4. Rowan Architects
The taxi wove through New York's chaotic streets, horns blaring and lights streaking past, as I clutched my portfolio against my chest like a lifeline. My lips murmured silent prayers, a desperate plea for courage. This wasn't just any firm—it was the firm. Rowan Architects. Landing this internship wouldn't just mean a paycheck; it'd be validation, a fresh start carved from my own determination and dreams.
When the cab jerked to a stop, I stepped out, craning my neck to take in the building. It was breathtaking—glass and steel melded in flawless symmetry, its bold lines screaming innovation. It felt like walking into the future I'd sketched a thousand times in my mind. I smoothed my blazer, sucked in a steadying breath, and marched toward the entrance. The receptionist greeted me with a warm smile, her voice crisp and professional as she guided me to the interview room.
The door swung open, and three pairs of eyes locked onto me—two men and an elegant woman, their gazes welcoming yet sharp, dissecting me in an instant. I flashed my brightest, most polished smile and stepped forward. "Good morning. I'm Ximara Lyris Adler. It's an honor to be here."
The interview flew by in a haze of questions and presentations. I poured my soul into every response, unveiling my vision: textured materials for endurance and luxury, subtle design choices that infused spaces with vitality, modern touches that preserved warmth. Near the end, I leaned in, my confidence surging. "And one more thing—I'd love to integrate custom glass installations. I've trained in glass blowing, and I believe a bespoke piece can turn a room from impressive to unforgettable."
As I snapped my portfolio shut, I caught them exchanging subtle nods. The elegant woman—Ms. Laurent, I'd later learn—offered a poised smile. "Ms. Adler, your portfolio and presentation are remarkable. That said, we have other candidates to review."
My heart dipped, a faint ache blooming in my chest, but I kept my composure. "Thank you for considering me. I look forward to hearing from you." I rose gracefully, gathered my things, and left, exhaling a trembling breath as I stepped into the crisp morning air. Every word, every gesture replayed in my mind as I walked away.
That night, sleep eluded me. Anxiety gnawed at my nerves, relentless. They'd said they might call by evening, but the hours dragged on, and my phone stayed silent—no confirmation, no rejection, just an agonizing void. If I'd gotten an answer, even a "no," I could've planned my next move—sulked for a bit, processed it, and pushed forward. But this waiting? It was torture.
With a sigh, I slid open the balcony door. At least I'd chosen this room right. I glanced around, relieved to see the creepy neighbor wasn't lurking tonight. Settling into a chair, I turned my back to his balcony, lost in thought. But after wasting a whole night like this already, I gave up and started scrolling through my phone instead. I paused on a photo of Elizabeth and Rogan, my siblings, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, all easy smiles and effortless grace. Sighing, I kept swiping.
A sudden ringtone blared beside me, jolting me upright. I spun around—and there he was again. The neighbor. His body faced me fully this time, but a hood shadowed his face. How hadn't I heard him step out? Then again, as Ali always said, "It's his balcony. He can come and go whenever he damn well pleases. Ain't breakin' no rules."
I shoved my phone into my jeans pocket and edged closer to the railing, peering down at the street below. My hair spilled over my face, the night breeze nudging it aside, offering a fleeting calm. Another hour slipped by as I stood there, lost in my head. Finally, I sighed and trudged back inside.
The rest of the night was a restless mess—tossing, turning, begging sleep to take me, but it wouldn't. I managed maybe a few minutes before that eerie feeling crept in again, like unseen eyes boring into me. It snatched what little rest I'd clawed at, leaving me wired and weary by dawn.
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Morning came, and I sat at the kitchen table, picking at breakfast. Halfway through, my phone buzzed on the wood, and my hands went clammy with nerves. I hesitated, then glanced at the screen—and froze. It was them.
"Is it them?" Ali paused mid-sip, his coffee mug hovering as he watched me.
I nodded, and he shot me an encouraging grin.
Taking a deep breath, I answered. "Hello, good morning."
"Good morning. Am I speaking to Ms. Ximara Lyris Adler?" A polished female voice came through.
"Yes, this is Ximara Adler," I said, fighting to keep my tone steady.
"Ms. Adler, this is Rowan Architects. We're calling about your application for the interior designer position. Is that correct?"
"Yes, I did." My replies were clipped—nerves choked anything more.
A pause, then— "Congratulations, ma'am. You've been selected. You can start tomorrow. Could you come in early, say seven, so we can go over some essentials?"
I blinked, my heart slamming against my ribs. Did I hear that right? "Yes—yes, of course. I'll be there."
I set the phone down, dazed, my mind scrambling to catch up. When I looked up, Ali was beaming.
"Think you got the job?" He winked. "Am I right?"
"Yay!" I squealed, launching from my chair and wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug. "I got it, Ali! You were right—I was frettin' for nothing!"
He chuckled, patting my arm as I clung to his neck. "Now go finish your breakfast," he teased, nudging me back to my seat.
