Bound by blood and ardor

Chapter 1

As I slide behind the wheel, the powerful engine roars to life, a potent mixture of excitement and nerves filling the air. The streets of New York blur as I push the limits, maneuvering through traffic with skill and determination. The Bugatti Chiron, an embodiment of speed and grace, carries me closer to my destination.

Finally, I arrive at the towering building that houses the pinnacle of my aspirations. Stepping out of the car, I take a moment to gather myself. The weight of the day presses upon me, but I refuse to let it break my spirit. I have worked tirelessly to earn this opportunity.

Entering the 'R' building, no idea what it stands for, I find myself amidst a sea of hopeful faces. The air crackles with anticipation, each person vying for the same chance to prove themselves worthy. As I take my place among the candidates, I can't help but feel a sense of camaraderie mixed with a tinge of healthy competition.

Minutes feel like hours as I wait for my name to be called. The uncertainty swirls within me, threatening to undo the composure I have fought so hard to maintain. But I stay focused, my mind rehearsing the answers to every possible question they could throw at me.

Finally, the moment arrives. My name reverberates through the room, and I stand up with poise and determination. Smoothly, I make my way toward the interview room; each step imbued with the confidence I have cultivated over years of hard work.

As I enter the lavishly decorated office, my heart pounds in my chest. The opportunity to interview for the finest marketing position in New York is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. I have prepared diligently, and my knowledge and skills have been honed through years of study and dedication. Graduating from the finest university has given me the confidence that I can tackle any challenge thrown my way.

Seated around a large conference table are the interviewers, a panel of esteemed professionals who hold the key to my future. Their eyes bore into me as I introduced myself, projecting confidence and determination. Among them is an old woman, her eyes sharp with a hint of skepticism that sends a chill down my spine. I remind myself to remain composed, focusing on showcasing my expertise.

The interview commences smoothly, and I answer the initial questions with ease, confident in my ability to impress. But as the conversation progresses, the old woman's skepticism becomes evident. She challenges my ideas, pokes holes in my strategies, and tries to undermine my confidence. She is determined to push me off the edge, to sway the other interviewers against me.

Undeterred, I respond to each of her remarks with poise and intelligence. I provide well-reasoned explanations backed by examples from my academic achievements and real-world experiences. The other interviewers appear impressed, their interest evident in their expressions. They lean forward, engrossed in the conversation, seemingly drawn to my passion and expertise.

However, the old woman refuses to back down. She persists in her attempts to manipulate the opinions of the other interviewers. It is as if she sees me as a threat, someone who could potentially outshine her in the position. But I refuse to let her tactics intimidate me. I stay focused on presenting my best self, determined to rise above her challenges.

With each passing question, I speak confidently, my words chosen carefully to demonstrate my knowledge and strategic thinking. I aim to not only answer the questions but to showcase my ability to think critically and adapt to changing market dynamics. The atmosphere in the room shifts, the initial skepticism giving way to curiosity and interest.

As the interview draws to a close, the other interviewers seem to have reached a consensus on my potential. They exchange approving glances and nod in agreement. 

However, the old woman's stern expression remains unchanged, her resolve unyielding. She leans forward, her voice laced with thinly veiled disdain, "We will need some time to discuss and reach a final decision. You will be informed of our agreement within the next few days."

I feel a surge of frustration, my blood boiling at the unfairness of her manipulation. But I quickly take a deep breath, reminding myself to stay positive. I have done everything in my power to impress the other interviewers, and I have faith in my abilities.

Leaving the room, I walk briskly to the elevator, my mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Doubt creeps in, fueled by the old woman's unwavering resistance. Yet, I refuse to let it consume me. I have faced challenges before, and overcome obstacles, and this is just another hurdle to conquer.

The face of an old man with a blue suit greets me as he stands in the corner when the elevator door opens. He starts whistling when I enter, and I pay no mind to him as I press the ground floor. He starts coming closer, and I can feel my blood boiling again.

Gosh, these old people. No offense, Grandma. And any other mind elderlies.

My fists are ready to punch the living hell out of this creep when he steps even closer. His gross breath fans my exposed neck, and I clench my jaw, keeping my face in front. This elevator is taking forever.

When I felt his fingers brush my arm, my patience ran out. My fists connect to his old disgusting face, and he stumbles backward.

"You bi-" He yells.

I kick him where the sun doesn't shine, and he groans. "Finish that sentence. I dare you." I say coldly. 

When he tries to hit me back, I crouch and grab his shoulder. I tangle my fingers into his white balding hair and slam his head onto the wall. I punch his face again, and the elevator ding open. Blood streams down out of his large nose. I looked down to where his bag was unzipped, and his ID was visible.

"Tell this to anyone, Mark Harrington, I will end your life," I say with the coldest voice I can muster. A satisfied smirk plasters my face when I see his blood drain out of his face. I let go of his blue blazer which has hints of blood on it and smoothed down my skirt.

I turn around to step out of the elevator when my eyes meet a pair of grey eyes gazing at me with amusement. His veiny hand is holding the elevator open, and his other hand is holding his grey blazer. His white button-up shirt is tight, making his strong biceps visible, along with his abs.

His lips hold an amused smirk, and I roll my eyes. "What?" I snap, looking up at him. 

When I step out, his minty cologne enters my nostrils. He shakes his head and puts both of his hands up in surrender, his cocky smirk not leaving his face. I roll my eyes again and walk straight to the lobby. I open my white blazer and hook it in between my arm. I roll up my sleeves, and I gather my wavy brown hair to one side, making the tattoo under my ear, V.R, my initials, visible. Though it was slightly concealed by my golden hoop earring.

The minty cologne then came back as I felt his presence again. He walks on my side, his grey orbs never leaving my face.

"Hey," His deep voice says.

I keep quiet, not in the mood. My grip on my Prada bag tightens when he continues.

"What happened? Was he bothering you? Do you want me to report him?"

"That's none of your business. I've got it settled." I say, still looking ahead and refusing to look into his eyes.

"You're a real sunshine, aren't you?" He chuckles as he runs his fingers through his brown wavy hair.

"Goodbye, hope to never see you again," I say as I unlock my car.

So much for the big day.
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