Chapter 4

The Unlikely Interview.

With its acute edges catching the morning light, Whitaker Architecture's tall glass façade towered above Clara like a monolith. Nerves as tense as violin strings, she stood at the base, holding her portfolio while a sharp wind pulled at her jacket.

She braced herself and stepped into the building, the immaculate marble flooring absorbing her footfall. The foyer was a sleek, intimidatingly precise sea of steel and glass. Above her, a huge arrangement of suspended metal rods glistened, scattering broken light throughout the room. Clara stopped to admire the grandeur, but as soon as she saw a group of sharply dressed candidates waiting close by, her wonder was swiftly replaced by self-doubt. They all radiated confidence, and their pricey suits and high-end shoes stood in sharp contrast to her modest clothing.

Clara came up, her voice sharp, and the receptionist hardly raised her head. "Name?"

Her voice revealed the tremble in her breast as she answered, "Clara Hawthorne."

Unimpressed, the woman's eyes swept over Clara. "Sit down. Someone will call you.

Ignoring the other applicants' critical looks, Clara located an empty chair close to the room's edge. Her fears were further heightened by their whispered silence.

She tightened her grasp on her portfolio and muttered to herself, "You've survived worse." "This is just one more difficulty."

The room's tension abruptly changed. Ethan Whitaker strode in as the big glass doors slid open, turning heads. His captivating personality demanded attention just by virtue of his self-assurance. His black eyes scanned the room with silent intent, his fitted suit fitting him like armor. As he went by, there was silence, and the air seemed to get heavier behind him.

For a moment, Clara's eyes met his, and she gasped as his glance passed over her. She couldn't read his face, but there was something unsettling about his gaze. Her name was called before she had time to think about it.

Clara got up, feeling anxious. There was no going back now, no matter what lied ahead.

With its stark white walls and sparse furniture, the interview room felt impersonal and frigid, more like an interrogation room. The HR manager, Evelyn Marlowe, whose cold manner matched her surroundings, was seated opposite from Clara.

Evelyn moved slowly and deliberately as she turned through Clara's portfolio, each page turning as if a verdict had been made. "You don't have official credentials," she said plainly, her penetrating gaze cutting through Clara's determination. "Why should we give you preference over applicants with proven backgrounds?"

Clara's fingers tightened on the chair's edge as she straightened her back. "My desire more than makes up for my lack of credentials. Give me an opportunity, and I will demonstrate it.

Unimpressed, Evelyn arched an eyebrow. "Results are not always guaranteed by determination."

Clara's gut constricted, but she remained steadfast. "It ensures that I will not give up until I deliver."

Clara turned to see Ethan Whitaker enter the room as the door cracked open. His presence was unsettling, and as he drew closer, the temperature appeared to plummet. He paused next to Evelyn and glanced at Clara's portfolio.

"What's this?" he inquired, his tone steady but sharp enough to make Clara's heart race.

"Miss Hawthorne's portfolio," Evelyn answered, her voice becoming respectful.

Picking up the folder, Ethan flipped through it with a measured lack of interest. "Interesting," he whispered, but his face was a secret. He raised his head and met Clara's gaze. "Let's see them if you're so sure of your skills."

He slid a blank piece of paper across the table after grabbing it. He described a challenging architectural issue with constrained space and structural constraints, saying, "Design a solution for this scenario." "You've got ten minutes."

Despite her racing heart, Clara handled the pencil steadily. She was forced to take on the challenge.

Clara's thoughts was racing as she drew, and her pencil was moving quickly over the page. The only sound in the room was the slight scratching of graphite on paper. Ethan's probing gaze and Evelyn's doubtful gaze were on her, but she ignored the strain and concentrated on the design.

She came up with an unusual solution that combined functionality with a striking design. She didn't have time to doubt herself, even though she knew it was dangerous. Her chest taut with anticipation, she slid the paper across the table toward Ethan when the 10 minutes were up.

Ethan's countenance was unreadable as he inspected the sketch. At last, he said, "Interesting." "Risky. Does it, however, work?

With her voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins, Clara leaned forward. "It functions. The structure is supported by the weight distribution, and natural light is maximized by the open design.

