chapter One: The Card and the Contract

“Have you been interviewed before?”

The question sat carefully on my mind as I thought of the answer. Or rather, thought of what brought me to this situation.

Nothing other than the cost of living would have made me all dressed up and uncomfortable.

But it appears this company looks rich enough to get me rich too. I had researched about them for weeks, both online and onsite.

From the glass walls to the polished floors, the way people walked around with expensive shoes and coffee cups, it spelt my agenda in words.

Even the air inside the building smelled rich like people here didn’t sweat or cry or stay awake at night calculating how many days they had left before rent was due.

And that was made me sit in the middle of the interview room trying not to tug at the blazer strangling my shoulders.

God, I couldn’t breathe in this thing.

The material dug into my skin every time I moved, and the skirt hugging my thighs felt one sneeze away from ripping apart.

Elena was going to pay for this.

“You need to look professional, Amara.” she had said earlier that morning while forcing the blazer into my hands.

I could still hear her voice clearly.

Not just professional. Sharp and rich too. Don’t dress like your problems for God’s sake.

Easy for her to say.

Elena somehow looked beautiful in oversized shirts and sneakers while I looked like a child pretending to be an adult.

I adjusted the blazer again and immediately regretted it when one of the buttons threatened to pop off.

“Miss Amara?” The man called.

“Yes? Sir?” I rushed, snapping out of my thoughts.

“You haven’t answered my question. Is this your first interview?” He asked again, a gentle look on his face.

He must be the good cop.

I shook my head, remember to smile. “No, absolutely not not.”

He nodded in satisfaction. “That’s good then.”

Please don’t embarrass me today, me. I whispered to myself.

Three interviewers sat across from me behind a long white desk. Two men, one woman.

All dressed in matching dark corporate outfits that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

The woman in the middle had sharp cheekbones and red lipstick that looked dangerous. Her blond hair was packed into a sleek bun so tight it looked painful.

The man by her left, the one that asked me questions, barely looked up from his laptop.

The older one on the right kept tapping a pen against the table slowly. Every sound he made my nerves worse.

I folded my fingers together tightly to stop myself from fidgeting. The woman raised my CV slightly before clearing her throat.

“So,” she began calmly, “you dropped out of college.”

Straight to the point. Nice.

I forced a smile that felt brittle around the edges.

“For personal reasons.”

The woman nodded once.

“But one of the qualifications for this job is to have a degree. You don’t.”

There it was, the same sentence, different company, different office, same humiliation.

I swallowed carefully.

“I may not have a degree,” I said quickly, “but I’ve done accounting work before. A lot actually.”

The older man finally looked up.

“Your CV says cashier.”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “But I handled inventory records too. Payroll sometimes. Tax files once.”

The younger man beside the laptop adjusted his glasses.

“For licensed companies?”

I hesitated.

“Small businesses.”

The silence that followed was painful and I already knew what they were thinking.

Not qualified.Just another desperate girl looking for a miracle.

I straightened slightly in my chair.

“It’s not even that hard,” I blurted before I could stop myself. “Accounting, I mean.”

All three of them looked at me now. Wonderful.

I laughed nervously.

“What I mean is… I learn fast.”

The woman tilted her head. “You believe accounting is easy?”

“No…not easy easy,” I rushed out. “Just… manageable if someone actually teaches you properly.”

The older man leaned back in his chair.

“And why should we teach you when we can hire someone already qualified?” Because I needed this job. Because my landlord was already threatening me. Because I had exactly four packets of noodles left at home. Because surviving was becoming exhausting.

Instead, I smiled politely.

“I work harder than most people.”

The younger man finally spoke again. “You’ve changed jobs frequently.”

I almost laughed. Of course I had. Most of those jobs barely paid enough to survive. One café owner once paid me with leftover bread for an entire week.

Another fired me because customers tipped me more than his girlfriend. One woman accused me of stealing because fifty dollars disappeared from the register only for them to discover later that her son took it. But I couldn’t say any of that.

So instead I said softly, “I was trying to find stability.”

The woman stared at me for a few seconds too long then she closed the file gently.

That was it. I knew that movement already.

The polite ending.

“Well, Miss Glen,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “we’ll send you a mail.”

Translation? You’re not getting the job.

Still, I smiled back because poor people had to master the art of pretending disappointment didn’t hurt.

“Thank you for your time.”

I stood carefully, praying the skirt wouldn’t betray me. The older man nodded absentmindedly. The younger one was already looking back at his laptop. I was dismissed.

As I walked out of the office with what little dignity I had left, I couldn’t help but sigh.

The second the elevator doors closed behind me, my shoulders dropped.

“God,” I muttered under my breath. “That was horrible.”

A woman standing beside me glanced at me awkwardly before looking away. Perfect.

Outside the building, the afternoon air hit my face warmly. The city buzzed around me with impatient movement. Cars honked endlessly while people crossed the streets with purpose.

I walked down the front steps slowly before sitting carefully near the edge. The concrete was dusty. Elena was going to murder me if this skirt got stained.

I looked down at the material and sighed.

“I’m definitely washing this before she sees it.”

My phone rang suddenly and I didn’t even need to check before answering.

“Elena.”

“Amara!” her excited voice burst through immediately. “How did it go?”

I closed my eyes briefly. There it was, hope.

She sounded hopeful for me. That somehow made lying worse.

“It went well,” I said.

“I knew it!” She said excitedly.

I forced a small laugh.

“The woman interviewing me seemed impressed.”

Very impressed with rejecting me maybe.

“Oh my God,” Elena squealed. “See why I told you to wear the blazer?”

“The blazer nearly killed me.”

“That means it worked.”

I smiled despite myself.

