Bound by Flame & Fang

Episode 9

The elevator dinged, thank God, I could finally breath freely. the doors opened into a hallway so beautiful it felt unreal. Thick carpet muted our steps as we followed signs to Conference Room B.

The room was massive, cold, intimidating. A long Wooden table gleamed in the center, surrounded by leather chairs. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, giving us a view of the sprawling city below.

I found a seat near the end and sat on it, clutching my folder like it might anchor me.

The other candidates whispered to each other, exchanging credentials like trading cards.

“I interned at Fairchild Group.” the ugly looking one said. Inside I thought "you interned at Fairchild group and so what, with this your ugly face."

A male in his 20's said. “My MBA was from Harvard.” inside I was angry as if they were the reason I couldn't boast.

“I worked at Lucente’s Singapore branch.” A female said. Now I won't lie she was fine, like she screamed luxury. I admire her in my head.

Their words blurred together, a wall of polished accomplishment though it made me feel smaller with every second.

So instead of thinking I stared at the city, whispering in my head. "You don’t need to be them."

"Just be you. You survived worse."

The door opened. A hush fell instantly.

Three interviewers strode in, their suits sharp enough to cut glass. They looked like they hadn’t smiled in years. One, a woman with steel-gray hair and a piercing gaze, carried a clipboard that felt like it could decide life and death.

“Good morning,” she said. Her tone made it sound like a challenge. “We’ll begin shortly.”

My palms were slick with sweat. My heartbeat drummed so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.

I thought of my mother’s voice, sharp and cruel in my memory. "You’ll never be enough, Aria. You’re weak."

I pressed my nails into my palm until it hurt. No. Not today. Today, I I'm going to prove her wrong.

The panel settled in like executioners preparing their blades.

The steel-haired woman sat at the center. Beside her, a man with slicked-back hair scrolled through his tablet, already frowning. The third was an older gentleman with a weary face, he folded his hands and simply observed.

“Let’s begin,” the woman said, her gaze sweeping across us like a laser. “Blackthorne holdings, does not need employees. We need innovators. Prove you belong here.”

Her eyes locked on the first candidate. “You. Why should we hire you?”

The candidate launched into a polished monologue about his Ivy League education, his internships, his connections. The woman didn’t blink. She scribbled a note.

One by one, the others spoke. Their answers blended together. credentials, experience, ambition.

When her gaze landed on me, my stomach dropped.

“You,” she said. “Aria Blake. Why are you here?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came. The weight of twenty eyes burned into me. My resume was paper-thin compared to theirs. My background? Nonexistent.

“I". I started, then stopped. My mother’s voice slithered through my mind again: You’ll never be enough.

No. Not today.

I sat up straighten my dress, I had my shoulder high and forced my voice steady.

“I’m here because I know what it’s like to be underestimated. To be told I’m weak, useless, invisible. But that’s why I fight harder. Because people like me don’t have safety nets. We can’t afford to fail. We learn fast, we adapt faster, and we survive what others can’t. For us it's either we win or we win"

The room went silent. My head screaming at me, why did you say that, how does that explain your purpose."

The slick-haired man raised an eyebrow. The steel-haired woman tilted her head, studying me as if I were a puzzle she hadn’t expected.

Finally, the older gentleman spoke. His voice was low, almost thoughtful. “Interesting. Continue.”

Something in me loosened. Words began to flow, not rehearsed, not polished, but raw and honest.

I told them about the small jobs I’d held, the way I’d kept things afloat with nothing but stubbornness and late nights. I talked about creativity born from necessity.

How when you can’t afford solutions, you invent them.

By the time I finished, my cheeks were flushed and my heart was racing.

The steel-haired woman’s pen hovered over her clipboard. Slowly, deliberately, she wrote something down.

The next candidate stammered through his answer, he was consumed by the aura, I barely heard him. My hands trembled under the table.

"Have I just ruined everything?, or did I lite a spark?"

The rest of the interview blurred by. Technical questions. Hypothetical scenarios. They fired at us like bullets, and somehow I dodged enough to stay standing. My answers weren’t perfect, but they were sharp, surprising even myself.

When it ended, the panel rose without a word. “You’ll hear from us soon,” the woman said.

We were dismissed.

I stumbled out into the hallway, adrenaline crashing through me. The other candidates whispered again, their polished confidence cracked around the edges.

I pressed my back to the wall, closing my eyes. My chest rose and fell too quickly.

"Did I just survive that?"

Far above, in the tower’s top floors, Damian stood in his office.

The city stretched beneath him, glittering like prey. His golden eyes scanned the horizon, restless, unsettled.

On his desk, a folder lay unopened. A stack of interview files, handed to him for review. He picked one up without looking, flipping it open absently.

"Aria Blake."

His jaw tightened, though he didn’t know why. The name was meaningless. The resume unimpressive. His wolf stirred faintly, a restless growl in the back of his skull.

Damian snapped the folder shut and tossed it aside. He didn’t have time for weak candidates.

But as he turned away, his wolf whispered, low and insistent. “Something’s coming.”