Deadline, Redline, Matrimony

“My name is Ewa… you, um, called me. Remember?” No. Not like that. “Ewa, your interior designer.” As if that title meant anything to her. “Ma’am, I’m Mr. Welber’s daughter. He… he works here. You once— I mean, he’s an officer in your esteemed company. I swear, I’ll give everything I’ve got.” That wasn’t an introduction. That was a plea. Desperate. Should I wait for her to recognise me? Might take a decade. If she remembers people like us. If time could fly— No. If I could fly... “Ma’am, the CFO has called you in,” said the woman — more frightened than I was. I stood. The red door loomed ahead — the gateway to the COO’s den. “Ma’am, your bag,” she added. Or maybe I imagined it. Her voice had dropped — the last word barely reached me. I jolted. Grabbed the bag. Walked in. “Hello, my name is Interior Designer. I am an Ewa.” As the words left my mouth, I felt the burn creep up my cheeks. I stared down at my shoes — suddenly engrossed in the scuffed leather. “Same old,” she murmured. So she did remember. “You’re late,” she said, arms folding. I forced a grin. “Traffic.” She didn’t blink. My mouth opened— shut again. The apology sat at the back of my throat, molten and bitter. I clenched my fists behind my back, nails carving half-moons into my skin. Anything to stop the words from slipping out. She glanced at the papers — probably my portfolio — then looked up. Didn’t move her head. Just her eyes. “It has barely anything,” she said, setting the pages down. Exactly my point. If she already knew, why give me this? But this — this — could be the project that decides everything. I tried to meet her gaze. Failed. Her eyes pulled mine back down to the floor. A migraine tapped at my temples, waiting to crash the whole system. What do I say — sorry for nearly passing out? “Rekha!” she snapped. I turned. The same woman who welcomed me earlier. “Is that edible?” she asked. Before I could blink, the plate slipped. The sandwich hit the floor. Soft thud. And Rekha — fainted. Just like that. A tall man entered with a nurse — too polished for a guard. They lifted her, calm as a ritual. Like they’d done this before. Then — silence. And the room belonged to Roslina Blake again. She was watching me. Slow. Measured. Calculating. Probably deciding how best to dispose of my career. Sorry, Dad. “Ewa. I hope you’ve been well all these years. You barely show up at parties,” she said — but it landed like a charge sheet. “I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “What?” Her voice sharpened. I shook my head. No words. Just found comfort in the familiar landscape of my shoes. “We missed seeing you around,” she leaned in, eyes drilling. “Even at the New Year’s brunch — you dropped your father and left. Not even a hello. Were you that busy?” I felt like the jittery daughter-in-law standing trial. Even my father doesn’t interrogate me anymore. “It’s not like that,” I said, my voice finally escaping the silence. “Your dad told me about the completion of your degree. I must say, he’s a proud father.” True. But maybe not proud enough to keep me out of this mess. “See, darling. Work is work. And you know how I feel about work.” She pointed behind me. “Look at David.” Again, David. The golden boy. The thirty-year-old jade statue being polished by his CFO mother. “See him working — like a jade master. My baby!” Ugh. First the dizziness. Now nausea. Today isn’t my day. “You should be more like him.” “I agree,” I said. I do not. “His new home is your assignment. I want it redesigned — with an attached office.” Lucky him. Damn me. “He’s a workaholic. No space to relax. No vacations. He only agreed to move because I offered him a separate office. He wants function. I want luxury — for him and his future family.” A pause. Not a warm one. “Ewa, I know this is your first project. And yes — I’m assigning it to you because of your father. But I expect perfection. Nothing can go wrong. Nothing.” Her voice cooled. “You know what our company’s name can do for your portfolio. And your license approval — it’s still pending, isn’t it?” No need to shout. The threat was sharp enough. “Yes,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Good.” She stood. The light shifted. Her shadow fell over me. “I’ll help with that,” she said, handing me a silver card. Cool. Heavy. Like a challenge. “Daily reports. One every day. Reach the location in the next 24 hours.” A slow smile. “I’ll see you there.”