Elena had always been able to drag laughter out of me even on terrible days.

“So when will they call?”

“Soon probably.”

“Amara Glen,” she gasped dramatically. “Corporate babe.”

“Relax.”

“No seriously,” she continued. “Once you get this job, you’re taking me to an expensive restaurant.”

“With what money?”

“Your rich accountant money obviously.”

I laughed softly again, but this time guilt crept in immediately after because I knew deep down, I knew that woman was never calling me.

Elena kept talking.

Something about a customer at the tattoo shop trying to flirt with her again. I half listened while staring at people walking past.

People who weren’t one rejection away from losing everything.

“…Amara?”

“Hm?”

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m listening.”

“You better be.”

“I am.”

She sighed dramatically. “Anyway, call me when you get home.”

“I will.”

“And don’t forget to remove the blazer before it explodes on your body.”

I snorted. “Bye Elena.”

“Bye, loser.” The call ended.

Silence returned instantly.

I stared down at my phone for a while before exhaling slowly. Then I whispered the truth out loud.

“I’m never getting that job.”

The words hurt more hearing them aloud and I rubbed my forehead tiredly before standing from the stairs. No point sitting there feeling sorry for myself.

I started walking down the sidewalk slowly, already calculating excuses for my landlord.

Maybe if I avoided him another two days—“ Miss Glen.”

I froze as my heartbeat stumbled immediately. Nobody called me that. Slowly, I turned around to see a man stood a few feet away from me.

Black suit, clean shoes polished enough to reflect sunlight, briefcase in one hand. He looked expensive. Not flashy but just… carefully put together.

He had a calm smile on his face but still, alarm bells screamed inside my head instantly.

“How do you know my name?”

His smile didn’t fade.

“I’ve been following you for a while now.”

Fear crashed into me immediately as I stepped back so fast my heel nearly twisted.

My chest tightened painfully. The Agency.

It had to be the foster agency.

No.

No no no.

I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Had I?

Maybe someone filed something. Maybe they found me again.

The man noticed my expression quickly.

“Oh no,” he said calmly. “Not like that.”

I kept backing away anyway. “Who are you?”

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

That was exactly what dangerous people said before hurting you.

“I don’t know you.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you following me?”

His expression softened slightly.

“Because I wanted to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“A job.”

I blinked.

“…What?”

“You’re looking for employment, aren’t you?”

Suspicion crawled through me immediately.

Scam.

Definitely scam.

Maybe kidnapping too.

The man reached slowly into his pocket and handed me a card. I stared at it cautiously before taking it. The card felt expensive.

Everything rich people owned somehow felt thicker. Written across it boldly were the words:

Victor Hale

Corporate Lawyer

I looked back up slowly.

“You’re a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you talking to me?”

“Because my employer is searching for someone. And he noticed you.”

Wait, what? “What do you mean noticed me? For what exactly?”

“A position.”

“That sounds suspicious.”

A small laugh escaped him. “Fair enough.”

I folded my arms tightly. “Look, if this is some weird scam—”

“It isn’t.”

“Or trafficking—”

Definitely too much crime documentary watching. Victor actually smiled at that.

“I assure you, Miss Glen, nobody is trafficking you.”

“People who traffic humans probably say that too.”

His smile widened slightly this time like he found me amusing and that somehow annoyed me more.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I looked down at the card again. Corporate lawyer. The name sounded familiar somehow. Maybe I had seen it online before. Maybe not.

Victor adjusted the sleeve of his suit calmly.

“My employer simply needs someone suitable for a contractual arrangement.”

Contractual arrangement. Yeah. That sounded illegal.

“I’m not sleeping with anybody for money.”

His eyebrows lifted immediately.

“That is not what I implied.”

“Good.”

“He’s offering employment.”

“Doing what?”

Victor studied me carefully for a second. “Being a wife.” He said simply.

I stared at him and he stared back calmly. I didn’t know when I bursted out in laughter. Actually laughed.

“You’re insane.”

“It’s legitimate.”

“You approached a random woman outside an office building and asked her to marry someone.”

“A contractual marriage.”

“That somehow sounds worse.”

His expression remained frustratingly calm.

“You’re in debt, Miss Glen.”

My laughter died instantly and my stomach tightened. “How do you know that?”

“You struggle keeping jobs.”

I said nothing.

“You bounced between foster homes.”

Fear crawled back again slowly.

“You’ve been investigated thoroughly.”

“What the hell?”

“You were recommended.”

“By who?”

“I can’t answer that yet.” I gripped the card tighter. Every instinct told me to walk away. Yet another part of me whispered something dangerous.

What if this is real?

Victor must have noticed the conflict on my face because his voice softened.

“You don’t have to decide immediately.”

I swallowed carefully.

“What kind of man hires a wife through a lawyer?”

“The private kind.”

“That doesn’t answer anything.”

“No,” he agreed calmly. “It doesn’t.”

I stared at him another moment. Then finally said, “I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were.”

“I’m not desperate enough to fall for nonsense either.” Something flickered briefly in his eyes then. Pity maybe.

“You should search for me online,” he said instead. “Take your time.”

I said nothing.

“When you’re ready,” he continued, “call me.”

Before I could ask another question, he nodded once politely and turned away. Just like that.

I watched him walk toward a black car parked across the street. A driver opened the backseat door for him immediately.

Rich rich.

The car pulled away seconds later, disappearing into traffic. And suddenly I was alone again, standing on the sidewalk. Still wearing Elena’s suffocating blazer and jobless.

I looked down at the card in my hand again. Victor Hale. Corporate Lawyer.

Then quietly, mostly to myself, I whispered,

“What the hell just happened?”