Maci | Do You Believe In Fate?

The rain is unrelenting as I step out of Wintermere & Co., a thin mist rolling in over the city. Cold drops pelt my face soothing the heat that lingers in my cheeks, I don’t register the chill as I replay the trainwreck of an interview. Thorne Wintermere. Even the thought of his name sends goosebumps scattering over the nape of my neck. Something happened in his office, something I can’t shake, it feels like his presence is clinging to me.

The way he looked at me, with an intensity I have never felt. Like he saw every single piece of me, the desperation, the fire, the vulnerability I try so hard to keep buried deep inside. The moment I stepped into his office, his gaze hit me like a force of nature, sharp and penetrating, as if he could strip away every layer of protection I’d spent years building. I can still see him sitting behind that pristine desk, the quiet power he exuded filling the room, making everything else seem smaller, dimmer, insignificant.

He was…overwhelming. Not just his sheer size, he was other worldly even sat down. It was his presence, the way his shoulders stretched against his tailored suit, as if the fabric couldn’t contain him. His hair, jet black and swept back, only seemed to make the sharp angles of his jawline more pronounced, each line as severe as his gaze. But it was his eyes that really undid me, icy, piercing blue, almost too pale, like shards of winter. They weren’t just eyes; they were a weapon, cutting into me with a precision that left me breathless.

The strangest part was how, even under that cold, assessing stare, I felt something else, something that shouldn’t have been there. There was a pull, a quiet, subtle magnetism that made me feel like the world was narrowing down to just the two of us. It wasn’t just attraction, though I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t devastatingly attractive and even just looking at him had warmth pooling in my belly. It was something deeper, something that gnawed at me, an invisible thread binding us together, which is impossible and stupid, and I need to shake that thought right now.

It was so unsettling the way he monitored me, as if weighing my very soul. I honestly couldn’t tell if he was intrigued or disgusted, and I’m not sure I even want to unpack that right now. I felt like prey under his gaze, but there was an undercurrent, a sense of safety maybe, like something deep inside me trusted him instinctively, even though my mind screamed, rebelling against it.

Then, there were his cutting words, the way he dismissed me, that sharp edge in his voice when he called my ambition “dangerous.” It was more than just condescension; it was a warning, a line drawn in the sand. But a warning against what? Him? Or something I don’t even know exists? Despite all the uncertainty, how unsettling he is, I just can’t shake the gnawing feeling that some part of me is already bound to him, in ways I can’t understand. Ok Maci stop.

A gust of wind jerks me out of swirling thoughts. I pull my coat tighter, quickening my steps toward the bus stop. I can’t go back, not to my old life, not to who I was before Mike, before all the scars I can’t erase. The thought of returning to that life, of being that version of myself, is so unbearable I can’t even stand to brush over the thought. This was my chance to be someone new, someone with purpose, someone who finally belongs. Please, whoever is listening give me strength, I can’t let one unsettling interview throw me off, even if Thorne Wintermere is… well, him. Intense. Inescapable. The burn at the back of my eyes tells me what I already know, that my one shot is over.

Reaching into my purse, I fumble with my phone, wiping the screen with a damp sleeve before dialling the one person whose voice might soothe me. My fingers are shaking, still rattled from… everything. I’m not even sure why I’m calling my mom now, but in this moment, she’s the only grounding force I can think of.

The line rings twice before she picks up, her voice warm and familiar. “Maci, honey! How did it go?”

I pause, forcing the words out through the tightness in my throat. “It went… it went amazing, Mom.” I can’t hide the tremble of my voice, but I keep going, determined to sound confident. “It was everything I hoped it would be.”

“Oh, Maci!” I hear the little gasp she makes when she’s excited. “So, you got it, then? My girl finally made it!”

The words catch me off guard, and I feel my chest tighten, an ache welling up. “Yeah, yeah, I think I did.” The lie slips out so easily and I feel the fresh sting of tears. They mix with the rain already streaking my cheeks, leaving me feeling raw and exposed, even in the privacy of this call.

