CHAPTER 3 - Trouble

CHAPTER 3: Trouble

Annabel’s POV

“I graduated from Sunnyside University,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

The silence that followed lasted only a second before it was shattered by a loud, mocking laugh. I felt my face heat up, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow me whole.

“Sunnyside?” the lady in the green suit shrieked, clutching her designer bag. “With the way you’re dressed, I thought you at least went somewhere prestigious. I was expecting Stanford, or at least Panview!” She looked around at the others, grinning. “I guess they’ll let anyone off the street interview here these days.”

I bit my lip, blinking back tears. Why me? Why today?

“Why are you laughing?” a calm, steady voice interrupted.

I looked up. A woman sitting a few seats away was staring at the girl in green with a look of pure unimpressed boredom.

“Not everyone has the same circumstances,” the stranger continued, her voice cutting through the giggles. “Some people actually have to work for what they have instead of relying on a family name. Tell me, you went to an elite school—but did you actually learn anything there?”

The room went dead silent. The girl in green blinked, her mouth hanging open. “What did you just say to me?”

“I asked a question. Answer it,” the woman said, leaning back and crossing her legs. “Did she attend a university? Yes or no?”

“Well… yes, but—”

“I didn't ask for a ‘but.’ If you can’t answer a simple closed-ended question, you’re going to fail the interview within five minutes. Keep your ‘buts’ to yourself.”

The girl in green turned bright red. “Why are you helping her? Don't tell me… did you go to that pathetic Sunnyside school, too?”

The mystery woman smirked. “Even if I did, at least I wasn't raised in a stable. You’re sitting here insulting people to feel better about your own insecurities. It’s pathetic. Get that through your head—if there’s any room left in there.”

“Did you just insult me? I graduated with a third-class degree from Highlight University!” the girl in green sputtered, as if the school’s name made up for her grades.

“A third-class? And you’re bragging?” The woman laughed, a sharp, musical sound. “What were you doing all those years? Clearly not studying. Your outfit says you spent more time at the club than the library.”

“How dare you!”

“Oh, hush. You’re only proud because your school is in the city. It’s a low-budget attitude for a high-budget tuition.”

I stared at the woman in awe. I loved her energy. I wanted to thank her, but I was still too stunned to move.

“Please,” I finally whispered, my voice returning. “Can we just stop?”

The girl in green snapped her head toward me. “Wow, the little graduate finally found her voice!”

I looked her straight in the eye, feeling a spark of annoyance replace my shame. “I don't even know you. Why are you doing this?”

“I… I…” She faltered, looking back at the woman who had defended me.

“She hasn't learned her lesson yet,” the beautiful woman said, giving me a small wink. Before the argument could escalate, the office door opened.

A secretary stepped out. “Good morning, everyone. The interviews are beginning. Please, number one, step inside. This is the first trial. If you pass, you move to the next round. Good luck.”

The Interview Room

Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating. Three judges sat behind a long mahogany table, looking like kings on their thrones.

On the right sat a man in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. In the middle was an older, distinguished gentleman in a brown suit. But it was the judge on the left who caught everyone’s breath. He wore a navy blue tuxedo that made his sharp features pop, his hair styled to perfection. He looked less like a businessman and more like a Greek god.

The third candidate—the one who had been acting so confident in the hall—stroked her hair and walked in with a flirtatious sway.

“Good morning, judges—”

“What exactly are you wearing?” the 'god' on the left interrupted. His voice was cold enough to frost the windows.

The girl blinked, looking down at her sleeveless, tight mini-dress. “I’m wearing a dress, sir,” she said, trying to sound bold.

He let out a dry, mocking laugh. “You call this a dress? I’ve seen better-looking rags in a garage.”

Her confidence wavered. “I… yes, of course it's a dress.”

“You are wearing a singlet and a scrap of fabric you call a skirt,” he snapped, his eyes flashing with disdain. “Is this a joke to you? Are you under the impression that we are opening a nightclub?”

“You’re insulting me!” she gasped.

“I’m evaluating you,” he countered with a predatory smirk. “You came here to seduce, not to work. You are not qualified to hold a pen in this building, let alone a position. Get out.”

“But—”

“Next!”