The Devil At My Desk

Bella's POV

The first rule of being a Marlowe was simple: family came first.

The second was that Nathan came before everyone else, including me.

“Bella, darling, could you get your brother the blue folder from the study?”

I looked up from my laptop. Mum stood in the breakfast room doorway, adjusting the diamond bracelet on her wrist. She wore a cream silk blouse and tailored trousers, ready for the day.

“Mum, I’m working.”

“And Nathan has an important meeting.” She smiled as though that settled it. “The folder’s in the study. You know where it is.”

I checked the time on my screen. 8:17 a.m. My interview was at nine.

“I have to leave soon. Can’t he get it himself?”

“It’ll take two minutes, sweetheart.”

She turned away before I could answer.

I stared after her. I could call her back and insist that my plans mattered too. Instead, I shut my laptop and went to get the folder.

It was beneath a stack of financial reports on the study desk. I had just pulled it free when Nathan appeared in the doorway, checking his watch.

“Perfect. You found it.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

He held out his hand. “The folder?”

I passed it over.

“Thanks, Bella. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Happy to help.”

He looked at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just enjoying the family tradition of dropping everything whenever you need something.”

He laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re welcome.”

He tucked the folder under his arm, then paused. “Good luck with your interview, by the way.”

I blinked. He’d remembered.

“Thanks.”

“Though, honestly, you should think about joining the business. Dad could use someone with your organizational skills.”

There it was again. Whatever I was good at, it seemed, was only worth doing if it served the future my family had chosen for me.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Love you, princess.”

He left before I could think of a reply.

I loved my brother. I did. But sometimes I wondered what it would feel like to be the child my parents were afraid of disappointing.

When I returned to the breakfast room, Mum was pouring coffee.

“Did Nathan get the folder?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She took a sip. “Now, your interview. What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“And where?”

“Ashford Technologies.”

Her cup stopped halfway to her mouth. “Ashford Technologies? The technology company?”

“That’s the one.”

“I thought we’d discussed you joining the jewelry business after graduation.”

“We did.”

“And?”

“And I applied for a job in the field I actually studied.”

Her expression tightened. “There’s nothing wrong with our business. Your father has invested years in it. One day it will belong to your brother, and he’ll need family around him that he can trust.”

I adjusted the strap of my bag. “I’m not trying to abandon the family.”

“Then why make things difficult?”

I had an answer for that. Several, actually. None of them would make this conversation easier.

“I just want to try something I’m good at,” I said.

Mum sighed and reached for her coffee. “Fine. Go to your interview. We’ll discuss this properly when you get back.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t point out that we had already discussed it several times. I knew how those conversations ended. She talked about the family legacy, I tried to explain what I wanted, and somehow I ended up feeling guilty for wanting a life of my own.

I left before we could start again.

My phone vibrated in the taxi.

Margot Bellamy: Good morning, Arabella. Are you on your way?

Me: Yes. Almost there.

Margot: Good. Remember what I told you. Don’t undersell yourself.

I smiled at the screen. Margot had supervised my work at university and was one of the few people who had never treated my interest in technology as a passing phase.

When she first mentioned the opening at Ashford Technologies, I assumed it was a junior administrative role. Then she explained that the successful candidate would work directly with the CEO, coordinating executive projects, communications, and important meetings.

It was the kind of opportunity I had been hoping for.

I’d spent nights researching the company and preparing for possible interview questions. Now, with my résumé in my bag, I kept thinking of everything that could go wrong. What if I froze? What if I couldn’t answer a question?

I pressed my palms against my trousers.

“Stop it,” I muttered.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“Sorry,” I said, looking out the window.

I took a slow breath. I’d graduated at the top of my class. I knew how to solve problems, learn quickly, and work under pressure. I had earned the right to be in that interview.

Ashford Technologies rose above the surrounding buildings, its glass façade catching the morning light. The company’s name was displayed in silver above the entrance.

I stared at it for a moment before paying the driver.

This was where I wanted to build my career. I wanted my ideas to matter. I wanted to be more than a jeweler’s daughter or the younger sister of a future CEO.

I wanted to be Arabella Marlowe, on my own terms.

I smoothed my blouse and headed inside.