Beneath the Surface

Theme: Disruption . The smell of scorched toast hit first. Arielle Devereux grabbed the smoking slice from the ancient toaster, tossing it onto a plate before it could set off the smoke alarm again. One of her heels was already on, her blazer halfway off her shoulder, and her phone buzzed relentlessly on the kitchen counter. Her morning routine had become a delicate balancing act—something between a strategic mission and full-blown chaos. Her youngest brother, Jace, banged around in the hallway like a miniature hurricane, still looking for his other shoe, while Airyana, her immediate younger sister and a high school junior, lounged on the couch scrolling through her phone without a care in the world. Meanwhile, Olivia, her youngest sister at only eight years old, sat at the kitchen table completely focused—on decorating her math homework with glittery butterflies. “You can’t use glitter gel pens on math, Liv,” Arielle said as she crossed the room, setting the plate down in front of her. “But it’s prettier,” the girl replied without looking up, her tongue peeking out slightly in concentration. Arielle sighed, already feeling the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders. She slid the toast toward her sister and gently pried the sparkly pen from her small fingers. “We’re going for something functional today, not fabulous. Eat. Please.” From down the hall came the sound of a triumphant cry. “Found it!” Jace skidded into the kitchen like a tornado, holding the missing shoe over his head like a prize. “Then run. You’ve got seven minutes. Go!” Arielle tossed his lunch into his backpack just as he bolted past her, somehow managing to grab it mid-sprint. It was a dance they’d perfected by necessity—rapid, relentless, with no room for missteps. Olivia followed with her notebook hugged to her chest, eyes wide and glassy, like she might cry at any second. “No tears, Liv. You’re good. You’re always good.” Airyana opened her arms from her perch on the counter and beckoned the little girl over. “Come here.” Olivia ran into her big sister’s hug. Airyana bent to whisper something in her ear—gentle, reassuring—and then the girl nodded and dashed out after Jace. And then it was quiet. Almost. “Arielle?” Her mother’s voice rang out from the hallway—smooth, syrupy, too sweet to be harmless. “You forgot to iron my blouse. The blue one.” Arielle’s jaw clenched. She looked down at her watch. She was already ten minutes late. The ticking of time echoed louder than her own breath. Airyana turned toward her sister, eyes narrowing. She had heard the voice too many times to be surprised. “I'll do it,” she offered, her voice softer now. “You'll be too late for work.” “Don't worry, Yana, I'll handle Mom,” Arielle replied, giving her sister a small smile, even though her chest felt like it was tightening by the second. She bent down, grabbing her work bag and laptop case from beside the couch, trying to keep calm. “There’s an iron in your room,” she called out louder, letting her voice carry as she threw her blazer back over her shoulders. “I have to go.” Her mother appeared in the doorway a beat later, barefoot, wearing a silk robe and holding a half-full glass of wine—at 8:23 a.m. “You always have to go,” she said with a mocking smile. “Just don’t forget who’s really holding this house together.” “I’m very aware,” Arielle said, voice clipped. “There's an iron in your room. I would have done it, but as you can see, I'm very late for work and I need to leave. Do it yourself, Mom. Please.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed briefly, then shifted to glance at Airyana as if sizing up the next possible target. But she didn’t say another word. She turned with a soft scoff and left the room, leaving a heavy silence in her wake. “You always indulge her,” Airyana muttered once their mother had disappeared down the hallway, her tone laced with frustration and protectiveness. Arielle gave a brief smile. “She's our mom. We always have to indulge her.” “Yeah, that doesn't mean she has the right to treat you this way,” Airyana said with a huff. Arielle walked over, placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “It's okay,” she said, her voice calm, steady. “Just don't get into an argument with her while I'm not here, okay? And watch over Liv and Jace.” Airyana nodded. “You're still late though. Unless you want to lose your new job right on your first day, you better leave now.” She smiled as she said it, and that, at least, made Arielle laugh lightly. “Bye,” Arielle said as she rushed out the door. --- The city was already alive by the time she hit the sidewalk—cars honking, bicycles weaving between traffic, and sunlight bouncing off steel and glass in every direction. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she navigated through crosswalks, phone clutched tightly in one hand. New job. New start. Clean slate. She stepped through the towering glass entrance of Ashe & Locke and exhaled. The lobby was stunning—sleek, all polished marble and chrome, with an oversized logo mounted behind the reception desk like a modern sculpture. As the elevator ascended to the thirty-eighth floor, she smoothed down her blazer and practiced breathing slowly, deeply. This wasn’t just a job—it was the culmination of years of work, sacrifice, and ambition. A place where her voice could be heard. A place where she could matter. The elevator doors slid open. “Devereux,” someone said before she could step out properly. A man in a slim-cut gray suit was waiting, holding a folder and wearing the kind of expression that suggested he never blinked. “I’m Cole. Director of Communications. I’ll be onboarding you today.” Not a trace of warmth in his tone, but not rude either. Just