REJECTION IN BOLD LETTERS

Ethan's pov 

Six years later.

New York City looked brighter on the outside than it ever felt on the inside. Gleaming glass towers, cabs rushing through intersections, people with earbuds tucked in and their coffee cups clutched like lifelines. Everyone here seemed to be on their way to something important. Everyone except me.

I adjusted the strap of my satchel, smoothed down the creases on my secondhand blazer, and stepped into the waiting room of yet another company. Seventh this month. Seventh rejection-to-be. I told myself this time would be different. This time they’d actually look at my résumé, see the potential, and maybe even give me a chance.

The HR manager, a sharp-boned woman with a bun pulled so tight I wondered if she ever smiled, motioned me in. She took the folder I held out with both hands like it was already a waste of her time. My heart pounded as she flipped through the first page, then the second. For a second, I dared to hope.

Then she laughed. Laughed.

The sound was like nails on glass. She tossed the papers aside, and they scattered across her desk before one slipped right off the edge and fluttered to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though her tone was anything but apologetic. “But there’s no vacancy here.”

I blinked at her. “What do you mean there’s no vacancy? Your website literally listed a vacancy this morning. I saw it. I even checked right before I came up.”

She pursed her lips, leaning back in her leather chair as if my presence annoyed her. “Well, there isn’t anymore.”

Something in me snapped. “You’re going to regret that.”

Her brows rose in mild amusement. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going to regret not hiring me. I’m one of the smartest computer engineers you’ll ever meet. I’ve built systems and projects that most of your current employees wouldn’t even understand.” My chest burned, but I stood taller, refusing to let her see me crack. “So yes, you’ll regret throwing my résumé across the room.”

Her cold smile never wavered. “Mr. Banks, I’ll be honest with you. Someone with your level of experience—zero—isn’t going to find a job in New York. At least, not in tech. This city eats fresh graduates alive.”

The words hit me like a slap.

She turned her chair slightly, already moving on to whatever was on her computer screen. “Thank you for your time. Next candidate, please.”

I walked out of that office in a daze, my satchel heavier than ever, though the folder inside was gone. The city outside buzzed with life, but none of it seemed to touch me. Seventh rejection. Seventh time hearing the same damn thing in different words: not enough. Not ready. Not worthy.

Was this really what New York was? A city that dangled opportunity like a carrot only to snatch it away the moment you reached for it?

I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing the air into my lungs. No. I wasn’t going to break. I wasn’t going to crawl back home to Bay City with my tail between my legs and let my parents and Connor swoop in like heroes to rescue me.

Connor already had two companies under his belt—two companies that were thriving, with investors practically throwing money at him. He’d sent me no less than five emails in the last two weeks, each one with some variation of: Come home, little brother. I’ll make you COO. You won’t have to worry about a thing.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be the baby brother who only succeeded because someone handed him the keys. Connor had always been the golden child, and I’d always been the one they coddled. No one ever took me seriously.

That was going to change.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked, letting the city swallow me whole.

By the time I climbed the narrow, creaking stairs to my apartment, the adrenaline had drained out of me, leaving only exhaustion. I unlocked the door and stepped into the one-bedroom space I called home.

If my parents or Connor ever saw this place, they’d smile politely and say it was “cozy.” In truth, it was barely livable. The walls were thin enough that I could hear the neighbor’s arguments through the plaster. The kitchenette was so small I couldn’t open the fridge and the cabinet at the same time. The bathroom light flickered when it wanted to.

But to them—to the family who believed I had it all together—I described it differently in our phone calls. It’s standard, I’d said once. Nice little place. Keeps me close to work. And I let them believe I had a great job, let them picture me thriving in New York City.

They didn’t know I was living hand to mouth. That the only reason I wasn’t completely broke was because of the part-time gigs I’d hustled through college—repairing laptops, coding apps for startups that vanished before they launched. If not for that, I’d already be broke, hungry, and alone.

And, truthfully, I was already two of those things.

I dropped my satchel on the floor, collapsed into the worn chair by the window, and dragged my hands over my face. My body ached from disappointment, a heaviness that was becoming too familiar.

I need this, I thought. I need one chance. Just one. If someone gave me an opening, I’d prove myself in a heartbeat.

My phone buzzed. I fished it out of my pocket and unlocked the screen. Notifications cluttered the display, but one stood out, bright and new.

Vacancy. Warner Industries.

I sat up straight.

Warner Industries wasn’t just any company. It was the company. The kind of name professors whispered with reverence, the kind of place where getting even an internship was a golden ticket. Back in school, my classmates used to dream about Warner like it was the promised land. None of them ever got in. Not one.

My thumb hovered over the link. What chance did I really have? A boy from Bay City, Texas, with no experience worth bragging about, going up against the sharpest, most cutthroat graduates in the country?

I almost laughed.

But then again, what choice did I have? I’d already knocked on nearly every door in this city. And each one had slammed in my face.

“You never know unless you try,” I muttered to myself.

With a deep breath, I clicked the link. The page loaded, crisp and professional, the Warner logo gleaming across the top like a seal of destiny. My pulse quic

kened.

This was it. My shot.

And no matter what, I wasn’t going to waste it.