Chapter 5 Under His Gaze

"Miss Aria Collins… you’re next."

The words hit me like a splash of ice water, snapping through the thick, suffocating quiet of the executive floor.

My heart did a violent, painful flip in my chest. For two long seconds, my legs refused to move, completely frozen by the sudden wave of panic crashing over me. The other remaining candidates turned their heads, staring at me with a mixture of pity and pale relief, glad it was my turn to face the firing squad instead of theirs.

I took a sharp, deep breath, forcing my lungs to expand. Slowly, I pushed myself up from the leather chair, smoothing down the front of my cheap black trousers. My knees felt dangerously weak, like soft wax ready to melt beneath my weight, but I forced my feet to step forward onto the plush carpet.

The Human Resources officer matched my pace, walking beside me toward the massive dark double doors that stood like the entrance to a fortress. She kept her face completely blank, but right before we reached the polished wood, she leaned in slightly and spoke in a low, tight whisper.

"Keep your head up, stay completely calm, and answer only what he asks," she warned, her eyes darting toward the keyhole. "Mr. Blackwood does not waste time on nervous ramblings or excuses. Be professional, Miss Collins."

"Thank you," I breathed out, my voice sounding far away and thin in my own ears.

She nodded once, stepped back, and left me standing completely alone before the grand entrance.

I stood there on the threshold, clutching my folder so tightly against my ribs that the thin paper crumpled under my white knuckles. My heart was hammering a frantic, terrifying rhythm against my collarbone.

Everything inside my brain screamed at me to turn on my heel and run toward the glass elevator before it was too late. But I thought of the red eviction notice on our kitchen counter, my mother's unpaid prescriptions, and the four painful months of hunger and humiliation I had survived just to stand on this floor. I couldn't run.

I closed my eyes, took one final, steadying breath to settle my racing pulse, and lifted my hand.

I raised my knuckle to the heavy dark wood and knocked softly.

"Enter," a deep, quiet voice called out from behind the heavy wood.

I turned the handle, pushed the door open, and stepped into the large office. The room was bathed in soft light from giant glass windows, but the air felt ice cold. A tall man sat behind a massive dark desk near the back wall. He did not look up from the thick stack of papers spread across his desk. His pen moved across a document with smooth, sharp movements.

"Good morning, Mr. Blackwood," I said, keeping my hands steady at my sides. "I am Aria Collins."

He still did not raise his head. His sharp jawline, tailored suit, and total lack of emotion made him look like a statue carved from granite. An intense, heavy power seemed to fill every inch of the room around him, threatening to crush anyone who stepped inside. My palms turned slick with sweat, and a fresh wave of anxiety threatened to make my knees buckle. But I stood my ground. I pulled my shoulders back, lifted my chin, and planted my feet firmly into the dark rug. I had faced four months of poverty and hunger; I was not going to break down now just because a wealthy man refused to look at me.

Finally, Ethan set his pen down on the polished wood. Without saying a word or looking up, his long fingers reached for my résumé lying on the corner of his desk. He flipped the page open and began reading. He read slowly, taking in every single line, every former job, and every detail of my past. Seconds stretched into long, painful minutes. I stood in front of his desk in complete silence, holding my breath and keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead. The only sound in the vast room was the quiet ticking of a clock on the far wall.

That thick, heavy silence began to twist in my chest like a sharp blade. It was far worse than any harsh question or sharp criticism he could have thrown at me. In the quiet, my mind began to race with dark thoughts, making me wonder if he was laughing at my cheap qualifications or preparing to throw me out into the hallway like the candidate before me. The quiet pressure inside the room kept mounting higher and higher, pulling my nerves so tight until I felt like I was about to shatter into pieces right where I stood. Every second felt like an eternity under his silent judgment.

Ethan finally lifted his head away from my résumé and looked at me for the very first time.

His eyes were a piercing, stormy grey, sharp enough to see right through every wall I had carefully built around myself. He did not say a single word, but his cold, heavy gaze moved slowly across my face, taking in every single detail of my appearance, from my cheap clothes and pale cheeks to the desperate fight to keep my body standing completely straight.

Our eyes met directly in the air, and in that split second, a sudden spark of strange, unexplainable tension filled the massive room between us. It was a heavy, electric pull that made my heart leap into my throat and caused my breath to freeze inside my chest.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs as I struggled to keep my posture firm, unable to look away. Neither of us seemed to understand what was happening, or why the simple contact of our eyes had made the air feel so thick and charged with dangerous emotion.

Without giving away a single hint of what he was thinking behind his dark expression, Ethan slowly closed the paper folder containing my résumé. He set it down neatly on the corner of his large desk, making sure the edges lined up perfectly, and folded his long fingers together over the smooth dark wood. His cold gaze remained fixed directly on mine, completely unblinking and unreadable, leaving me to stand there wondering what terrible judgment he had just passed on my meager past and my true purpose here.

"Why do you want to work at Blackwood Group?"

His deep, smooth voice cut straight through the silent room like a sharp blade, breaking the agonizing quiet with his very first question. The short words hung in the cold air, demandingly quiet and heavy with power, waiting for an immediate answer that could easily make or break my entire future, or send me running back out to the street.

I parted my dry lips and opened my mouth to deliver the safe, well-practiced, polite response I had rehearsed for days in my small apartment. I stood frozen before his gaze, completely unaware that the answer I was about to give him in the next few seconds was going to determine far more than just whether I got the job or walked away with nothing.

This was the moment that could change everything.

One answer could either open the door to a new life or send me walking straight back into the same desperation I had fought so hard to escape.