CHAPTER 4- Not Eligible

CHAPTER 4: Not Eligible

Inside the glass-walled sanctuary of the executive suite, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and old money. The candidate in the "club dress" stood trembling, her mascara beginning to smudge as the weight of the rejection hit her.

“But… we haven’t even started the formal interview yet!” she stammered, her voice cracking as she teetered on her five-inch heels.

Elias Sterling leaned back in his leather chair, the navy fabric of his suit catching the light. He looked at her not with pity, but with a bored, icy detachment. 

“The interview began the moment you stepped into this building,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. 

“In this company, we value discretion, professionalism, and intellect. You, however, look like you’re waiting for a DJ to drop the beat.”

He paused, a cruel, mocking chuckle escaping his lips. “Next time you try to infiltrate a corporate headquarters, wear a suit. This isn't a VIP lounge, and I am certainly not your promoter. You are not eligible. Get out.”

“Elias… that’s enough,” the elderly man in the center seat murmured. His voice was softer, but it carried the weight of authority.

“I’m simply being efficient, Mr. Sterling,” Elias countered, though he didn't look at the man he called 'Dad.' 

He kept his gaze fixed on the girl until she finally broke, spinning on her heel and sobbing as she bolted for the door.

Once the heavy oak doors clicked shut, the older man sighed, rubbing his temples. “Elias, why is your mood so foul today? You’re scaring off candidates before they can even show us their resumes.”

“It’s because of a certain… pest,” Elias snapped, his mind flashes back to the woman in the lobby who had the audacity to call him a 'nobody.'

“No coarse words in the office,” his father warned gently. “Take a breath. In… out. Now, what happened?”

Elias stood up, pacing the length of the massive mahogany desk. 

“She had the right to talk back to me? To lecture me in public? She even managed to ruin one of my favorite shirts with her coffee!”

The older Mr. Sterling raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Someone talked back to you? In public? I’m already loving her vibe. Who is she?”

“Dad—”

“Don’t call me Dad. We are at work,” the older man corrected, though his smile grew.

“Fine, Mr. Sterling. You’re supposed to support your son, not the woman who assaulted his dignity in a lobby!”

“Why should I support you when you’re being a brat? I want to meet this girl. She sounds like she has the backbone this company needs. Do you have her name?”

“No,” Elias growled, sitting back down and straightening his cuffs.

 “And I don’t want to know it. I hope she’s halfway across the city by now.”

“I’ll find her,” his father whispered to himself, a plan already forming.

Outside in the waiting area, the silence was shattered by the candidate’s wailing. She ran out of the room, her face a mask of ruined makeup and humiliation. The "elite" girls shifted in their seats, their confident facades beginning to crack.

“What happened in there?” one asked, leaning away as the girl ran past.

“He’s a beast!” the girl cried out. 

“He’s a monster in a suit!”

“Who? Mr. Sterling?” Constance, the girl in the green outfit, asked with a sneer.

 “Maybe you just weren't up to his standards.”

Annabel, who had been watching the scene with growing dread, couldn't stay silent anymore. The girl was clearly in pain, and Constance was enjoying it. 

“Are you blind, or just cruel?” Annabel asked, standing up. 

“Can’t you see she’s upset?”

Constance turned her predatory gaze onto Annabel.

 “Who gave you the right to talk back to me? A little Sunnyside graduate should know her place.”

“I have every right,” Annabel snapped, her fear for the interview momentarily replaced by a fire in her chest. 

“You think because I’ve been quiet, I’ll let you bully everyone in this room? You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“You’re still talking?” Constance laughed, looking at her friends. 

“Do you even know who I am? I am Constance Norman. My father is a millionaire. I could have you blacklisted from every firm in this city with one phone call.”

The room went quiet, but it wasn't the silence of respect—it was the silence of a trap being set. The woman who had helped Annabel earlier let out a sharp, bark-like laugh.

“A millionaire’s daughter?” the woman mocked. “Then tell me, Constance, why did you go to Highlight University? If you were a real Norman, you’d have been at an Ivy League or a private academy in Europe. You’re bragging about a third-class degree from a school that accepts anyone with a checkbook.”

Annabel caught the woman’s drift and stepped forward, narrowing her eyes.

 “Actually, I checked the business journals just yesterday. The Norman family has two sons. No daughters. So, Constance... which branch of the family did you say you were from? Or did you just pick a name out of a hat this morning?”

The color drained from Constance’s face. The other candidates began to whisper, their voices rising like a tide.

“Fake millionaire!”

“Look at her shaking. She’s a fraud!”

“Millionaire daughter? More like a low-budget actress!”

The mockery Constance had dealt out was now being returned tenfold. Unable to handle the disgrace, Constance grabbed her bag and fled the hallway, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm against the marble floor.

Annabel breathed a sigh of relief, but her victory was short-lived. 

The secretary’s voice rang out: “Number forty-five. Annabel. You’re up.”

ANNABEL POV

My heart wasn't just beating; it was trying to escape my chest. I smoothed my "moderate" white shirt and adjusted my skirt, trying to project a confidence I didn't feel. 

For Mom, I reminded myself. Just get through this for Mom.

I followed the secretary into the office. The scale of the room was intimidating—the floor-to-ceiling windows made me feel like I was standing on the edge of the world.

 But it was the man in the chair that made my blood run cold.

He was turned away, looking out at the city. But when the assistant closed the door and he spun the chair around, my heart didn't just cut—it stopped.

“You!” We both shouted at the same time.

“What are you doing here?” I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

“I asked first,” the stranger—the 'drunk' from the lobby, now looking dangerously sober and powerful—snarled. 

“Answer me. Why are you in my office?”

“Elias? You know this young lady?” the elderly man in the center asked, his eyes twinkling with a sudden, sharp interest.

“Mr. Sterling,” Elias said, his voice dripping with venom as he gestured toward me. 

“This is the woman from the lobby. The one who told me I had a 'small brain' and called me a nobody.”

My knees felt weak. I looked at the elderly man, then back to the man I now knew was Elias Sterling. The "mysterious CEO." The "demi-god."

“Oh!” the older Mr. Sterling beamed, leaning forward. “So you’re the coffee-thrower? Please, dear, have a seat. I’ve been dying to meet you.”

“No,” Elias interrupted, his eyes flashing with a cold, vengeful light.

 He picked up my folder and, without even opening it, tossed it into the trash can beside his desk.

 “She is not eligible. Not for the next round, not for this company, not even for the parking lot. You can leave, Annabel. Now.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. The air in the room felt thin, and for a moment, the world tilted on its axis. Not eligible. All my dreams, my mother’s sacrifices, my future—all thrown into the trash because of a moment of temper.

I looked at the trash can, then back at his arrogant, smug face. I couldn't breathe.