ALARIC
From the moment Kimani walked into the interview room, I knew I’d made the right call allowing her to do this.
She was nervous—anyone could see that from the way she clutched her folder as though it contained state secrets—but she was also determined. That determination was what had me leaning back in my chair, watching her through the live feed in my office, a ghost of amusement tugging at my mouth.
Her disguise wasn’t perfect—no wig or glasses could hide the spark in her eyes—but she played her part well enough to fool the panel. To them, she was just another ambitious candidate. To me, she was my wife, unknowingly stealing the spotlight with every unpolished but genuine answer she gave.
When she blurted out that her weakness was “snacking too much,” I almost laughed out loud.