“Oh honey, I’m so proud of you! I knew you could do it. You are destined for something big! Your father would have been so proud of you.” Her words are soft, laced with emotion, and the mention of Dad feels like the twist of the knife, a reminder of everything I’ve been fighting to prove, for myself and for him.

“Thanks Mom.” My voice cracks, and I quickly clear my throat, so she doesn’t hear how close I am to breaking. “I’m… I’m just so relieved it’s over. It’s been such a long journey, you know?”

“I can’t imagine, honey. All those nights you spent working, and after Mike... But look at you now!” She’s filled with pride, the kind I’ve longed to hear since I left home, and guilt gnaws at me for not telling her the full truth.

“Yeah.” I tip my head back into the biting wind, trying and get more air into my lungs “It just… feels surreal, that’s all.”

“I bet it does,” she says, laughter in her voice. “You should celebrate tonight, Maci. Do something special for yourself, okay?”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yeah, maybe I’ll get a glass of wine or something.” I force a small laugh, trying to match her mood, but my voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. The ache in my chest grows heavier, an unsettling weight I can’t shake.

“I wish I could hug you,” Her soothing tone eating away at my resolve “But I know you’re going to be incredible Maci. It’s just the beginning for you, my brilliant girl.”

Her words twist inside me, tangled with the rush of emotions I can barely process; relief, pride, and this strange, consuming confusion about Thorne and this whole shitty afternoon. I press my lips together, swallowing the wave of tears that threatens to break free. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. And remember, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

I manage a quiet goodbye before ending the call, my phone slipping from my hand back into the depths of my purse. I feel the tears coming steadier now, silent and mingling with the rain that’s still clinging to my skin. I’m not even sure what I’m crying for, disappointment or the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I’ve lost something I never really had.

Through the blur of my tears, I close my eyes, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to understand why I feel so off-kilter, so fractured, as though one encounter has left me teetering on the edge of something.

As I finally reach the bus stop, I have zero time to settle before a black car swings up directly in front of me. My irritation spikes as it splashes puddle water on my already soaked feet and I try to search the tinted windows to see whoever the asshole is with a death wish. After a beat the window rolls down and I tilt my head to see who is about to meet my wrath.

Thorne. Jesus and he’s watching me with that same, unreadable expression, his gaze steady, as if he’s been waiting for the right time to strike.

His voice is still smooth, but warmer than before.

“You’re going to catch a cold” There’s something in his tone, concern? That makes no sense.

I'm totally caught off guard. “I’m just waiting for my bus” my voice far too small in comparison to his.

“Get in Maci” it’s not a question, he commands it, giving me no choice. Against all of my instincts, I start to move towards the car. The door opens and I slide into the passenger seat.

The warmth of the car hits me and I immediately start to thaw, recovering from the chill outside. I sneak a glance his way and oh. my. God. How does he look even bigger in his car. In his office he looked huge, in a car, he is oppressive. I haven’t even seen him stood up, but he is basically in the passenger seat with me he is so broad. I let out a shaky breath, gathering myself as I fumble with my seatbelt. My fingers slip, nerves creeping up on me, and the latch evades my grip again. I can feel his gaze on me, a heavy, penetrating intensity that sends a shiver down my spine, making my hands tremble even more.

He says nothing, with a grunt he leans over and engulfs me completely.He is so close I am surrounded by his essence. His hand reaches across me grabbing the belt. His huge bicep brushes against my shoulder and now his face is inches from mine, close enough that I can see the chips of a deeper blue in his icy eyes, the barely restrained frustration making his jaw tick. My body chooses freeze, my breath catches, and his eyes flick up to meet mine, just for a second, but that second stretches forever.

The scent of him, clean and sharp with a hint of cedar, fills the space around me, invading my lungs and I’m hyper-aware of everything about him: the way his hand grips the seatbelt with practiced strength, the roughness of his knuckles just inches from my chest, the flicker of something hungry in his gaze.

