Chapter 6: A Different Kind of Interview

"Why do you want to work at Blackwood Enterprises, Miss Vance?"

Ethan’s voice was cool, smooth, and completely devoid of warmth. He sat across the wide glass desk, his hands loosely folded, his dark eyes locked onto mine. Most interviewers had a polite smile ready, or at least a subtle nod to encourage you. Ethan Sterling had none of that. His face was an immovable wall.

For a second, the glossy, rehearsed answer I had spent three days memorizing flashed through my mind. I could tell him I was deeply passionate about corporate management, or that I had always admired his company's aggressive market dominance. I could hand him the exact same fake persona every other candidate had delivered today.

Instead, I took a slow breath and looked him dead in the eye.

"To be honest, Mr. Sterling, I’m not here to recite a canned speech about how much I admire your mission statement," I said, keeping my tone steady despite the rapid pounding of my heart. "I need an opportunity. I’m looking for a place where I can actually build a career and establish myself through hard work, not just sit at a desk and wait for a paycheck at the end of the month."

I paused, waiting for a reaction. A twitch of his jaw, an eyebrow raised in disapproval, a subtle scowl at my blunt honesty, anything.

Nothing.

Ethan just listened. He didn't interrupt me, he didn't write anything down on his notepad, and his face didn't betray a single emotion. His complete stillness was unnerving, like a predator observing prey from across a room, measuring its every breath.

A cold prickle of anxiety crept up my spine. Was that a huge mistake? In my effort to sound genuine, had I just handed him a reason to disqualify me on the spot? Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, until the hum of the air conditioning unit felt deafeningly loud. I pressed my knees together tightly under the heavy desk, forcing my hands to remain resting calmly in my lap so he wouldn't see them shake.

"Build a career," Ethan finally repeated. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as if weighing the words in his hands before letting them drop into the air. He leaned back slightly in his leather armchair, the high-end material creaking under his weight. "Most people sit in that chair and lie to me, Miss Vance. They tell me they love the company, they love the brand, and they love our vision. But you walk in here and tell me you just want an opportunity to prove yourself."

"Because it's the truth," I said, refusing to back down or break eye contact. "I don't believe in lying to get through the door. If I work for you, you will get my absolute effort and total loyalty, but I expect a real path forward in return. I don't want a comfortable job where I do the bare minimum. I want a place where my results actually matter."

Ethan shifted his weight, his gaze narrowing slightly as he studied my posture. He didn't look angry, nor did he look impressed. He simply looked intently focused, as if trying to figure out whether I was genuinely confident or just exceptionally good at playing a bold character.

"Honesty is a dangerous strategy in an interview," he said softly, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "It tells me what you want, but it also tells me you might be difficult to manage if you disagree with how things are run."

"Only if the management expects blind obedience instead of efficiency," I countered, the words leaving my mouth before I could censor them.

The room fell dead silent again. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I had pushed the boundary, stepping directly onto the edge of defiance. Yet, as Ethan stared back at me across the pristine glass surface, his unreadable expression remained firmly in place, leaving me completely stranded in the dark.

"And how do you handle pressure when things don't go according to plan?" Ethan asked, his dark eyes never leaving my face as he rested his forearms on the glass desk.

I took a quiet breath, feeling the weight of his attention pressing down on me. "I don't panic. When everything goes wrong, panicking is a luxury no one can afford. I break the problem down into smaller parts, figure out what can be fixed immediately, and focus on that. My last position required managing multiple high-priority tasks with zero margin for error. When a crisis hit, I stayed focused on solutions, not the chaos around me."

Ethan tilted his head a fraction of an inch, his eyes narrowing as he took in my posture, the firm line of my shoulders, and the unyielding eye contact I maintained.

"Your former employer noted that you were capable, but occasionally stubborn when you believed a strategy was flawed," he said smoothly, unblinking. "How do you defend that?"

"I don't defend it, because it's true," I answered without hesitation, keeping my voice steady. "If I see a flaw in a process that will cost time or money down the road, I voice it. I respect authority, Mr. Sterling, but I respect results more. I believe a company benefits far more from employees who think critically than those who simply agree with everything they are told."

For the briefest fraction of a second, something shifted deep within Ethan’s eyes a subtle flicker of genuine interest that vanished almost as fast as it appeared.

He was used to candidates who trembled in this room, who offered sanitized, agreeable answers meant to flatter his ego, or who tried far too hard to project an air of corporate superiority. I was doing none of those things. I sat before him without a trace of arrogance, yet entirely unshakeable in my honesty. My composure was real, forged under actual pressure rather than practiced in front of a bedroom mirror.