efficient. Arielle followed him down a long, pristine hallway. Ashe & Locke was a study in elegance—glass walls, sleek furniture, soft lighting. Everything about it felt curated and expensive. They stopped outside a heavy door. Cole opened it, revealing a massive boardroom filled with senior executives gathered around a long black marble table. He ordered her to wait outside before he proceeded to go in. At the head sat a man she’d seen in headlines and investor profiles. Damien Locke. Tall. Controlled. Impeccably dressed. He didn’t even glance up as someone addressed him. That was the CEO? He looked more like a sculpture than a person. Like someone carved ambition into flesh. Cole leaned in, whispered something to him. Damien nodded once, dismissively. “Ms. Devereux,” Cole said, motioning her in. “Please, come in.” Arielle stepped inside, smoothing her blazer and schooling her expression. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Locke.” Damien finally looked up. And their eyes met. It was a moment—just a second—but something shifted. His gaze swept over her with quiet scrutiny, unreadable but intense. Not inappropriate. Just… assessing. He gave a curt nod. “Welcome to Ashe & Locke.” His voice was low, even. Like gravel under silk. “Thank you,” Arielle said, keeping her tone steady. “I’m excited to contribute.” Someone chuckled from across the table. “You’ll have your hands full. Especially if you’re joining the rebranding task force.” Her smile didn’t waver. “Challenge accepted.” Damien’s expression didn’t flicker, but something in his eyes narrowed—just slightly. The meeting resumed, and Arielle took a seat at the back, trying to stay composed. She took notes, observing the dynamic, the way people deferred to Damien’s every word like it was gospel. No one questioned him. No one interrupted. Until she did. It was a minor point. A proposed marketing angle that overlooked community impact. Arielle spoke up, offering an alternative approach—gentler, more empathetic. The room fell quiet. Meanwhile, a young lady sitting in the room looked at Arielle and smiled. She already took a liking to the new employee of Ashe & Locke who decided to interrupt the CEO with a brilliant idea. All eyes shifted to Damien. His jaw tightened slightly. “Noted,” he said, turning back to his notes. But there was a coolness in his tone that hadn’t been there before. After the meeting, Cole caught her by the elevators. “You’re brave,” he said. Arielle arched an eyebrow. “For what?” “For interrupting him. Most people don’t.” She stepped into the elevator, eyes forward. “Maybe they should.” As Arielle approached her own cubicle, someone tapped her by the shoulder, and she turned. “Hi,” the lady said, all smiles. She was a brunette. She was tall and beautiful, she looked like someone who would always have fun even in difficult situations. Arielle decided to listen to this woman. “I’m Nina,” the lady introduced herself. “Nina Dobrev. Nice to meet you.” She stretched out her hand for a handshake. Arielle took it. “I'm Arielle Devereux.” “Oh trust me, I know, “ Nina said, smiling. “I think everyone would by now.” Arielle raised a brow in question. The lady immediately understood her facial expression. “Oh, I was in the boardroom when you openly interrupted Mr. Locke. Trust me, it's been a while since anyone has done that. It felt satisfying to watch. And I'm sure the rumors have spread around that a new employee boldly gave her ideas in the boardroom on her first day. I must say, you're very brave.” Arielle sighed. “Yeah, I've been told.” Nina smiled. “Don't worry, it gets better. I think I like you already.” She grinned, exposing her impeccable white dentition. “Friends?” She offered. Arielle smiled. Well, it wouldn't be bad to make a friend on the first day, especially for the fact that it seems everyone in the company has their eyes on her just because she decided to talk during the meeting in the boardroom. “Yeah, sure. Friends.” Arielle accepted. “Great!” Nina was bubbly. “Let me give you a tour of the company then. Are you in?” Arielle nodded. “I'd love to.” __ Back in his office, Damien watched her on the security feed for the floor. Just for a moment. Just long enough to study the way she held herself—spine straight, chin lifted, eyes full of fire. He didn’t like disruptions. But for some reason, this one intrigued him. The next morning, Damien arrived early, as always. His days started before dawn and ended long after everyone had left. It was the price of control—total ownership, total awareness. He was reviewing the creative brief when Cole stepped in. “Sir, it's Ms. Devereux. She’s in the conference room. Early.” Damien didn’t look up. “Of course she is.” ‘She was trying to make an impression. They all do it in their first few weeks’. He thought. Cole hesitated. “You’ll want to see this.” He handed Damien a tablet showing a series of mock-up campaigns. Arielle’s name was on three of the strongest concepts. Each one had a core of empathy, but they weren’t naive. They balanced impact with strategy. Heart with logic. Damien felt a flicker of something sharp and strange. Interest. Now this was something he wasn't expecting. “Schedule a one-on-one,” he said, setting the tablet down. Cole blinked. “With her?” Damien looked up. “Yes.” “Okay sir.” In the conference room, Arielle stood at the whiteboard, jotting down notes, unaware she was being watched through the glass. Damien observed for a moment—her expression focused, her hair pulled into a loose knot, strands escaping as she worked. She talked with her hands when she was passionate. Scribbled like she didn’t care what anyone thought. Disruption, he thought again. And something else. Potential. He wasn’t sure yet if that excited him or terrified him. Maybe both.