"Maeve Cruz," the man said, studying my resume before looking up at me with a smile. It was clear that my appearance and attire had already made a strong impression. I felt confident that the rest of the interview would be smooth sailing.
"I like your resume," he continued. "We've been looking for someone with your experience to present our new houses to clients. Your background is exactly what we need."
I smiled, ready to address his next question. "What made you choose real estate over utilizing your degree in another business field?"
I replied with poise, "I believe one should recognize their strengths and weaknesses before making career decisions. As you can see, I'm quite confident in my ability to attract clients with my presence. I believe that leveraging my strengths, like my appearance, can bring more customers in the short term than waiting years to prove my worth behind a desk. To ignore my strengths and hope for a different path up the corporate ladder would be, frankly, a fool's paradise."
The interviewer clearly wasn't expecting my bold response, but I knew this confidence in my appearance came from my mother. I had always been aware of the impact of my looks. No matter how intelligent or hardworking I was, people would often focus solely on my face and body. I had come to terms with that and decided to use it to my advantage, balancing it with my intellect where necessary.
"I see you're quite confident about your looks," he said, trying to be humorous.
"Am I not stunning?" I replied with a playful lift of my brow. I could tell he appreciated my self-assurance.
He nodded, averting his gaze slightly. "I like your attitude, but I'll have to put you on a two-week probationary period, even if I hire you. Confident people can be wild cards; sometimes they excel, and other times they don't. What do you think?"
"Sure," I said with a confident smile. "I'll prove myself to you."
"You'll have to," he insisted, and I nodded briefly before standing up and extending my hand for a handshake. "I'll be waiting for your message," I said confidently. He nodded in return, and I left the office.
As soon as I was outside, I took a deep breath, feeling elated. "I'm sure I nailed it!" I almost threw my hands in the air in celebration but stopped myself. I pulled out my phone to text Fleur about acing the interview, only to realize that she had blocked me. My joy instantly vanished, replaced by a sinking feeling of disappointment.
"Tsk!" I muttered, frustration mounting. I had nobody to share my success with. "Should I go see her? I could apologize in person and beg for her forgiveness," I wondered aloud, pouting as I stood outside the building.
My thoughts raced: "Should I call her mother and ask where she is?" But I knew I couldn't meet Fleur immediately; I had to travel to another city for the family reunion at three.
"Fleur, I'll make it up to you, just wait!" I vowed to myself. Even though I was the one who messed up, I was sure she would forgive me eventually. I was ready to promise anything, even to never love her brother again, if that meant earning her trust back. She was worth it, unlike her brother, who had ignored my one-sided love for years.
After packing up a day's worth of clothes and makeup, I zipped up the small bag, avoiding the hassle of lugging around a massive suitcase. I booked a bus ticket and hurried to the station. With time to spare before my bus left, I took a seat on a bench, placing my bag in my lap and crossing my feet. Pulling out my phone, I snapped a selfie with my ticket and posted it on Instagram. With a large following, I made sure to feed them something daily. Within moments, likes and comments flooded in.
"Gosh, they love me so much," I thought, proud of the response. But when I searched for Fleur's account, I found she had blocked me there as well. The sting of rejection was sharp, and I quickly turned off my phone, slipping it into my bag. I wanted to cry, but doing so in public wasn't appealing. I knew I'd have to hold it in for the next seven hours—between the bus ride and the family gathering, private time would be scarce. The mere thought of it made me shiver.
When the bus arrived, I boarded and settled into my seat, stowing my bag in the compartment above. I hoped to catch a decent nap on the journey.
..........
Perched on a leather couch, a woman with a serene demeanor examined a catalogue of dresses, selecting those that pleased her eyes. Beside her, a man took careful notes.
"I think this one would suit Fleur's skin tone. What do you think?" she asked, pushing a dress toward the man standing next to her. He leaned over to examine it before nodding.
"Of course it would, Madam. You have such an eye for design," he replied, his flattery exaggerated but clearly appreciated by Mary.
Just then, a maid burst into the living room, dressed in a black uniform with her hair neatly tucked behind her head. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she reported, "Mr. Ambrose has arrived."