Ethan picked up his silver pen, spinning it once between his long fingers as his mind quietly reevaluated the woman sitting across from him. I wasn't just another printed résumé in a stack on his desk. I was entirely different from anyone else he had interviewed today.

"Critical thinking often borders on defiance if it isn't managed properly," Ethan pointed out, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in slightly. "If I give an order, I expect it to be executed immediately. I don't hire assistants to debate my decisions."

"I don't debate for the sake of arguing," I replied calmly, meeting his intense gaze head-on. "If an order is clear and effective, I execute it without question. But if I spot a hidden danger that you might have missed while managing bigger company issues, my job is to point it out before it becomes a disaster. Loyalty isn't telling you you're right when you're about to make a costly mistake. Loyalty is protecting your back."

Ethan kept his hand still on the desk, his pen resting between his fingers. The quiet in the room stretched out once more, but this time, the heavy silence felt different. It was no longer an interrogation designed to make me squirm. It felt like a silent test of wills, a careful measuring of power between two people in a closed room.

He didn't offer a compliment, nor did he nod in agreement. He simply stared at me, his sharp features completely guarded, absorbing every word I said and every subtle movement I made. I could feel the invisible aura of his authority pushing against me, testing my resolve, but I refused to shrink back or lower my gaze.

"You hold your ground remarkably well, Miss Vance," Ethan said, his voice flat and unreadable as he finally set his pen down flat on the desk. "Many people in your position would have softened their stance by now just to keep me pleased."

"Softening the truth doesn't yield real results," I said softly. "And I assumed Blackwood Enterprises only cares about results."

The interview continued in complete, heavy silence between each question that followed. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Each quiet pause stretched endlessly, filling the vast office with a suffocating tension that tested whether I would break under the pressure and start rambling to fill the empty air. I held my ground, remaining completely silent until he spoke again, but inside, my nerves were frayed to a thin wire.

Ethan asked a few final questions regarding my schedule and immediate availability. I answered each one concisely, keeping my voice smooth, polite, and free of any desperation.

Without saying another word, Ethan reached forward with a slow, deliberate movement. He closed my résumé folder, carefully aligning its edges until they were perfectly parallel with the side of his glass desk. The soft snap of the folder closing sounded like a courtroom gavel dropping in the quiet room.

I held my breath, searching his cold face for any hidden sign or clue subtle flicker of approval, a flash of dismissiveness, or a gentle nod that would tell me if I had earned a chance or completely destroyed my prospects. But Ethan’s sharp expression remained an impenetrable mask of absolute composure. I couldn't tell whether I had genuinely impressed him or completely failed the interview.

"Thank you for your time today, Miss Vance," Ethan said calmly, rising from his chair to his full, towering height. His tone was entirely neutral, giving away nothing. "We will be in touch."

The mini-climax landed like a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach. No 'great job,' no 'we are very impressed,' just a cold, standard corporate dismissal.

"Thank you, Mr. Sterling," I said, forcing a polite tone as I stood up from my chair. I gathered my handbag from the floor and smoothed down my skirt, trying to hide the fact that my hands felt as cold as ice. I was completely convinced that I had failed, that my bold answers had pushed him too far and ruined my only chance at securing the job.

I turned away from his desk and walked toward the heavy wooden door of his private office, each step feeling heavier than the last. The distance across the expansive room felt like miles. I reached out and placed my fingers against the cold metal door handle, ready to pull it open, step out into the hallway, and leave the suffocating tension of the interview behind forever.

"Aria."

The sound of my first name falling from his lips spoken in a voice far deeper, lower, and darker than before stopped me dead in my tracks before I could turn the handle.

I froze, my hand remaining locked onto the cold metal knob. He had addressed me strictly as Miss Vance for the entire interview, maintaining a formal, unbreakable distance. Hearing my first name come from his lips carried an unnatural, heavy weight that made the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I slowly turned back to face him, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.

Ethan had walked out from behind his glass desk. He wasn't standing as a cold employer anymore; he was stepping into the light, his posture rigid and his dark eyes burning with an intense, unreadable fire that hadn't been there a moment ago. He didn't look like a CEO reviewing an applicant. He looked like a man who had suddenly recognized something dangerous, something he had been desperately trying to hide behind his quiet composure.

"Mr. Sterling?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper in the silent room.

Ethan took two slow, deliberate steps toward me, closing the distance between us until the overwhelming presence of his authority filled the air around me. He stopped just a few feet away, his chest rising and falling with a deep, controlled breath. He locked his gaze onto mine, his eyes scanning every inch of my face as if seeing me for the very first time.

"Who sent you here?" he asked softly, his voice dangerously smooth.