Chapter 3 -- The Summons
1160 Words
Courtney slowed as she approached the glass door. The hallway outside Liliana’s office always felt quieter than the rest of the floor, as if people instinctively lowered their voices when passing through.
Conversations faded. Keyboards softened. Even footsteps seemed cautious here.
There was no real reason to be nervous.
And yet her stomach tightened anyway.
Being called into Liliana’s office rarely meant something simple.
I knocked once on her office door.
No response.
I knocked again.
Still silence.
By the third knock, my pulse had already risen into my throat.
The hallway felt unusually quiet — as if the building itself was observing what would happen next.
After waiting a few seconds, I turned the handle and stepped inside.
The room was exactly as polished as the woman who controlled it.
Large windows framed the city skyline behind the desk.
Everything in the office looked deliberate—perfectly aligned files, spotless glass surfaces, and the faint scent of expensive perfume mixed with polished wood.
Nothing here felt accidental.
Nothing here felt warm.
I stepped inside carefully, closing the door behind me with quiet precision.
She was seated behind her large mahogany desk, legs crossed elegantly, scrolling through something on her tablet.
She did not look up immediately.
As if she had not heard my knocking at all.
Or as if she had chosen to ignore it.
I stood near the door.
“Ma… you sent for me.”
She lifted her gaze slowly.
Then tilted her head slightly.
“Ma… you sent for me?”
Her repetition carried sarcasm.
I kept my expression neutral.
I learned that lesson months ago.
Reacting only gave Liliana more to work with.
Once, during a team meeting, I had tried to explain a mistake in a report, Liliana had corrected me in front of everyone, slowly, methodically, until the entire room had gone silent.
Since then, I've learned the safest response was restraint.
Emotion rarely survived well in Liliana’s office.
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
My fingers tightened at my sides.
I lowered my eyes briefly.
“Come. Sit,” she said.
The tone was calm.
Too calm.
I obeyed.
The chair opposite her desk felt colder than expected.
I sat straight.
Hands resting carefully on my lap.
Liliana Hart and I were the same age.
We graduated in the same academic year.
We had walked similar paths through the same university corridors.
But similarity ended there.
She had connections.
Influence.
Access.
I had scholarships.
Hard work.
Determination.
Those advantages did not carry the same weight in corporate spaces.
She was intelligent — that much was undeniable.
But power had sharpened something colder inside her.
Especially toward people she considered beneath her status.
People like me.
The tension between us had never been silent.
It was constant.
And visible.
For others, her authority was delivered privately.
For me, it was often public.
Correction became spectacle.
Disapproval became performance.
Even when I made no mistake.
We sat in silence for several seconds.
The wall clock behind her ticked loudly.
The sound filled the room.
My palms slowly began to sweat.
I waited for the reason I had been summoned.
She finally spoke.
“I heard you were ill.”
My throat tightened immediately.
She leaned back slightly.
“You lied.”
The statement came out flat.
Direct.
“You claimed sickness to avoid coming into the office.”
I opened my mouth instinctively.
But no response came.
“There was work I assigned to you,” she continued. “Important work.”
My mind searched quickly.
There hadn’t been any urgent task directly assigned to me that required physical presence.
At least not officially.
Her tone shifted.
“And the document I instructed you to prepare? The one addressing employee conduct toward superiors?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“I did not receive it.”
My breathing became shallow.
That assignment had felt deliberate.
Her secretary — Rose — handled document preparation for matters like that
That task had not belonged to my role.
So why was it assigned to me?
I remained silent.
She raised her voice slightly.
“You ignored my directive. Then you failed to report to my office immediately this morning.”
Each sentence felt structured to build accusation.
To establish fault.
“You think absence gives you permission to disappear from responsibility?”
I flinched slightly at the tone.
“You act careless,” she continued. “Then you walk into the office without checking whether I even require your presence.”
The word “careless” lingered heavily.
Then she added:
“Low-level staff should understand boundaries.”
Low-level.
The phrase struck deeper than expected.
My chest tightened.
I pressed my fingers together under the desk to steady myself.
She continued speaking — frustration mixed with authority — but the words began to blur.
Accusations.
Criticism.
Disappointment.
Power reinforcement.
My ears rang faintly.
“Answer me.”
Her voice cut through the haze.
I straightened instantly.
“Ma… I am sorry.”
The words came out quietly.
Almost instinctively.
Silence followed.
For a brief moment, the room shifted.
The atmosphere changed — not softer, but more controlled.
She studied me carefully.
“You cannot apologize without explaining,” she said in a lower tone.
Her posture relaxed slightly.
“An apology without accountability is manipulation.”
The statement surprised me.
It sounded almost reflective.
Not attacking.
But analytical.
“You will not dismiss my concerns with empty apologies,” she continued. “You will explain.”
I swallowed.
“I wasn’t lying,” I said carefully. “I truly wasn’t feeling well.”
It was the only truth I could confidently defend.
Her gaze remained fixed on my face.
Measuring.
Evaluating.
Then she leaned forward and placed both hands flat on the desk.
“There is something more important.”
Her voice shifted — businesslike now.
“The CEO will be present in the office tomorrow.”
The words froze the air around me.
The CEO.
She continued, “There are several preparations that need to be handled before his arrival. During his visit. And after.”
Her eyes locked onto mine.
“And you will be assisting.”
I blinked.
Assisting?
In what capacity?
Fear mixed with confusion.
This was not routine. This was not clerical work.
This was visibility.
And visibility, in my position, was dangerous.
She reclined again, studying my reaction carefully.
“Do not disappoint me,” she said quietly.
The threat was softer this time.
But heavier.
I nodded slowly.
“Yes, ma.”
She waved her hand dismissively.
“You may go.”
I stood carefully, my legs feeling slightly weaker than before. My hand reached for the door handle, but before stepping out, I felt something shift inside me.
Not defiance.
Not yet.
But awareness.
The CEO was coming.
And somehow, I knew—
This visit would change something.
I just did not know whether it would save me.
Or destroy me.
- Writer
