THE INTERVIEW
The glass doors of Vance Tower slid open.
My heels clicked against marble that cost more than my car.
Five years.
Five years since Mateo Vance’s text: `_I have to go. This is my shot.`
Five years since I deleted every photo.
“Miss Delgado? Interview Room 12. Mr. Vance is waiting.”
My heart didn’t beat.
It flatlined.
I told myself this was just another job interview. New city. New start. No him.
New York had millions of people.
The odds he’d be the CEO were zero.
The odds were wrong.
He sat behind a desk of black glass.
Back to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Manhattan sprawled behind him like he owned it.
Broad shoulders in a tailored navy suit.
Dark hair, short and sharp.
He didn’t turn when I entered.
“Please, have a seat,” his assistant said.
I sat.
Across from the man who’d broken me at 22.
Mateo Vance finally looked up.
Those eyes—dark, cold, unreadable—scanned my resume.
Then my face.
One second.
Two seconds.
Nothing.
No flicker. No recognition.
Like I was any other candidate.
Like he’d never whispered my name in the dark.
He set the resume down. Steepled his fingers.
“You’re overqualified for a personal assistant role, Ms. Delgado,” he said.
Flat. Corporate. No emotion.
“Master’s from NYU. Three years at Sterling & Co.”
“Yes, sir.”
My voice came out steady. I was proud of that.
“Why this position?”
He didn’t look at me. His eyes were already back on his monitor.
Career growth.
The lie tasted like ash.
Silence filled the room.
Heavy. Suffocating.
His phone buzzed.
He answered it without breaking eye contact with his screen.
“Vance. Make it quick.”
He discussed a 50 million dollar merger.
Like I was furniture.
It hurt more than if he’d yelled.
Five minutes passed.
He hung up. Finally looked at me again.
Those cold CEO eyes gave me nothing.
“You’ll hear from HR,” he said.
“Next candidate.”
That was it.
No questions. No “do you have questions for me.”
Just dismissal.
I stood.
My legs shook.
I walked to the door.
“Ms. Delgado.”
I froze.
Didn’t turn around.
Couldn’t breathe.
“Your tie is crooked.”
He still didn’t look up from his monitor.
I reached up. Straightened the silk tie.
My hands trembled.
“Thank you, Mr. Vance,” I whispered.
No response.
Just the sound of him typing.
Like I’d never existed.
I walked out.
The glass doors closed behind me with a soft hiss.
Only when I was in the elevator did I fall apart.
Forehead to cold steel.
How could he look at me like a stranger?
How could he pretend five years never happened?
The doors opened to the lobby.
I stepped out. Pulled myself together.
Behind me, 42 floors up, Mateo Vance stopped typing.
His jaw clenched.
His fist curled on the desk.
He’d recognized her the second she walked in.
He just wouldn’t let her know
