interview with the devil
664 Words
She walked in for a job. He wished for answers. Nonetheless, she wasn’t that girl anymore.
The dual interview wasn’t in a boardroom.
It was in his office.
Again.
Emilia strode inside, pulse throbbing like a war drum beneath her skin. She wore a tailored navy blouse and charcoal slacks—modest, efficient, protected. Everything she used to be had been undressed away the day he walked out. What remained now was armor.
He was already seated behind his desk, suit flawless, jaw tense. The skyline framed him like a throne.
“Sit,” he said.
No fascination. No welcome.
She did.
He stared.
Emilia met his gaze without flinching. The silence pressed between them like glass about to shatter.
“Why did you disappear?” he asked.
Straight to it. No uncertainty. No pretense of professionalism.
“I thought this was a job interview,” she replied, keeping her tone even.
“It is.” His voice was cool. Controlled. “But it’s also personal.”
“I don’t mix industry and personal.”
“You used to.”
His words were a knife, and he knew it. But Emilia didn’t bleed so easily anymore.
“I disappeared because you made it clear I was a mistake,” she said, fingers laced calmly in her lap. “I respected your wishes.”
His eyes narrowed. “You left without a word.”
“You didn’t give me a reason to stay.”
Something shifted in his expression, but he masked it quickly.
“You never called,” he said after a beat.
“Neither did you.”
Another silence.
A storm brewed beneath his surface—confusion, anger, something deeper. But she refused to give it room to breathe.
“I didn’t come here to relive the past,” she said. “You offered me a job. I’m here to work.”
“And if I hadn’t offered it?” he asked softly.
She paused.
“I would’ve kept surviving. Like I always do.”
He leaned forward, voice low. “What happened to you, Emilia?”
“Life,” she said. “And I grew up.”
He looked like he wanted to challenge that. To break through the wall she’d built. But she wasn’t the girl who once dreamed he’d love her back. She was a woman who’d buried that dream with the ashes of her vows.
“Do you regret it?” he asked.
“What?”
“Our marriage.”
Her chest tightened. “You mean the contract?”
“That’s not what I—”
“But it’s what it was, right? A tool. A way to avoid scandal. I was just convenient.”
His jaw flexed.
“You were never just convenient.”
Too little. Too late.
Emilia stood. “If you want me to work for you, you’ll need to understand something. I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t answer to your name anymore. And I’m not the broken girl you left behind.”
He stood too, taller, intimidating—but she didn’t back down.
“Then why are you here?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Because I need a paycheck. Not closure.”
Their eyes locked.
Something burned between them. Not warmth. Not hate. Something tangled. Heavy. Unresolved.
“You start Monday,” he said finally.
Emilia nodded, her expression unreadable. “Then we’re done here.”
She turned and walked toward the door.
“Emilia.”
She stopped.
His voice had softened. Just slightly.
He looked at her like she was both a mystery and a memory.
“You’re different.”
She smiled faintly over her shoulder. “You should try it sometime.”
Then she was gone, heels echoing down the hall like a drumbeat of defiance.
He sank back into his chair, jaw tight, heart unsteady.
She wasn’t the same woman he left behind.
And suddenly, he wasn’t sure he was ready for the one she’d become.
- Writer
