His Terms

The lights in my apartment flickered. Third time tonight. I didn’t look up. I just held my breath and prayed the power would stay long enough to hit “submit.” `From: careers@vanceholdings.com` `Subject: INTERNSHIP OFFER – Finance Division` My finger froze over my cracked phone. I read it once. Twice. “Dear Ms. Elena Carter, We are pleased to offer you...” I got it. Vance Holdings. The firm every business student kills for. Paid. Prestige. A way out of ramen and overdue rent. I dropped the phone on my mattress and covered my mouth with both hands. If I screamed, my neighbor would bang on the wall. If I cried, the power would die. Then I scrolled. `CEO: Damian Vance` `Age: 35` `Start Date: Monday. 8:00 AM. No exceptions.` Photo attached. Black suit. No smile. Eyes that looked straight through the screen, like he already knew I was desperate. Damian Vance. Campus gossip flooded back: “He fires interns for being late by 30 seconds.” “Thirty-five. Never been married. Never been soft.” “He’s fourteen years older than you, Elena. Don’t be stupid.” Stupid. Right. I was 21. Broke. Tuition due in 3 weeks. Stupid was the only option I had left. I closed the email. The room went black. Power outage. My phone buzzed in the dark. Unknown number: `Mr. Vance wants to see you. Sunday. 6PM. Top floor. Alone.` ---