream at the top of my voice. I finally got a job. It feels like a rare dream.

“Do you want me to take you to your office?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I nod more than once. “Of course.”

I follow Lindsay across the lobby into one of the elevators. It takes us to the second floor.

My jaw drops when Lindsay shows me to a posh office. It's a sole office with a small sitting area where I can take a break.

I'm looking around the office when I ask, “Is this really my office?”

“Yes, and you'll have a secretary assigned to you.”

I tighten my grip on the straps of my bag, my lips press together, suppressing the words on my mind. It takes years for an attorney to get a secretary from the get-go. In fact, for an entry-level position, I'm meant to share an office with other rising attorneys, not be in an office like this one.

“What's wrong?” she asks as she notices my worries.

“Nothing, just um… Can I appoint my secretary? I have someone in mind.” I say instead of asking a provocative question.

“Sure.”

So easy? My eyes widen in doubt.

Anyway, I say, “Thank you so much.”

“Don't have to thank me,” she says, and my heartbeat pulses at the next pick-up line she's about to spill. “Thank the person who recommended you to us when the time comes, okay?”

Shocked, I stare at her for a while. I heard those same lines of words whenever I won a prize after a contest. And when I finished law school, a representative from Law Star Firm gave me a job offer, and he also said the same thing. The offer was tempting, but I rejected it because it's in Lester's pack, Crimson Pack.

“I'll allow you to settle into your office,” Lindsay says, leaving.

“May I know who this person is?” I ask, trailing her.

“When the time comes,” she says, just like the others had said, and leaves.

I bite down on my lower lip as curiosity gnaws at me. I'm desperate to know who this secret benefactor is, but no one will tell me.

Four months later, Benjamin parks in front of our new mansion, slides out of the driver's seat, and quickly rounds the car, opening the door for Hayden, while I help myself out. Hayden links hands with me as Ben holds his other hand. We stare at the mansion before us.

Desperate to give my son the better life he deserves, I decided to get a mortgage. His eighth birthday is coming up, and I want it to be memorable in an opulent environment and not in a one-room apartment in the dormitory.

“Can we go in?” Hayden asks in his little, husky, curious voice. “I can't wait to see what it looks like inside.”

“Sure,” Ben says. “But let's not break our hands.”

“That sounds impressive. On three, one, two, three.”

With our hands linked together, we walk to the porch, and I enter the security digits.

The large door clicks, and I push it inward, revealing a luxurious interior decor. “Wow,” Hayden mouths. “This is nice, Mom.”

“I'm glad you like it.” I wiggle his hand playfully.

We enter the living room, and Hayden runs off to the piano.

“Wow! There's a bigger piano.” He touches the piano and then the violin. “And a violin! This is awesome.”

He takes piano and violin lessons, and he has them for lessons. With my prize money and the profits from the produce shop, I made sure I gave Hayden the best education and training. In return, he makes Benjamin and me proud, taking most of the school awards and reading very fluently at the age of five. My son never stops amazing me.

After inspecting every inch of the mansion, we had dinner in our new dining room.

Eight minutes past ten, after tucking Hayden to sleep, Benjamin and I walk to our new room, our hands linked again.

“Let me quickly take a shower,” I say, but he doesn't let go.

Instead, he pulls me into his hard chest, our gaze meets, and I wrap my hands around his neck. I was scared he was going to leave me for his mate one day, but that day never came. Isn't he sweet?

This man before me has loved me without hesitation, without retreat, for eight years. Instead of taking advantage of me, he was the pillar that I held on to when I was getting over Lester.

Slowly, Ben inclines his head, lapping my lips seductively. He wraps his lips around my lower lip, and I do the same to his upper lip. Goddess, he's such a good kisser.

He breaks the kiss. “How about we take a bath together?” His voice thickens with arousal.

I nod.

And oh, I forgot to mention, we tied the knot six years ago, after I graduated from law school. 

Life has been wonderful, but I won't say I'm completely happy. Until my parents' case is reopened and their names are cleared, I may be happy.