CHAPTER 2: Everything is Ruined

Wait…

What?

Her brows furrowed and her breath hitched. No, it couldn’t be him. No.

She looked down, with her eyes darting around alarmingly.

The CEO raised a brow, “Miss. Adams?”

That voice. That…

Her eyes looked up at him. It couldn't be…no it couldn't. She had hoped, she had hoped so bad that this would be her lifting point. But …how?

The same dark eyes, the same sharp features.The same man whose touch she had tried - scrap that - failed to forget. The man who had unraveled her in one reckless night.

Was sitting right in front of her, behind the CEO’s desk.

Penelope’s fingers tightened, her nails pressing into her palm as if grounding herself in reality.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Jesus, no.

But here she was, coming for an interview, meeting face to face, with the one man she thought she would never see again.

The silence in the office was so deafening, Penelope felt her ears ring. It was so tight and gripping.

She wasn't sure she could breathe. No, she actually couldn't.

Her pulse roared in her ears, loud enough to drown out reason, loud enough to blur everything except him.

How was it that she met him?! What were the odds? They weren't meant to see each other again.

They weren't meant….

Her eyes drifted upwards to see he was still looking at her, calm and composed.

As if he hadn’t just ripped the ground from beneath her feet. As if he hadn't just destroyed her whole stability.

Maybe she should just bolt out of here. But then, the interview….

“Miss Adams.”

His voice came again, smooth and measured. She gulped. It was a voice of professionalism and detachment.

Like he didn’t know her, like he had never known her.

Penelope blinked, her lips parting slightly before she found her voice.

“Y-yes…”

Her throat felt dry. She swallowed, forcing herself upright in the chair.

Pull yourself together, damn it!

Maybe… maybe he didn’t recognize her. It had been years, after all.

People changed. She wasn’t the same girl from that night. She had grown too.

There was no way he could remember….

And it wasn't helping that her daughter was his carbon-copy. So unfair.

Her fingers tightened against her lap. He didn’t remember. Yes, he didn't. It was practically impossible. What was she even afraid of?

She had worn a mask that day. So definitely, he wouldn't. Relief flickered briefly in her chest… but it didn’t last.

Because something in his gaze lingered just a second too long.

She blinked.

“Let’s begin,” he said simply, glancing down at the file in front of him.

Her file, her entire life condensed into paper. Penelope nodded, though her body still felt like it didn’t belong to her.

“Yes, sir.”

Sir, the word tasted strange on her tongue. No…that night, she had called him Sir too….

He hummed faintly, flipping a page, “You applied for the junior interior designer position.”

“Yes.”

“Without a degree,” he deadpanned.

Her fingers curled slightly, “Yes.”

“And yet…” He paused, eyes flicking over the document again. “You were shortlisted.”

Penelope inhaled slowly, “Yes.”

Why did every question feel like a test she was already failing?

He leaned back slightly in his chair, studying her now instead of the file, his dark eyes assessing her in a way that made her toes curl.

“Tell me why.”

Her heart skipped, “Why?” she looked up at him with furrowed brows.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “Why should Dawnat consider you?”

Penelope’s mind scrambled. Her lips parted slightly. She had prepared for this, she had practiced answers.

But now?

Everything felt scattered and out of reach.

“I…” She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “I may not have a formal degree, but I have experience. I’ve worked in homes, helped redesign spaces—”

“In caregiving jobs,” he cut in.

Her words faltered, and she looked down, “…Yes.”

“And babysitting.”

She swallowed, “Yes.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“And you believe that qualifies you to work here?”

The question wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t even rude. He was speaking calmly, but it didn't land nicely anyway.

Penelope’s chest tightened.

“I believe…” She paused, steadying her voice. “I believe I have an eye for detail. And I learn quickly.”

He watched her, with a brow lifting. He didn't blink nor react and Penelope started wondering if bolting out the door, would actually be preferable right now. Her fingers twisted together in her lap.

Say something more, Penny. Say something!

“I’m hardworking,” she added quickly. “And I’m willing to –”

“Willingness is common.”

Her words died again and the room felt colder. She bit her lip and he looked back down at the file, flipping another page.

“You’ve attended several interviews in the past year.”

Her stomach dropped, “Yes.”

“And none were successful.”

Her lips parted, “I–”

“Why?”

Penelope froze. Why? Because she got nervous, because she doubted herself.

