CHAPTER 6-THE INTERVIEW

Anna's POV 

The door opened and I stepped in nervously.

The office was larger than I expected. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, the city spread out below like a living map. Everything was clean, sharp, and expensive. The kind of space that made you feel like you should apologize for existing in it.

My heart was already racing.

I had waited outside for almost forty minutes. Other candidates sat around me in the waiting area, men and women with perfect posture, expensive watches, résumés that probably glowed in the dark. One woman had been talking about her time at a firm in Singapore. Another mentioned a project in Dubai. I kept my hands in my lap and stared at the floor, repeating the same silent promise over and over.

“For Amyra. You can’t fail this.”

Now I am here, unsure of what my fate was.

A man sat behind the desk at the far end of the room. He didn’t look up immediately. He was writing something, the pen moving in controlled, precise strokes. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. Very broad shoulders and dark neatly brushed hair. The kind of presence that filled a room without effort.

I stopped a few steps from the desk, waiting.

He finished the note, set the pen down, and finally lifted his head.

Our eyes met and I felt the world stop for a moment.

For what seemed like forever, nothing moved. Not the air, not the city outside the glass, not even my breath. Something cold and sharp slid down my spine. My pulse slammed against my throat so hard I felt dizzy.

It was him!

Five years had gone by, he now looked sharper and colder. The soft edges of that night were gone. But the shape of his face, the set of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes…,it was the same man who had held me in a hotel room while the world outside fell apart.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides as I forced myself to breathe.

He stared at me the same way. Not recognition exactly but something close, something searching. His brows drew together slightly, as if a thought had caught him off guard.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. The introduction I had rehearsed a hundred times disappeared.

He recovered first.

“Sit,” he said. His voice was low, controlled, nothing like the rough, whiskey-edged tone I half-remembered.

I moved to the chair in front of his desk and sat carefully, spine straight, hands folded. My palms were damp. I pressed them against my skirt.

He opened a folder, my folder.

“Anna Li,” he said, reading. “You applied for the Eco-City Project lead position.”

“Yes.” My voice came out steady, barely.

He flipped a page. “Your experience is… limited compared to the other candidates.”

The words landed like a quiet cut. I kept my face still.

“I’ve worked on three major residential projects and two mixed-use developments,” I said. “I know my résumé isn’t the longest in the pile. But I solve problems. That’s what I do.”

He looked up again. Those eyes. The same eyes that had watched me fall apart and then put me back together with his hands and mouth in the dark.

My chest tightened.

“Tell me about the heat island issue on the Eco-City Project,” he said. “How would you approach it differently from the current design?”

I forced my mind to focus. This was the job. This was Amyra’s hospital bills. This was the difference between surviving and drowning.

“The current plan leans too heavily on mature vegetation,” I said. “It takes too long. I would integrate reflective materials and elevated green corridors from the start, shade structures that double as solar collectors, water features designed for evaporative cooling, not just aesthetics. The goal is immediate relief, not a fifteen-year promise.”

He watched me the entire time I spoke. Not nodding. Not interrupting. Just watching, as if measuring every word.

When I finished, silence stretched between us.

My pulse was still too fast. Sitting this close, I could see the faint line of a scar near his left eyebrow that I didn’t remember. The way his throat moved when he swallowed. The controlled stillness of his hands on the desk.

He closed the folder slowly.

“Why do you want this position, Ms. Li?”

The question was simple, but the answer wasn’t!.

Because my daughter has a heart condition and the bills never stop. Because my parents are aging and the boutique can’t carry us forever. Because I am tired of being one emergency away from breaking.

I couldn’t say any of that.

“Because the project matters,” I said instead. “And I’m good at making things work when the easy solutions fail.”

Something shifted in his expression. Barely there, just a flicker.

He leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked softly.

“You’re nervous,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

I met his gaze and refused to look away. “Yes.”

“Most people try to hide it.”

“I’m not most people.”

The corner of his mouth almost moved. Almost.

Outside the glass, the city kept moving. Inside the office, the air felt too thin.

He studied me for a long moment. Too long. The same strange pull from five years ago stirred in my stomach, half memory, half fear.

I had walked out of that hotel room believing that night was a closed door, something finished, something that belonged to a broken version of myself I no longer claimed.

Now the door was open again!.

He closed the folder completely and rested one hand on top of it.

“We’ll be in touch, Ms. Li.”

The words were dismissal. Professional!. Final!.

My legs felt unsteady as I stood up. I nodded once, turned, and walked toward the door without looking back.

Behind me, I heard the faint sound of a chair shifting.

I reached for the handle.

My heart was still slamming against my ribs. My skin felt too tight. Every step away from his desk felt like walking through water.

I pulled the door open.

And the only thought left in my head was the one I couldn’t silence.

It can’t be him…it definitely can't.