Unmade By You

Chapter2

CHAPTER 2

Alya West cursed the noise of Brooklyn mornings but loved them just the same. The city felt alive before the sun even rose, a steady pulse of footsteps on cracked sidewalks, car horns in the distance, vendors setting up their carts. In her small studio apartment, the smell of strong coffee mingled with the hum of an old radiator. She yawned, stretched, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Her apartment was a clutter of corner tables piled with notebooks, unopened mail, and half-finished drafts of her next story. She’d promised herself this year would be different: fewer late-night shifts as a barista, more time crafting her debut novel. But rent, groceries, and student loans didn’t care about dreams. That’s why she’d taken this temp gig at Kane Technologies for just two weeks to save some money, prove she could survive without burning out, and maybe gather material for a new piece about corporate life.

Alya’s mother had moved in with her after the scandal. Her father, once respected in finance circles, had been indicted for insider trading that he might not have committed. The headlines twisted his actions into a family legacy of betrayal. Alya and her younger brother, Marcus, had borne the brunt of classmates’ whispers and neighbors’ side-eye. She’d fought to keep her mother’s spirits up and Marcus’s grades on track, but sometimes the weight felt unbearable.

Today, she felt excited instead of crushed. She dressed quickly, jeans paired with a soft rose blouse and braided her hair, the pink streak winking at her from the braid. She left a note: Mom, I’ll be home late. Dinner on the counter.

On the subway, she studied herself in the window: determined eyes, a confident tilt to her chin. She willed herself to believe those reflections.

The Kane Technologies tower rose above the city like a glass monolith. Alya’s heart skipped when she climbed the lobby stairs. Security recognized her badge, and the elevator whisked her up. Every floor they passed, the hum of business buzzed through the doors,: world-changing deals, whispered secrets, big money.

On the thirty-ninth floor, she stepped into the corridor, clutching her tote. She paused outside Damion Kane’s office, recalling the first time she’d met him: a man so cold he froze rooms. She straightened her shoulders, took a breath, and knocked.

Damion’s door opened before her second knock. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes icy blue. His black suit fit him like armor. He didn’t smile.

“Miss West,” he said, his voice controlled. “Three minutes late.”

She lifted her chin. “Train delays, Mr. Kane. I’m sorry.”

He sized her up, then stepped aside. “Coffee. Black. No sugar.”

She nodded and retreated.

In the hallway, Serena Voss glided past. Alya recognized that perfect posture from news articles: Serena was Damion’s old flame, a socialite with money and influence. She glanced at Alya with clear disdain, lips curling. “You must be the temp.”

Alya forced a polite smile. “First day.”

Serena’s eyes flicked to her hair braid. “Cute color. Try not to scare the ice king.”

Alya frowned. “I’ll do my best.”

Serena laughed, a quick, hollow sound, and swept away. Alya felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

Inside Damion’s office, Alya set the coffee on his desk. He offered a curt nod of thanks. She noticed the faint line between his brows. He drank, then said, “Set up meetings with Legal and IT. Today.”

She scribbled notes. “Yes, sir. Will do.”

As she left, she overheard his muffled conversation behind closed doors. Serena’s voice: “You’re staying away from her, right?” Damion’s low reply: “She’s temporary. For now.”

Alya’s stomach turned. She wondered what they said about her.

At a cluster of desks labeled “Temp Assistants,” she met Tara, a graphic designer who was filling in for maternity leave. Tara’s bubbly smile was a cliff in this corporate canyon. “Hey, newbie,” Tara said. “I’m Tara. I’ll show you the ropes.”

They pored over calendars, pinging invites, discovering each other’s names: the CFO, the head of Security, the legal counsel. Tara joked about office gossip: Damion’s rumored mood swings, Serena’s power lunches, the board’s fragile alliances. Alya laughed, grateful for an ally.

Over lunch in the communal kitchen, Tara asked, “What’s your story?”

Alya hesitated, then shrugged. “Big corporate story. Small paycheck. My dad… got caught up in something. The family name took a hit. So I’m here, surviving.”

Tara nodded sympathetically. “We all have baggage. Here, it’s just part of the scenery. You’ll be fine.”

Alya sipped her soup, thinking of Marcus waiting at home. She missed his goofy grin and the way he still believed she could fix anything.

Back at her desk, she dove into scheduling. As the hours passed, she learned details: Damion’s preference for 8 a.m. strategy calls, his pet peeve of shifting rooms at the last minute, his rule about no personal emails. She realized corporate life had its own stories, stories she could write.

At 3 p.m., she delivered the Legal-IT agenda to Damion’s door. He opened it, glanced at her. “Efficient.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied.

He paused. “I heard Serena was rude.”

Alya braced herself. “She didn’t say anything I wouldn’t say myself.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Be careful. Office politics will swallow you.”

She met his gaze. “Then I’ll learn how to swim.”

He studied her, then nodded once.

At day’s end, Tara invited Alya to a small gathering in the break room: cookies, coffee, even a few bottles of wine. A handful of temps and interns cheered to her first day. Alya felt a spark of belonging she hadn’t known she needed.

As she packed up, her phone buzzed. Another mysterious text: “You belong nowhere.” She swallowed hard, heart tightening. How did they know her schedule? She slipped the phone into her bag.

Tara noticed. “Everything okay?”

Alya forced a smile. “Just spam.”

Tara gave her a concerned look but said nothing.

On the elevator down, Alya realized nobody here knew her scandal, her past. Here, she was the girl who handled chaos, the one who didn’t flinch at power. She liked that.

But as the doors closed, she spotted Serena at the security desk, watching her slip out. Serena’s smile was sharp, predatory.

Alya took a deep breath. She wasn’t here to play nice. She was here to survive and maybe, just maybe, to change the rules.