Episode 5.
940 Words
POV:
YOU'VE BEEN CHOSEN.
My hair was a mess, my heart was still racing, and my soul. Possibly floating above my body, watching me make life choices I would later regret
.The clock blinked 9:47 p.m.
The building was nearly empty, except for the hum of the air conditioner and the quiet clacking of my keyboard.I stared at the screen, the file Damian had given me earlier that day.
A report that, according to him, needed to be “flawless, not decent. Decent is for mediocrity.”Means: if I mess up even one comma, I’m toast.
I took a deep breath and whispered to myself, “Mia, you’re doing this for your rent… and your sanity. Mostly rent.”
My phone buzzed with a text from my colleague, Sam.
Sam: Did he fire you? Or are you secretly in his will now?
I rolled my eyes and typed back.
Me: Neither. He smiled. Or twitched. It’s hard to tell.
Sam: A smile?! Are you sure it wasn’t a muscle spasm?I sighed.
Probably was.
I pushed the phone aside and focused on the document again. Every sentence had to be perfect. Every chart had to align. Damian’s eyes missed nothing. He was like a human lie detector mixed with a calculator and a storm cloud.
As I typed, I replayed the day’s chaos, the hospital, the wallet, his expression when he saw me.
For a moment, I swore there was something softer behind that sharp gaze. But then again, maybe it was just exhaustion.
A knock on the door startled me. I jumped, half-expecting Damian himself to appear out of the shadows.
Instead, it was the janitor, Mr Ben.He peered in and said, “Still alive?”
“Barely,” I muttered.
He chuckled. “You know, I’ve seen people try to impress Mr Voss before. None survived long enough to reach your level.”
I raised an eyebrow. “My level?”
“Desperation,” he said, grinning before walking away.I sighed, rubbed my temples, and got back to work.
Hours passed. Coffee cups piled up. My typing grew more aggressive with each paragraph.
By midnight, I was muttering to my screen like it was a living thing.
“Don’t crash on me. Don’t you dare crash on me!”Of course, that’s when the screen froze.
“WHY?” I yelled, hitting the desk. Somewhere, I was sure Damian’s sixth sense for chaos just tingled.I restarted the computer, praying to every digital deity known to mankind.
When it finally came back, I nearly cried in relief.
Then, my email pinged.
From: Damian Voss
Subject: “Progress?”
I froze.
The email had one word, 'Progress?' but it carried the weight of a thousand threats.
I typed back quickly:“Yes, sir. Almost done!”
Then added in my head: If my laptop doesn’t turn into a toaster first.
I finished at 2:30 a.m. and saved the file twelve times in twelve different folders.
I even emailed it to myself, just in case the entire building exploded overnight.
As I shut down my computer, I whispered, “Please let him like it. Just once.”
I went home, and I collapsed on the bed like a dead beast.
... ...
The next morning.
It was Friday morning.I placed the printed report neatly on his desk. His office door was slightly ajar.
I peeked in; he was already there, typing something, completely focused.I slipped the file onto the desk and turned to leave quietly.
“Mia.”His voice made me freeze mid-step.
“Yes, sir?”Without looking up, he said, “You stayed late, didn’t you?”
“I wanted to make sure it was perfect.”
He finally looked up, calm and unreadable, but there was something almost amused in his eyes. “You did well.”
I blinked. “I… did?”
“Yes. But don’t make it a habit. Sleep is necessary for functional work.”
That was the closest thing to kindness I’d ever heard from him.
I smiled slightly. “Thank you, sir.”
As I walked out, I heard him mutter under his breath, “Stubborn intern… but she learns fast.”
And just like that, my exhaustion turned into something else entirely: motivation.Now I wasn’t just afraid of Damian Voss.I wanted to impress him.
Minutes later.
Now the whole office buzzed with one rumour: "Mr Damian Voss was attending a big business meeting out of town, and someone had to accompany him."
No one wanted that honour. Not after the last assistant who went with him returned pale, trembling, and muttering, “He corrected my grammar… in a parking lot.”
So, as I walked in clutching my coffee, totally unaware, everyone stared at me like I was a chicken walking into a lion’s den.
“Why is everyone so quiet?” I asked, squinting at them.
“Did someone die?”
Sam, my colleague, spun around in his chair dramatically.
“Not yet. But someone’s about to.”
“What?”He grinned nervously.
“You might want to sit down first.”
I frowned. “Why?”He leaned forward.
“Because, my dear Mia… you’ve been chosen.”
“Chosen for what? Promotion? Coffee duty? Office karaoke?”
“For doom.”At that exact moment, the HR manager, Miss Clara, a woman who always wore a smile that could both comfort you and end your career, appeared out of nowhere.
“Mia Holts,” she said sweetly, “Mr. Voss has requested your presence.”
My coffee almost slipped from my hand. “Requested my… what?”
- Writer