“Hold still” his voice low, rough, and just a little strained. His fingers brush against mine as he clicks the buckle into place, hesitating for the briefest moment. He stays close, his eyes locked on mine, and I see it. Something raw, guarded and dangerous.

I can’t look away, his eyes flick to my lips and back again. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to close the distance between us, that he might lean in so our lips brush together, that this strange, electric pull between us might finally snap. My lip’s part, my breath shallow, anticipation winding tight to a coil in my chest.

But then, just as quickly, he draws back, his expression shutters and he’s slammed a door on any impulse that crossed his mind. He’s sat ram rod straight, his fingers flexing once on the steering wheel as his grip tightens, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“Better” he says, his voice flat, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t been inches from me just seconds ago.

The air in the car is suffocating, charged now, thick and unyielding, and no matter how he tries to pretend it’s nothing, I know I felt it. And I’m certain he did too.

“Where are you headed?” his tone calm, as if this isn’t the strangest situation I’ve ever found myself in.

“Oh… just home” I reel off my address hoping he won’t notice the tremor in my voice. The silence stretches between us, thick with something. I steal a glance at him, only to find him already looking at me, like he’s searching my depths.

“Did the interview meet your expectations?” his tone now verging on mocking.

I feel my cheeks heat, and a small laugh escapes me. “You want honesty? I’m not sure if I impressed you or if I came off as…desperate.” I cringe and regret the words the moment they’re out.

“Do that again” it shoots out of him as a growl, and I can feel his eyes piercing into the side of my face.

“D..Do what again?” I am petrified, I have no clue what I even did.

“Laugh again, Maci” His voice is low, rough, a command wrapped in a whisper, and I can feel his gaze burning into me.

"I don’t think you realise what that does to me."

The blush envelopes my whole face and I turn my head just enough to meet his eyes. My breath stutters at the force of our connection and my mouth drops open, all thoughts leaving me.

He collects himself, drawing in a steady breath as his gaze shifts forward, but I catch the flicker of something darker before he hides it away. His lips twitch in a faint smirk, the mask sliding back into place, but there’s tension in his jaw, a barely restrained energy simmering beneath the surface.

“Desperate, no," he says finally, his voice more controlled. "Determined, maybe.” He raises an eyebrow, oh now he’s amused, but his grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles faintly whitening as if he's holding himself back from something he definitely shouldn’t want.

The way he speaks makes my pulse race, a mix of embarrassment and a thrill I will not acknowledge. I am trying to focus on anything but the way his presence fills the car, wrapping around me like a second skin.

We drive in silence and it’s anything but comfortable. I can feel his every shift, every glance, as though he’s studying me, assessing me. His deep voice startles me.

“Do you believe in fate, Miss Carter?”

I blink at him, totally confused by his change in subject. “Fate?” I repeat, the word feels strange on my tongue.

“Yes” his tone softer, almost contemplative. “Do you think that some things are inevitable?”

I have zero clue how to respond, but there is something that makes me think this isn’t just idle curiosity.

“I… I don’t know. I guess I’ve always just thought we make our own paths, that fate is just something people believe in when they don’t have a choice.” I pause, glancing out the window, hoping he can’t see the flicker of pain. “I have to believe that” I add quietly. “Because if fate is real… well, then mine is pretty damn bleak.”

For a second, I wish I hadn’t said it. But the words hang in the air now, raw, a reminder of everything I’ve tried to bury.

He goes completely still, unnaturally still and I turn my head slightly towards him. There’s a flicker of something almost sad.

“Interesting perspective,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

I shift in my seat, feeling the tension between us growing like the storm outside. I can’t tell if he’s mocking me, testing me, or if there’s something more, something hidden in his words. And then he says it, his voice so low I can feel it.

“Be careful, Maci,” he purrs my name with a strange, lingering softness that makes my pulse quicken. He leans in, his eyes dark, his voice a whisper filled with warning. The way he says it, like a promise, makes my whole body shudder.

“You're stepping into a world that could devour you whole.”