Fated Connections

Chapter Six- The Devil's offer

This Monday morning felt nothing like the others. It didn’t carry the soft promise of a new week, or the faint thrill of fresh beginnings. No—it carried an ending. The day I would officially be terminated from the one place I thought I belonged, the place I had poured my dreams into. My chance of ever becoming a senior creative director at the country’s most prestigious fashion company would be crushed before the clock struck noon.

By six, I had dragged myself out of bed. I Barely even slept last night. My body felt heavier than usual, as though the mattress begged me to stay, to pretend today wasn’t real. I shuffled to the kitchen and prepared a simple breakfast—two slices of toast and a soft-boiled egg. Each bite felt bland, like chewing on cardboard. I wasn’t hungry, but I forced myself to eat slowly, as if eating slower could somehow slow down time.

Yesterday, I had convinced myself I was at peace with it. I had even whispered to my grandma that I was ready to move on. But now, with every tick of the clock, reality pressed in on me like a cruel joke. Why was I being punished for telling the truth? Why did speaking out cost me everything?

And the part that stung worst of all? The signatures. That letter of termination would bear not only Ella’s venom but also the stamp of approval from the two men I thought might have stood for fairness: Mr. Williams, the creative editor who once praised my designs with genuine admiration, and Sebastian Cruz himself—the CEO. His signature would burn the most.

I pushed away my empty plate and went upstairs and showered quickly. If I was going to lose everything today, then at least I would lose it looking my best.

I stood in front of the mirror longer than usual, adjusting the black dress I had chosen the night before. It clung to my curves in a way that felt unapologetic yet dignified, hugging me from the shoulders down to the hem that brushed my knees. The neckline was modest but elegant, paired with sleek black heels that added just enough height to my stance. My wavy hair fell loose over my shoulders, framing my face, making me feel less fragile. I looked polished, collected—untouchable, even if deep down I was crumbling.

I grabbed a white handbag, lighter than usual since I carried no sketches, no notes, no tools of my craft. Just myself, stripped bare of what I once brought to this place.

My grandmother kissed my cheek before I left, her warm hands squeezing mine. “I’m proud of you, Jenny. God has better for you. Walk tall.”

I held onto those words as I boarded the bus, staring out the window at the blur of city streets. My phone buzzed in my hand, and I assumed it was Gwen checking in. But when I raised it, my heart stuttered.

The message came from an unknown number.

> Good morning Ms. Brooks, this is coming from the office of the CEO directly to you. Your presence is requested in his office by 8:00. Have a nice day.

I read it twice. Three times. The CEO? Sebastian Cruz himself? My pulse raced. Why would he want to see me? Did he want to personally hand me my termination letter, to watch me squirm? Or maybe humiliate me further, the way Ella wanted?

The bus jolted to a stop, snapping me out of my spiral. My hands were clammy as I climbed off and walked toward the tall glass building that had been my second home for years.

Inside, the air felt different. The lobby buzzed louder than usual. People who typically never spared me a glance now openly stared. Their eyes flickered up and down my body, assessing, whispering. Was it the dress? Or was it the rumors? My chest tightened, but I held my head high. Let them look. Let them talk. Soon, I’d be gone, and their words wouldn’t matter.

Still, it hurt.

When the elevator arrived, I stepped in quietly, only to be joined by three women with perfectly styled hair and expensive handbags. Their voices filled the silence, their backs turned to me.

“Did you hear?” one whispered.

“You mean the junior under Ella?” the second replied.

“Yes! It’s everywhere,” the third chimed in. “People say Ella stole her designs. And when she tried to claim them, Ella had her fired.”

I froze. My throat tightened.

“Oh, please,” the second scoffed. “She was the one who stole Ella’s work. Everyone knows she was desperate for attention. A poor girl from nowhere, trying to seduce the CEO. She’s pathetic.”

They laughed, their perfume filling the elevator, suffocating me.

“Exactly,” the first agreed. “Have you seen her clothes? Definitely poor. She thought Sebastian Cruz would notice her? As if. He’d never look at someone like her. She’s a fool.”

