The contractual marriage between CEO and secretary,

Ella Bennett sat in the waiting lounge of Titan Realty Group, gripping the printed notice for her third-round interview with fingers that trembled slightly. She had never been this nervous in her life. It wasn’t just because this was her first interview since graduating from college — it was because she had wagered everything to be here. She’d left home, drained her savings, and moved thousands of miles to a city where she knew no one. There was no plan B. No safety net. No turning back. She glanced at the women seated on the sofas across from her. Every one of them looked like they’d stepped straight off a runway: young, elegant, draped in designer brands from head to toe. One wore a deep V-cut blouse beneath a tailored pencil dress, her ample cleavage displayed so boldly that Ella found herself swallowing hard, wondering what on earth this woman ate to grow curves like that. Another girl, petite with a distinctly Korean-influenced look, was busy perfecting her eyeliner in a compact mirror, applying touch-up after touch-up without a hint of self-consciousness. Directly opposite Ella sat a woman who radiated pure disdain. She didn’t speak a word, only alternated between inspecting her sparkling, crystal-tipped nails and casting condescending glances at those around her. Earlier, Ella had noticed other interviewees waiting in side lounges. Titan Realty was hiring for an elite real estate sales role — with a salary package so attractive, it had drawn some of the industry’s most competitive candidates. Ella wasn’t from a sales background. Her major had been linguistics. But this position had listed “fluency in three or more foreign languages” as a core requirement — and that, she had. Her motivation was simple: the money was great, and if she got in, she’d be working alongside Claire, her best friend since childhood. Landing this job would be a double win. Her thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and a sharply dressed woman with a Titanemployee badge stepped inside. “Ladies, if you’ll follow me,” she said. Ella rose quickly — too quickly. She nearly lost her balance. Today was her first time wearing high heels. Claire had insisted she wear at least two inches, saying, “You can’t show up looking like a freshman.” Ella had protested at first, but seeing now that every other woman here was striding in four-inch stilettos, she regretted not going higher. Appearance, it seemed, mattered. The other three women walked ahead confidently. Ella trailed behind, not daring to go too fast for fear of twisting her ankle. The halls of Titan were carpeted in a thick, luxurious fabric that muted every footstep. Heels or leather soles — it didn’t matter. The silence was total. The staff member led them to a set of double mahogany doors. She turned to them with a calm smile. “Please wait here. You’re up next.” Ella felt that familiar, unwelcome rush to the bladder — her body’s go-to reaction when nerves took over. Her mind went blank. What if the interviewer asked her something in Spanish — the one language she was weakest in? They hadn’t been standing there for more than half a minute when the door opened and a beautiful young woman came storming out, her face flushed with unmistakable anger. The Korean-style girl beside Ella raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t get the job, I guess. But that reaction’s a bit much.” Another moment passed and the door opened again. Another gorgeous woman. Same furious expression. Ella’s anxiety turned to full-blown fear. She knew Titan was one of the top five real estate firms in the world — but the first two rounds of interviews had been fairly standard. Was all the pressure saved for this final round? A few more minutes passed, and then three more applicants came out one after another, each one wearing an expression sour enough to curdle milk. One of them brushed past Ella and muttered under her breath, “Jesus, that guy’s insane.” Ella’s imagination ran wild. What was behind that door? What kind of questions were being asked? Before she could dwell on it, the staffer gestured for their group to enter. Ella took a deep breath, tightened her grip on the thin sheet of paper in her hand, and stepped forward. The interview room was much larger than she’d expected. They passed through a short hallway, took a left turn, and entered a massive space — at least a thousand square feet. At the far end sat a single desk. Just one. A desktop computer sat atop it, and the man behind the screen was leaning back in his chair, out of view. All they could see was one pinstriped sleeve and a nameplate reading: Director of Global Sales. No HR panel. No small talk. Not even a face to look at. The unexpected austerity of it all left Ella and the others visibly unsettled. The staffer who had brought them in quietly exited, shutting the doors behind her. And in the instant the door clicked closed, a deep, masculine voice rang out from behind the monitor. The tone was lazy, low, and commanding: “Anyone who’s had plastic surgery — get out.” There was a beat of stunned silence. Ella’s eyebrows lifted almost involuntarily. She glanced sideways at the Korean-style woman, who gave her a sharp look as if to say, Mind your business. No one moved. No one spoke. The voice came again, still calm, but colder now — with a tinge of impatience. “Carla Reyes. Nose job in L.A., 2009. Eyelid surgery the following year. Then Seoul — cheekbone shaving and forehead fillers. Oh, and Botox in New York up through last year.” He paused, letting the silence draw out like a knife. “After all that, I just have one question: do your parents still recognize you?”