I nodded, practically skipping as I polished off my meal. "So, what's your plan for today?" Ali asked, setting his fork down.
"Not much. Thought I'd hit the stores, grab some work clothes. Wanna look sharp—or at least presentable."
"Oh? Need cash for that?" His tone softened, ever the generous soul. "You know you can always ask."
I shook my head. "No, no. I've saved enough to get by this month. And with work starting tomorrow, money worries are off the table."
Truth was, I'd never been comfy leaning on anyone for cash. I'd always stood on my own two feet, never expecting a safety net without strings attached. Even with Ali, that old caution lingered. People change—my parents proved that. I never wanted to be anyone's burden.
Ali sighed, leaning back. "Mara, I know you think you've got no claim to what's mine 'cause your mom didn't stand by you. But everything I've got is yours too. Don't be scared to lean on someone, love. There'll always be folks who wanna stand with you, make you feel home—folks who'd hand you the world if they could." His voice dropped, tender. "I wish I could be that for you forever, but I can't promise it. One day, I won't be here. But when that day comes, I know someone better'll step up to take care of you."
His words hit deep, unexpected and raw. I had no doubt then—no matter how the world turned on me, Ali was my rock. As long as he was here, I'd never be truly alone. My eyes stung with unshed tears. Good thing I'd finished eating, 'cause I couldn't have swallowed another bite. I stood and hugged him tight.
"Thank you, Ali," I whispered, my voice shaky. Another emotional wave loomed, but I held it back.
Later, I hit the nearest mall, snagging a few pieces that caught my eye. But no matter how I tried to distract myself, my mind kept circling back to tomorrow—my first day at Rowan Architects.
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And just like that, the day arrived. I stood before the towering firm, straightening my posture, shoulders back with newfound confidence. Taking a deep breath, I smiled to myself and stepped inside. A better future awaited.
Weeks flew by, blending into a month of late nights and endless designs. Then one morning, as I hunched over my desk, the intercom crackled. "Ximara, please report to the CEO's office," Stephan Rowan's assistant said, her voice clipped.
Stephan Rowan—founder and CEO—was a legend in the field. I'd glimpsed him a few times: tall, commanding, with a sharp mind and sharper temper. Tabloids whispered about his anger issues, but they also said only his wife, Lara, could tame him. She doubled as his secretary—his first employee, rumor had it, and he'd never let anyone else take her place. He adored her and their daughter fiercely. Now, after a month here, he wanted to see me? My stomach twisted. Had I screwed up?
Last week, Victoria, the interior manager—an older woman famed for her groundbreaking designs—had handed me a massive project. She'd been floored by my work reports, praising my vision, and asked me to take the lead while she handled personal matters at home. I'd poured everything into it. Maybe I'd overstepped?
I sighed, saved my project—making triple backups, just in case—and rose from my chair. The elevator ride to the top floor felt eternal. I hadn't shed a pound since starting here; gym plans had crumbled under the workload. Home workouts were all I could manage, and even those barely kept me sane. I caught my breath outside his door, put on a calm face, and knocked.
"Come in," a strong voice rumbled from inside.
I stepped into the sleek office, spotting Stephan behind his desk, his wife Lara perched beside him, elegant as ever. She smiled faintly as I entered.
"Ms. Adler," Stephan began, his tone steady but unreadable, "take a seat."
I did, smoothing my skirt. "Good morning, sir. Ma'am," I added, nodding to Lara.
"Morning," he replied, leaning forward. "You've been here a month now. How're you finding it?"
"It's been incredible," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Challenging, but I'm learning so much."
He nodded, exchanging a glance with Lara. "We've got some news. Victoria's stepping down—permanently. Family matters. She's quitting, effective next week."
My breath caught. Victoria—quitting? She was a titan here.
Stephan's gaze sharpened. "She recommended you to take her place. Said your work on that latest project was some of the best she's seen—innovative, practical, bold. We agree."
I blinked, stunned. "Me? I—I don't know what to say."
"Say yes," Lara interjected with a soft laugh. "It's a big role, but you've got the chops. Stephan and I have watched your progress. You're ready."
Stephan grunted in agreement. "It's a promotion— Interior Manager. More responsibility, more pay. You in?"
"Yes," I said, heart racing. "Absolutely. Thank you—this means everything."
"Good." He leaned back, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. "Start prepping to transition next week. Victoria'll brief you before she goes."
I left the office in a daze, my mind buzzing. Interior Manager. Me. It was surreal.
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Later that day, I trudged back to my office cabin—a small space I'd claimed on the fifth floor, cluttered with sketches and fabric swatches. I flicked on the light—and froze. A letter sat on my desk, crisp and solitary, my name scrawled across it in elegant ink. I hadn't left anything there when I'd stepped out for Stephan's meeting. Frowning, I picked it up, unease prickling my spine, and tore it open.
Ximara,
I've watched you grow, seen the fire in you that others tried to snuff out. Don't let it dim. You're exactly where you belong.
No signature. My pulse quickened. Who'd been here?
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