Chapter 4

• Luciana's POV:
• The streets of New York were as chaotic as ever, a swirl of honking horns, chattering crowds, and distant sirens that seemed to echo in every direction. My heels clicked against the pavement, each step faster than the last. The icy wind bit at my cheeks, stinging my skin as I clutched my folder tight to my chest.
• I glanced at my watch and groaned. 30 minutes late. My pulse quickened with every tick of the clock, each second reminding me that this was not the impression I wanted to make.
• The skirt I had painstakingly chosen this morning felt too tight now, restricting my movement as I weaved through the endless stream of pedestrians. My blouse, pristine and pressed hours ago, clung to my back under my coat. But none of that mattered. What mattered was getting there.
• I ducked past a pretzel stand, narrowly missing an elbow from someone reaching for mustard, and pressed on. My breathing grew shallow as I tried to move faster, my hair loosening from the neat ponytail I’d styled to perfection.
• Then it happened.
• I slammed shoulders with someone, hard enough to make me stumble.
• “Oh! I’m so sorry!” I gasped, turning quickly to face whoever I’d run into. He was an older man, his face weathered, his dreadlocks spilling out from under a colorful knit hat.
• His sharp eyes zeroed in on me, and his irritation hit me like a slap. “Sorry? Yuh blind, miss?” he snapped, his Jamaican accent thick and biting. “Yuh tink yuh own di road? Yuh nah look where yuh walkin’, eh?”
• My breath caught, and I held up a hand instinctively, trying to placate him. “I— I didn’t mean to—”
• “Mean to?” he cut me off, throwing his hands up. “Lawd a mercy, people nowadays. No manners! Gwaan ‘bout yuh business before mi lose mi patience.”
• For a moment, I froze, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and frustration. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but decided against it. I didn’t have time for this.
• “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, the words barely audible as I turned back around and kept moving.
• My heart pounded in my chest, and my legs felt shaky, but I forced myself to focus. Keep walking, Luciana. Don’t let it bother you. Just get there.
• The city closed in around me, the towering buildings looming as I picked up my pace. I clung to the thought of the job interview like a lifeline. You’ve got this. Just breathe. You’re going to nail this interview.
• I finally reached the building, my breath coming in short gasps as I stopped in front of it. Towering above me was the kind of skyscraper you only saw in magazines—sleek, modern, and so polished that it seemed to mirror the cloudy New York sky. My eyes traveled up, and there it was: The West Enterprise. The name stretched elegantly across the glass facade, bold and commanding, like the building itself.
• I swallowed hard, my nerves prickling. This was it. This was the moment I’d been working toward. If I could just get inside and make an impression—if I could just make them see me for who I was—I knew I could change my life.
• But there was no time to admire the architecture. Adjusting my coat and clutching my folder tighter, I dashed inside, my heels clicking against the gleaming marble floor as I made my way to the reception desk.
• Behind the counter sat a blonde woman who looked as if she belonged on a billboard rather than behind a desk. Her hair was perfectly curled, falling over her shoulders, and her skin glowed under the bright lights of the lobby. Her bust was... noticeable, to say the least—her low-cut blouse made sure of that, the shiny, taut skin of her cleavage catching the light with every movement.
• She was chewing gum, loudly, her jaw working in exaggerated circles as she stared at her phone, seemingly uninterested in anything else around her.
• I approached cautiously, trying to catch my breath. “Hi, I’m Luciana Morales. I’m here for the—”
• Before I could finish, she snapped her gum and finally looked up, her icy blue eyes narrowing as they scanned me from head to toe.
• “You’re thirty-five minutes late,” she said flatly, her voice dripping with disdain.
• I blinked, my face burning. “Please, I know I’m late, but there’s got to be some way—”
• The receptionist cut me off with an exaggerated sigh, snapping her gum again. She leaned forward slightly, her manicured nails tapping impatiently on the desk. “Look, sweetheart, you missed your chance. Rules are rules. Now, either leave quietly, or I’ll call security to escort you out. Your choice.”
• Her words hit me like a slap. My stomach churned, but before I could muster another plea, she turned her attention to the person behind me, already dismissing me without a second thought.
• “Next!” she chirped, her tone suddenly saccharine sweet, as if she hadn’t just crushed my hopes.
• I stepped away from the desk, my hands trembling as I clutched my folder. My chest felt tight, and I tried to swallow the lump rising in my throat. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t just walk out and accept failure—not like this.
• As I turned toward the exit, something caught my eye. A woman in a crisp uniform was pushing a service cart across the lobby, her movements unhurried. The cart was laden with trays of food, covered neatly with a white cloth that hung low over the edges, hiding everything beneath.
• My heart raced as a wild, crazy idea began to form in my mind. It was reckless, absurd even, but desperation made people do unthinkable things.
• I glanced around quickly, my mind working faster than it ever had. If I could just...
• No. It was insane.
• But then again, what did I have to lose?