Chapter 34: Unexpected Opportunity
Amelia's POV
"Carlos is practically Alexander's right hand," Wesley continued, his words hitting me like a punch to the gut. "They're like brothers."
The dining hall suddenly felt too hot, too cramped. My mind raced back to last night—all those things I'd said to Carlos about Alexander while drunk. Calling him arrogant and cold.
I'm so fucking dead.
"You okay, Amelia?" Isabelle leaned forward, concern etching her features. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I couldn't form words. My throat had closed up completely. Carlos knew everything now. Which meant Alexander knew everything. Which meant—
"Amelia Throne?"
I froze at the unfamiliar voice behind me. My spine went rigid, and I couldn't bring myself to turn around. Isabelle's eyes widened slightly as she looked past me.
When I finally managed to turn, I found myself facing a middle-aged woman with glasses and a clipboard—the administrative assistant from the dean's office. Not Alexander. Not Carlos. Just normal university staff.
"Professor Lambert would like to see you in his office immediately," she said, her tone neutral.
I nodded numbly. "Did he say what for?"
"No, just that it's urgent." She checked her watch. "His office. Ten minutes."
After she walked away, I turned back to my friends, my appetite completely gone.
"What the hell could Lambert want?" Wesley frowned. "He's the one who hosted the scholarship competition, right?"
I nodded, standing up and gathering my things. "Guess I'll find out."
"Want us to wait for you?" Isabelle offered.
"No, it's okay. I'll text you later." I attempted a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
---
The walk to Lambert's office was excruciating. Each step felt like I was marching toward my execution. The corridors seemed longer than usual, the stares of other students more intense.
Did Alexander call Lambert? Is this his way of getting back at me? God, what if he told Lambert about the blood oath?
My palms were sweaty as I clutched my bag tighter. The memory of Alexander's furious expression during the presentation debacle flashed through my mind. Then Carlos's knowing smile last night as I drunkenly ranted.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. When will I learn to keep my damn mouth shut?
Students moved past me in blurs of color and sound. I barely registered them. My brain was too busy creating worst-case scenarios—expulsion, public humiliation, maybe even formal charges from the Shadow Kingdom for breaking the blood oath.
Please don't let this be another disaster. I can't take one more hit right now.
I stopped outside Lambert's door, took a deep breath, and knocked.
---
"Amelia, please, take a seat." Professor Lambert gestured to the chair across from his desk. His friendly tone threw me off balance. "I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you."
I perched nervously on the edge of the seat, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"First," he began, folding his hands on his desk, "we've investigated what happened during your presentation. It's clear your slides were maliciously switched."
I exhaled slowly. "Yes, they were."
"Your written exam and practical demonstration were both excellent." He smiled. "Considering the circumstances, the scholarship committee has agreed to give you a makeup presentation opportunity next week."
I blinked, certain I'd misheard him. "A makeup? You mean... I still have a chance at the scholarship?"
"Absolutely. If your presentation is as strong as your other components, you remain a top contender."
Relief washed over me in waves so powerful I had to grip the arms of the chair to steady myself.
"Thank you," I managed. "I really appreciate the second chance."
"That's not all," Lambert continued, sliding a business card across the desk. "Westbrook Industries has heard about your situation and would like to offer you an interview opportunity."
My relief instantly transformed back into panic. "Westbrook? But... I thought the Head Alpha hated me."
Lambert raised an eyebrow. "Interesting assumption. Nevertheless, they've requested to meet you tomorrow morning at 8 AM sharp. Don't be late." He leaned forward. "This is a rare opportunity, Amelia. Very few students get direct interviews there."
I stared at the elegant business card in my hand, embossed with the Westbrook logo. My thoughts were a chaotic mess.
Why would Alexander do this? Is it a trap? Or does he actually want to help me?
"I'll be there," I heard myself say, despite the alarm bells ringing in my head.
---
Isabelle and Wesley were waiting in the hallway when I emerged from Lambert's office.
"We still weren't at ease, so we decided to wait for you for a while." Isabelle practically pounced on me. "What happened? Are you in trouble?"
I glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. "They're giving me a makeup presentation for the scholarship." I lowered my voice even further. "And I got an interview at Westbrook Industries. Tomorrow morning."
"Holy shit!" Isabelle squealed, then immediately covered her mouth when several heads turned our way.
"Keep it down," Wesley warned, pulling us toward an empty corner. "If Vanessa finds out about this, she'll try to sabotage you again."
"I know," I said, still trying to process everything myself. "I just don't understand why Alexander would help me. Last time we spoke, he made me sign a blood oath to stay out of his life."
"Maybe it's not him," Isabelle suggested. "Could be someone else at Westbrook."
Wesley shook his head. "Nothing happens at Westbrook without Alexander's approval."
I clutched the business card tighter. "I guess I'll find out tomorrow."
---
Mom was in the kitchen when I got home, chopping vegetables for dinner. Her movements were slow, and I noticed how she leaned against the counter for support. The medication was taking its toll, but she was trying so hard to maintain normalcy.
"Hey, honey," she smiled when she saw me. "How was your day?"
I hesitated, standing in the doorway. Telling her about Westbrook would only worry her. The blood oath, Alexander's anger, the whole mess with the Shadow Kingdom—she'd been stressed enough about it all already.
"I got an interview opportunity," I said finally. "At a big company. And Professor Lambert is giving me another chance at the scholarship presentation."
Mom's face lit up. "That's wonderful news!" Then her expression shifted to one of concern. "It's not Westbrook Industries, is it? Your relationship with that Head Alpha..."
"No, no," I said quickly, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. "It's a different company. Good environment, decent benefits."
"Oh, thank goodness." Mom relaxed visibly. "As long as it's not Westbrook, I'm happy for you. I've been so worried about how Alexander's been treating you."
Guilt twisted in my stomach as I helped her finish preparing dinner. I hated lying to her, but the truth would only cause more stress she didn't need.
"I won't let you down, Mom," I promised, and I meant it—even if she didn't know what I was really promising.
---
After midnight, I stood before my mirror, practicing my interview responses for the tenth time.
"Why do you want to work at Westbrook Industries?" I asked my reflection, then straightened my shoulders. "I admire Westbrook's innovative approach to—"
I stopped, groaning in frustration. Everything sounded rehearsed and fake.
My bed was covered with library books about Westbrook Industries, their history, their current projects. I'd been studying them for hours, trying to prepare for whatever Alexander might throw at me.
I tried on my third outfit option—a simple navy blazer over a white blouse with matching slacks. Professional, but not trying too hard. Would Alexander think I was overdressed? Underdressed?
Why am I so worried about what he thinks? This is just about getting a job.
But it wasn't just about a job. It was about facing the man who had forced me to sign away my right to speak to him, who had humiliated me at the Moon Festival, who had watched me break down during that disastrous presentation.
The man who was my mate, whether either of us wanted it or not.
I collapsed onto the edge of my bed, clutching the small silver pendant Mom had given me for luck. My supposed "lucky charm" hadn't been very effective lately, but I needed all the help I could get.
If I see Alexander tomorrow, what will I even say? "Thanks for the interview, sorry about getting drunk and badmouthing you to your best friend"?
Sleep seemed impossible, but I needed to be sharp tomorrow. I slipped the pendant under my pillow and turned off the light, staring at the ceiling as scenarios played through my mind.
No matter what happened tomorrow, one thing was certain—nothing with Alexander Westbrook was ever simple.