Because every rejection carved something out of her until there was barely anything left to offer.

But how could she say that? It wasn't his business anyway.

“I…” Her voice thinned. “I suppose I wasn’t what they were looking for.”

“And what are we looking for, Miss Adams?”

Her silence stretched too long. She didn’t know.

She should know. But her mind was blank, completely blank.

He leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled together on the desk.

“Confidence,” he said.

The word settled between them and Penelope felt her throat tighten.

“I am confident,” she said quickly, though it sounded weaker than she intended.

His brow lifted just slightly, “Are you?”

Her breath hitched.

“I…yes.”

His gaze held hers, “Look at your hands.”

She blinked, “What?”

“Your hands,” he repeated calmly. “They’ve been fidgeting since you walked in.”

Her eyes dropped instinctively. He was right. Her fingers were twisting together, restless, betraying everything she was trying to hide.

Heat rushed to her face as she quickly stilled them.

“I’m just a little nervous,” she admitted.

“A little?”

Her lips pressed together.

He leaned back again, exhaling softly, “Nervousness is expected,” he said. “But lack of control is not.”

Each word felt like a quiet strike and Penelope’s chest tightened further.

She forced herself to sit straighter, to breathe, to focus.

“I can do this job,” she said, more firmly this time.

Something flickered in his eyes. Interest? Amusement? She couldn't tell, but it was gone too quickly.

“Then prove it.”

Her heart skipped again, “How?”

He slid a paper across the desk toward her. “A client brief.”

Penelope reached for it, her fingers brushing the page.

“Redesign a small living space,” he said. “Budget constraints, limited natural light, a family of three.”

Her eyes scanned the details quickly. Okay, this… this she could do. This was familiar.

She inhaled slowly, trying to steady herself.

“I would start by maximizing the available light,” she began. “Using lighter tones for the walls –”

“Which tones?”

Her mind paused., “Um… neutral tones. Whites, creams –”

“Specifics.”

Her chest tightened again, “Warm whites,” she said quickly. “To avoid a sterile feel.”

He nodded, though barely.

“Continue.”

She swallowed, “Multi-functional furniture to optimize space. Maybe a foldable table, built-in storage –”

“Cost?”

Her thoughts stumbled, “I would… have to compare…”

“You should already know.”

Her grip on the paper tightened, “I –”

“Miss Adams,” he said, cutting her off again, his voice still calm but firmer now, “this is basic.”

Her breath hitched. The confidence she had tried to gather crumbled again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

A long uncomfortable silence followed. He studied her again, more intently this time. As if trying to see beyond the surface.

And for a brief, terrifying moment… she thought,

“He remembers.”

Her heart pounded harder. Did he? Did he know? Did he recognize her now?

Her fingers began to tremble again and she clenched them tightly.

“Are you always like this under pressure?” he asked suddenly.

The question caught her off guard, “I… no.”

“Then what’s different today?”

Everything. You. But she couldn’t say that and she lowered her gaze.

“I just… really want this opportunity.”

There was a pause, then he said,

“Or you’re afraid of failing again.”

Her eyes snapped up. The accuracy of it hit too close, but she didn’t respond. Because she couldn’t and because he was right.

The room fell quiet again. Her eyes briefly fell on the slab that rested on his table blaring his name for all to see, ‘Calvin Dawson, CEO.’

She gulped. She hadn't even known his name.

More questions came afterward, each more technical and precise than the other.

And with each one…she faltered, stumbled. Second-guessed. Sometimes, she just answered on instinct.

Her thoughts tangled over themselves. And all the while, his gaze remained steady. As if, just observing her.

By the time the hour passed, Penelope felt drained. Like something inside her had been peeled open and examined too closely.

“Alright,” he said finally, closing the file.

Her heart thudded. That was it? That was… everything?

“You may go.”

Just like that? No reassurance or indication whatsoever?

Nothing.

Penelope nodded stiffly, rising from the chair.

“Thank you… sir.”

The word felt heavier this time. She turned toward the door, her steps slightly unsteady. And just as her hand reached for the handle –

“Miss Adams.”

She froze. Slowly, she turned back.

“Yes?”

For a second… he just looked at her. And something in his expression shifted.

It was subtle, but it made her breath catch again.

Then,

“Close the door on your way out.”

Her chest tightened and her eyes lowered.

“…Yes.”

And that was it. Everything…ruined.