As Ethan put the paper down, he could feel the tension in the room. The other employees who had gathered outside the room smirked at each other, obviously anticipating her failure.

With a single glance, Ethan's eyes swept over them and silenced the murmurs. "She's right," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "This might work."

Evelyn's mouth tensed, but she remained silent. Ethan turned back to her, and Clara experienced a brief moment of relief.

He stated icily, "This isn't charity." "You're out unless you impress me once more."

Clara nodded, her resolve more fervent than before. "I'll."

The encounter weighed heavily on her as she walked out of the room. Despite having the position, she couldn't get rid of the impression that she had just entered a far more significant and hazardous situation than she had initially thought.

As she exited the elevator and entered Whitaker Architecture's chilly, reverberating lobby, Clara gripped her portfolio. Though the recollection of Ethan's icy stare and firm warning hung like a shadow in the back of her mind, the adrenaline from the interview was still pumping through her veins. Eager to get out of the building's intimidating atmosphere, she made her way to the rotating doors.

She was stopped in her tracks by a harsh, powerful voice. "Ethan, this is going to go horribly wrong. You are aware of that.

Naturally, Clara halted, her eyes going to a partially open door close to the reception desk. She saw glimpses of an elderly man with graying hair and a tense-looking face from within, along with Ethan Whitaker. There was a weight to their comments that went well beyond the ordinary.

The older man went on, his voice tinged with annoyance, "My father won't let this slide." "The legacy of the company is at stake."

Ethan's response had a steely edge beneath his composure, muted but determined. "I am not under my father's authority. He never did.

"Scoff," said the older man. "Everything will be ruined by your conceit."

Clara's heartbeat accelerated. Although she didn't intend to stay, the tense exchange kept coming back to her like a thread. Control? Legacy? Although Ethan's tough face during their encounter revealed none of it, the shards depicted a man under tremendous pressure.

The door suddenly sprang open. As soon as Ethan entered the hall, Clara caught his piercing glance. Something flickered across his face, maybe rage, and his eyes sharpened.

"Miss Hawthorne, are you listening in?" He spoke in a voice as frigid as the winter wind.

"I I meant not to " He raised a hand and interrupted Clara as she started.

His voice was low but foreboding as he warned, "Don't make this mistake again." He turned and vanished into the hallway's shadows without saying another word.

Clara let out a trembling breath, her pulse racing. The world of Ethan Whitaker, which she had glimpsed, was much more perilous than she had anticipated.

When Clara entered her small apartment that night, she was welcomed by the comforting, well-known aroma of soup. The events reverberated like an unwanted echo, yet the rough edges of the day were softened by the comfort of home. As the tension started to ease, she rubbed her temples and set her purse on the counter.

Peter, her younger brother, yelled out from the tiny dining table where he was studying a textbook, "Clara, you're back!"

As she came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her mother said, cautiously hopeful, "How did it go?"

Clara forced a grin. "I was hired."

Their mother's face brightened with relief as Peter whooped and threw his pencil into the air. Her mother exclaimed, "Oh, Clara, that's wonderful," but her worried expression didn't completely disappear. But do you think you'll be alright? I've heard he's... challenging.

Clara gave a little laugh, but it was devoid of humor. "To put it mildly, it might be difficult."

Peter smiled mischievously and leaned forward. "The ice king? Keep from letting him freeze you out.

As she went by, Clara ruffled his hair and rolled her eyes. She paused at the weight of her own words, but she said, "I think I can handle him."

Later that evening, Clara sat at her desk and gazed at her laptop while the apartment drifted into a silent calm. When she noticed a new message from Ethan in her email, her heart skipped a beat. The subject line said: Prepare yourself. Tomorrow is only the first step.

Before clicking the message open, Clara's fingers lingered over the mouse. The phrases, "This job is not for the faint of heart," were evident despite the thin body. Don't let me down.

With every second that went by, the seriousness of what she had entered became more and more evident, and her stomach wrenched. A feeling of resolution descended upon her as she shut down her laptop.

"Tomorrow," she muttered to herself, her resolve concealing the gnawing doubt that was beginning to sneak into her thoughts. "I'll show that I belong."

However, the words that Ethan had said earlier kept coming back to her as she lay in bed, a haunting refrain that would not allow her sleep.