The elevator dinged, and they stepped out still laughing, still dissecting me like I was nothing more than office gossip. They hadn’t even noticed I was standing behind them the whole time. Invisible. That’s what I had always been to this company—except when my designs sold in malls worldwide, carrying someone else’s name.

I blinked back the sting in my eyes. Not here. Not now. I wouldn’t give Sebastian Cruz—or anyone—the satisfaction of seeing me break.

The final ding came. The top floor.

The corridor stretched long and gleaming, lined with polished wood and glass panels. At the end, the largest double doors loomed, carved with subtle details that screamed wealth.

I walked with steady steps, heels tapping against the marble. Sebastian’s assistant greeted me with a practiced smile.

“You may go in, Ms. Brooks. Mr. Cruz will join you shortly.”

The office swallowed me whole the second I stepped inside. It wasn’t just an office—it was a kingdom. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows spilling light over sleek black marble floors. The furniture was minimal yet luxurious: a glass desk that seemed to float, leather chairs stitched with precision, a sprawling shelf filled with books and awards. But what struck me most was how cold it felt. No personal touches, no warmth. Just power. Just him. This was my second time here but I was still amazed by it. And it seems like he, redecorated because it looks even darker than last week she was here. But at least the Chandelier was still the same she thought to herself.

I sat in the living area—a low, modern couch beside a polished coffee table—pulling out my phone to distract myself as I waited for him.

The door opened.

Sebastian Cruz walked in like he owned the ground he stepped on. Tall, broad-shouldered, every movement deliberate. His suit was perfectly tailored, black with a faint pinstripe, paired with a crisp white shirt undone at the collar. He didn’t rush, didn’t smile, didn’t need to. His presence alone commanded silence.

I shot to my feet. “Good morning, sir.”

“Morning. Sit.” His voice was low, smooth, but carried an edge that left no room for disobedience.

I sat, heart pounding.

He took out his phone and placed a call " The usual" he said sharply.

"Do you want anything?" he asked, green eyes looking at mine.

"No, thank you." I replied sharply knowing I couldn't digest anything while am this nervous.

"Nothing for the lady, she's worried I would poison her" he said in a serious tone ad my head suddenly whipped in his direction. He had a very serious expression on like he was actually serious about poisoning me.

“I heard you were fired,” he said casually after cutting the call, as if mentioning the weather. “That was sooner than I expected.” he said with a devilish smile.

“Yes, sir, I was. But I don’t think that’s why you called me here…is it?” I kept my voice steady, matching his tone. He was no longer my boss—I didn’t owe him meekness.

A flicker of amusement crossed his lips. “Cocky, aren’t we?” His green eyes glinted dangerously, and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

My breath hitched, but I didn’t look away.

He leaned back, studying me like I was some puzzle he wanted to solve. “You’re not afraid of me? Most people are.”

“I’m not,” I lied through my teeth.

He chuckled, stood, and crossed to the window. His silhouette against the city skyline looked almost inhuman—untouchable.

I immediately let out the breathe I didn't even realize I was holding. He really seemed to believe my lie. Am really pulling this off.

Then his voice cut through my thoughts. “Do you want your job back, Ms. Brooks?”

My chest tightened. Of course I did. But I wouldn’t grovel. Not for him.

“I do,” I said carefully, “but I won’t beg for it.”

“No one asked you to beg,” he replied smoothly, still facing the window.

His words carried a weight that pressed down on me. I didn’t know where this was going, but my instincts screamed caution.

“Why do you want it?” He turned sharply, his eyes piercing mine.

“Because it’s all I’ve ever loved. My mother was a designer, not famous, but brilliant. I wanted to follow in her footsteps. Designing for people around the world…it’s more than a job, it’s who I am.”

“Then why not fight for it?” His voice sliced through the air.

“Because…” My voice broke. I swallowed hard. “Because it’s not worth the humiliation anymore. I worked for years while others took the credit. Even you—” I faltered. “Even you signed the termination letter.”

His brow arched. “Who said I signed it?”

My breath caught. “I thought…I was here to collect it.”

“I didn’t sign it.” His lips curved, unreadable. “I called you here to offer you a deal.”

The room seemed to shrink. A deal? With Sebastian Cruz? My stomach knotted. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.