Mary looked up from the designs and nodded. "Okay, ask him if he's had lunch yet. If not, serve him food," she instructed. She was clearly holding herself back from going out to greet her son, who had returned after a week. Usually, she would welcome him, but today she was cross, especially since he had missed Fleur's graduation ceremony. Fleur's face had lost its color upon hearing the news of his absence. Mary's displeasure was evident. The maid, sensing Mary's frustration, nodded and left the room. Mary briefly glanced at the door before turning her attention back to the designs.
"Mom!" A slightly agitated voice called from the hallway. Mary shifted on the couch, making a stiff expression as she braced herself for the sight of her son. The door opened, revealing a tall figure—easily over six feet two—in a perfectly tailored suit. His impeccably styled hair and worry-lined face betrayed his concern, his brows knitted together.
"You finally decided to show up?" Mary said sarcastically, looking away.
"Mom, please don't act like this. You know I was busy and couldn't make it," Ambrose replied.
"Right, you couldn't make it to her graduation. Next time, I'm sure you won't make it to her wedding because a meeting is too important," Mary snapped. "Fleur has locked herself in her room since she got home yesterday. She's not talking to anyone or eating, all thanks to you." Her anger was palpable.
Ambrose's concern deepened, and his eyes narrowed. "She isn't eating? What kind of childish behavior is that?" He said, frustrated, as he turned to investigate the situation further. Mary followed him, ensuring their argument didn't escalate beyond normal limits. Ambrose deeply cared for Fleur, and her sadness pained him greatly. He reached Fleur's door and cleared his throat before knocking gently. "Fleur? May I come in? It's me," he said, his voice refined.
He waited a few seconds with no response. His frown deepened, and he knocked again. "Fleur?" Still no answer. He turned the doorknob and tried to push it open. "I'm coming in," he warned.
"Go away! I don't want to talk to you! Just leave!" Fleur's voice came from inside, deeply saddened and hoarse as if she had been crying.
"Open the door. Let's talk. I'm sorry for missing the graduation. I had work that needed to be finished. Please open the door and talk to me," Ambrose pleaded, his frustration growing as he gripped the doorknob tightly.
"I said I don't want to talk to you! Mom, tell him to leave! I hate him! I never want to see him again!" Fleur's voice cracked, and tears began to flow once more.
Ambrose's hands froze. Something was seriously wrong. Fleur wouldn't react this way unless deeply hurt. Her words pierced his heart, making him feel conflicted. "Fleur, talk to me! What did I do wrong? I had office work, but I came back as quickly as possible. Please, open the door and talk to me," he persisted, his frown deepening.
"Go back and don't ever come back!" Fleur cried out.
"If you don't open the door, I'm going to break it!" Ambrose warned, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, revealing his strong arms as he prepared to force the door open.
"Stay away from my door! Or I'll tell Dad about this!" Fleur's angry voice came from inside, but Ambrose could no longer hear her crying and felt a pressing need to speak with her face-to-face.
"Fleur, this is the last time I'm asking you to open the door nicely. I'm sure you wouldn't want your room with a broken door," he said firmly. He heard the door unlock and it swung open slightly. Inside, Fleur's swollen eyes, red as tomatoes, glared at him.
"Are you deaf? Do you not hear over your massive ego that I don't want to talk to you?" Fleur said coldly.
Ambrose's face was painted with confusion. "It's not just because I missed the graduation, is it?" he asked, puzzled, as he wouldn't have expected such a reaction for something like that.
"Oh, so you know about it?" Fleur responded sarcastically. "If you know, then don't show up in front of me. I want to scratch that face of yours," she hissed, slamming the door shut.
Mary, overhearing the conversation, grew curious about what was really going on. "Fleur, darling, please come out. Let's have something to eat and then discuss how you'll punish your brother for his actions. How about that?" she said, pushing the door again. Ambrose stepped away from the door, lost in thought about the situation.
Fleur was reluctant at first but eventually agreed to her mother's request, though she remained hostile toward Ambrose.