Chapter 7

Three Weeks Later

Emilia 

It had been over three weeks since I moved into the motel, and in a strange way, it felt like a small awakening. Not the kind that comes with happiness, but the kind that forces you to open your eyes whether you want to or not. I had learned how quiet nights could be. I had learned how loud my thoughts were when there was no one around. Most of all, I had learned that I could survive without the mansion, without Julian, without the life I once thought I needed.

That evening, I pushed open the glass door of Sunset Lodge again. The familiar scent of cleaning liquid greeted me. The television in the corner was playing a soap opera. Everything looked the same, but I felt different, tired and worn out.

I walked toward the reception desk.

“Evening, Emilia,” Maddy called out with a bright smile.

Maddy had curly brown hair and loud earrings that changed every day. Over the past few weeks, we had grown somewhat close. She talked a lot, and sometimes I needed that distraction.

“Hi, Maddy,” I said softly.

She tilted her head as she looked at me. “You look exhausted. Interview again?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Same story.”

She sighed dramatically. “Let me guess. Overqualified?”

“Yes.”

She leaned on the desk. “Honestly, if you just agreed to try it out, you wouldn’t have to stress this much.”

I knew exactly what she meant. She had mentioned it before. There were men who passed through the motel. Rich men. Lonely men. Men willing to pay a lot for company.

“Maddy…” I gave her a tired look.

“I’m serious,” she said. “You’re beautiful. Educated. Classy. Some of them would pay premium just to spend an hour talking to you. No pressure. Just think about it.”

I let out an awkward laugh. “I’ll think about it.”

She raised a brow. “You said that last week.”

“I know.”

She softened. “I just hate seeing you struggle.”

“I’ll be fine,” I replied, though I wasn’t sure anymore.

She studied my face for a second. “Is it the same story?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Everywhere.”

She shook her head. “You’ll land something. I feel it.”

“Thanks.”

I quickly excused myself before she could continue. I knew she meant well, but I wasn’t ready for that kind of survival. I knew she did it part-time, and I didn’t judge her. Everyone had their reasons. But I wasn’t built for that. I would rather clean tables than sell myself.

I climbed the stairs slowly and unlocked my room. The air inside felt heavy. I closed the door and dropped the brown envelope I had been holding onto the bed. It burst open on impact, papers spilling everywhere.

I stared at them.

There were rejection letters and polite emails.

“Thank you for your interest.”

“We regret to inform you.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed and picked one up. The company’s logo stared back at me. I had walked into that office confident. I had answered every question clearly. I had seen the admiration in the interviewer’s eyes.

And still, they said no.

I spotted the letter I had written earlier in the week, addressed to another firm. The company name at the top annoyed me. I grabbed it and tossed it to the floor.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.

Six interviews this week and six rejections.

Since I left Julian without taking a single cent from him, I had to rely on myself. I couldn’t even look at his money without feeling disgusted. I had walked out with only what I owned before the marriage. Pride had pushed me, and now I was paying the price.

With my qualifications, getting a job should have been easy. I graduated top of my class. I helped build Julian’s company from the ground up. I handled major clients. I led projects that brought in millions.

Yet here I was, sitting in a small motel room, begging for entry-level positions.

“Overqualified,” they kept saying.

It sounded like praise, but it felt like punishment.

I pressed my palms against my eyes. For a second, I felt like screaming. I never imagined my life would turn into this. I used to attend business meetings in tailored suits. Now I was calculating how many days I could survive on instant noodles.

My gaze shifted to the small bottle of medication on the bedside table and my chest tightened.

I needed money not just for rent, but for my meds. The thought of running out scared me more than unemployment.

For a brief moment, Maddy’s offer crossed my mind again. Easy money. Quick cash. No interviews. No rejection letters.

I gave a bitter smile.

“No,” I whispered to myself. “Not happening.”

I wasn’t judging her. I just knew I couldn’t do it but I  would rather take odd jobs. Clean houses. Wash dishes. Anything.

I laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

How did everything fall apart this fast?

Three weeks ago, I was still living in a mansion. I had a title. I had a last name that opened doors. Now I introduced myself as Emilia Moretti again, and doors closed in my face.

Maybe this was my punishment for loving someone who never loved me back.

My phone buzzed suddenly beside me.

I frowned and reached for it. Probably another rejection email.

I opened it slowly, bracing myself.

But the subject line made me sit up.

Interview Invitation – Veritas Holdings

My heart skipped.

I read the email carefully.

Dear Ms. Moretti,

We reviewed your application and would like to invite you for an interview tomorrow at 10 a.m…

I blinked.

They reviewed it.

They didn’t reject me immediately.

They invited me.

I read it again to make sure that I wasn’t imagining it.

A laugh escaped my lips, shaky and disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

I sat up fully now, gripping my phone tightly.

They hadn’t mentioned anything about being overqualified. No polite refusal and no regret.

Just an invitation.

I felt something warm roll down my cheeks. This time, I didn’t wipe it away immediately.

After weeks of rejection, after days of doubt and fear, this felt like a small light in a dark tunnel.

“A chance,” I whispered.

It wasn’t a job yet. It was just an interview. But it was something.

Hope.

I clutched my phone to my chest and let the tears fall freely now. Not from heartbreak. Not from humiliation.

From relief.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like maybe I wasn’t completely doomed.

Maybe I could rebuild.

Maybe I wasn’t finished yet.

I looked around the small motel room. The peeling paint, the thin curtains and the scattered rejection letters on the bed.

“This is temporary,” I told myself firmly.

Tomorrow could change everything.

And as I sat there with tears streaming down my face and a small smile forming on my lips, I allowed myself to believe that this email was the first step toward getting my life back.