Chapter four
1287 Words
Chapter four
Ava’s POV
I stared at the email again for what had to be the hundredth time that morning.
“Congratulations, Miss Moore. Your application has been accepted. Kindly resume as an intern at Silver Klein on Monday at 8 a.m. sharp.”
It was Monday already.
And I was still staring.
The first time I got the mail, I sat at the edge of my bed, clutching my phone like it might explain itself. My résumé had made the rounds — a few NGOs, maybe a fashion startup, and one chaotic boutique law firm I’d only applied to out of desperation. But Silver Klein?
Not a chance.
Not because I didn’t want it . I mean who didn’t want Silver Klein on their résumé? It was the kind of firm that made careers, that pulled strings in quiet rooms, that handled hush-hush contracts with a shine of power and wealth.
But because my father had said no.
He made it very clear the last time we spoke — Silver Klein was not in my cards. He had other plans. I would never make it in his company. That Anaya and I would never be allowed into the company’s premises, so why this?
And if I’m honest, I had stopped pushing.
Which is why this felt...off.
It had been too easy. Too sudden even. And very unlike him.
Unless it was him. A silent power play, designed to remind me who still called the shots.
Still, I needed the job. So I got dressed, took the earliest cab I could find, and now — here I was.
Standing in the marbled lobby of Silver Klein’s glass-and-steel headquarters, trying to remember how to breathe.
The place was cold. Not just because of the AC, though that hummed steadily, forcing goosebumps along my arms — but because everything here gleamed. Sterile and Impressive.
The floors were a perfect cream gloss, so polished I could see the reflection of my nervous shoes. Towering panels of black marble divided the space like giant slabs of luxury. Glass elevators rose in a quiet hum at the far end, flanked by silver-plated doors and keycard-only rooms.
It smelled faintly of lavender and fresh paper. Like newness. Like money.
I adjusted my blouse — it wasn’t wrinkled, not really, but I suddenly felt underdressed. My heels pinched slightly; I’d chosen them for confidence, but right now, all they gave me was sore toes.
People walked past, clipped and purposeful, heels echoing lightly on the tile, jackets sharp, eyes forward.
No one looked unsure. No one paused at the front desk like I had. No one seemed like they didn’t belong. In short no one looked like me.
“Intern orientation is on the top floor,” the receptionist said, her voice practiced and kind. “Conference Room B.”
She smiled like someone who had been trained to, bright and brief, but her eyes didn’t linger.
“Just head up the glass elevator,” the receptionist continued with a smile.
Glass elevator.
I froze.
It shouldn't have meant anything — but it did.
Because the last time I stepped into one like this, I saw him.
Josh.
It had been seven years, barely a breath between us in that narrow space. I was fresh out of my father's office, heart pounding, tears still burning behind my eyes — and then the elevator doors opened... and there he was.
He looked at me like he’d seen a ghost.
I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. I just stared, breath caught, chest tight, and then the elevator dinged, and I ran.
That was the last time I saw him.
Until now.
“Hello miss?”, the receptionist jolted me out of my reverie.
I murmured a thank you, smoothed my hair unnecessarily, and crossed the lobby toward the elevator.
Behind me, the receptionist was already greeting the next guest.
The elevator ride was fast. Too fast. It gave me no time to gather myself. My heart thumped like it wanted to be anywhere else.
The top floor opened into a hushed corridor lined with artwork. abstract pieces in bold colors I didn’t understand but pretended to. A sign directed interns to the end of the hallway.
Conference Room B.
The door was already ajar.
Inside, a dozen interns had already arrived.
They all looked like they came from a fancy school abroad. Their blazers were neat, hair shiny, and they carried leather folders that looked really expensive—like they knew the right people.
Some were laughing loudly, like they were trying to sound cooler than the next person. Others took selfies, turning their heads to catch the best light from the glass wall that showed the city view.
I picked a seat at the back. Quiet. In the corner, where I could watch everyone without them noticing me.
I shouldn’t have felt so small. But I did.
I looked down at my notes — a printout of the internship email, a plain black notebook, a pen.
Maybe my father had changed his mind.
Or maybe this was his way of showing me that I didn’t belong here. That even when I got in the door, I’d never stop feeling like a stray.
The murmuring stopped.
The door opened and we all turned to see who it was, maybe Derek Moore had decided to appear himself, or he had sent someone.
But it wasn’t.
It was worse.
It was him.
Josh.
Josh Titan.
My breath stalled mid-rib.
He walked in like he owned the place, which, apparently, he did. Dark gray suit, no tie, crisp collar open just enough to show confidence. His stride was quiet but direct, like someone who didn’t need to speak loudly to be heard.
His eyes scanned the room, unreadable. Sharp. Cool.
Until they landed on me.
He paused.
For just a second.
One second too long.
And then — nothing.
He turned away like I was just another face in the crowd.
I wanted to disappear.
What was he doing here?
He and father were sworn enemies. So what possibly could he be doing in Derek's company.
He shouldn't be here. He couldn’t be.
My hands gripped the notebook tighter.
He walked to the head of the room. Rested his palms lightly on the edge of the long oak table.
“Good morning,” he said.
His voice was low. Very familiar. Still calm. Still sure.
“I’m Dr. Joshua Titan. CEO of Silver Klein.”
The words didn’t make sense.
I blinked hard.
CEO?
CEO?
Of this place?
Of all places?
The boy who struggled to attend school.
The boy who tutored to afford his basic needs
The boy my father hated.
CEO?
And not just CEO, but of Silver Klein.
How possible could that be?
I didn’t hear a single thing after that.
Not the welcome speech. Not the HR walkthrough. Not the internship breakdown.
All I could feel was the static hum in my ears, the tightening of my throat, the way my stomach curled in on itself.
I couldn’t make sense of it.
When the meeting finally ended, chairs shuffled, voices lifted, people stood and began chatting about lunches and work schedules.
I didn’t wait. I stood too fast, my chair scraping back. I needed air. I needed to get out of there.
But then
“Miss Moore.”
I froze.
That voice, still smooth and unmistakably his.
“Ava.”
The room quieted a little. People turned, curious.
I couldn’t move.
Josh stood at the head of the table, arms crossed loosely, one brow raised.
“Wait behind,” he said.
A pause.
“I’d like to have a word with you.”
- Writer
