Chapter 35: The Interview (1)

Amelia's POV

The morning light filtered through my bedroom curtains as I smoothed down my black knee-length skirt for the tenth time. I'd paired it with a white silk blouse—the only decent one I owned—hoping it looked professional enough for Westbrook Industries. My hands trembled slightly as I pulled my hair into a high ponytail, securing every stray strand in place.

"Documents, resume, ID..." I muttered, flipping through my folder one more time. After the disaster at the scholarship competition, I wasn't taking any chances. No one would be swapping my papers today. I'd triple-checked everything, even laminated my resume to prevent any last-minute "accidents."

The memory of standing on that stage, watching as those horrible pictures appeared on the screen while Alexander sat in the audience, still made my stomach churn. If Lambert Professor hadn't approached me afterward with this interview opportunity at Westbrook Industries, I'd probably still be hiding in my room.

I paused outside Mom's bedroom, my knuckles hovering over the door. The faint sound of her labored breathing filtered through. The medical bills were piling up faster than I could handle, and our savings were nearly depleted despite Nathan's support. This job wasn't just an opportunity—it was a necessity.

Better not wake her. I scribbled a quick note: "Gone for my job interview. Back soon. Love you."

The morning air bit at my skin as I stepped outside, the cold wind matching the icy anxiety spreading through my chest. I clutched my folder tighter, mentally rehearsing potential interview questions as I walked to the bus stop.

Why do you want to work at Westbrook Industries?

Simple answer: Because I need money.

Professional answer: Because I admire the company's innovation and growth potential.

What can you contribute to our team?

My dedication, analytical skills, and ability to work under pressure.

Is this another one of Alexander's traps?

I shook my head. That wasn't an interview question—just my paranoia talking. But was it really paranoia when the company I was interviewing for belonged to the Alpha who'd seen those humiliating photos of us together? The same man I was bound to by a connection neither of us wanted?

"Just a simple job," I whispered to myself. "Just need enough to pay the bills."

On the bus, my leg bounced nervously as city blocks rolled by. My mind drifted to last night at The Howl. As we were leaving, I’d looked back and seen Carlos walking right up to Alexander in the VIP section. The image of them talking, with Alexander looking furious, was burned into my mind.

Shit. What if Carlos told Alexander about my drunken rambling that night? What if Alexander knew I was coming today?

"No," I muttered, earning a strange look from the elderly woman beside me. "He won't be doing the interviews. He's the CEO, for God's sake."

But the memory of his face—that flicker of raw fury when those photos appeared at the scholarship competition—was burned into my mind. I'd never seen anyone look so coldly dangerous.

The bus lurched to a stop, and my heart sank as I looked up at the imposing Westbrook Industries headquarters. The building seemed to touch the clouds, all steel and glass with the unmistakable wolf emblem prominently displayed above the entrance.

I can do this. I need to do this.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, clutching my folder like a shield. People streamed past me, confident professionals who belonged in a place like this. I forced my feet to move.

Just need an entry-level position. Just need to stay under the radar. Just need to pay Mom's medical bills.

The security check was more intense than I'd expected. The guards, obviously werewolves from their scent, examined my ID with suspicious eyes. One of them flared his nostrils slightly, no doubt catching my omega scent beneath the blockers I'd applied.

"Purpose of visit?" he asked gruffly.

"Interview with Human Resources," I replied, struggling to keep my voice steady.

The lobby was intimidating—all marble floors and soaring ceilings. Employees moved with purpose, many of them exuding the distinct presence of high-ranking wolves. I felt painfully out of place in my modest outfit, clutching my cheap folder while others carried sleek leather portfolios.

At the reception desk, a perfectly groomed woman with sharp eyes asked, "Name and appointment?"

"Amelia Throne. I have an interview with HR at 9:30."

She tapped at her computer, then nodded. "Take the elevator to floor 12. Someone will meet you there."

The HR waiting area was filled with other candidates, all looking polished and prepared. I sank into an empty chair, surreptitiously checking my reflection in my phone's black screen. My lipstick was still intact, at least.

Please don't let Alexander be here. Please don't let anyone from the Luna Festival recognize me.

I flipped through my resume again, even though I knew every word by heart. I'd applied for an administrative assistant position—about as entry-level as it got. Surely Alexander wouldn't concern himself with such low-level hiring.

"Amelia Throne?" A woman with a clipboard called my name, and I stood up, smoothing my skirt once more.

"That's me," I said, trying to project confidence I didn't feel.

Before the woman could respond, the elevator doors opened, and a tall, immaculately dressed woman in a designer suit strode in. Her eyes scanned the room before landing on me with undisguised contempt.

"Is that her?" she asked the clipboard woman, who nodded nervously.

The newcomer marched directly toward me, her heels clicking aggressively against the marble floor. "Don't waste time with standard protocol," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Follow me. The CEO wants to see you personally."

My blood turned to ice. Alexander.

"There must be some mistake," I stammered. "I'm just here for an entry-level position."

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. "No mistake. Mr. Westbrook specifically requested you." Her lips curved into a smile that held no warmth. "Immediately."

As she turned to lead me to the executive elevator, my folder suddenly felt twenty pounds heavier. This wasn't a job interview.

It was a summoning.