Elena Moore was running late.
Not fashionably late—the heart-thudding, stomach-clenching kind of late that made her feel like the pavement beneath her was working against her. Her coat flapped wildly in the wind, her heels tapped rapidly on the cobbled pavement of Mayfair, and her bag swung against her side with every determined stride.
The *Lancaster Estate Receptionist Interview—10:00 a.m. sharp.* She glanced down at the time on her phone: *9:56 a.m.*
"God, no," she breathed, weaving past a group of tourists. "Just four minutes, just four—"
And then—smack.
Her shoulder collided hard with someone rounding the corner, and within seconds, her bag slipped from her grip, papers went flying, and a hot liquid—coffee, unmistakably—splattered against the front of her cream blouse.
"Oh my God! I'm so, so sorry—!" she gasped, already crouching to gather her scattered CV pages.
The man she'd hit stood motionless, drenched in his own coffee, a dark stain spreading across the front of his charcoal-grey hoodie.
He didn't say a word at first. Just stood there, tall and unwavering, with a strong build and a stillness that made Elena's pulse stutter.
"I—I wasn't looking," she stammered. "I'm really sorry. I didn't see you—"
He looked down at his shirt, then back at her. Deep-set hazel eyes met hers. His face—silky smooth, cleanly shaven, and too handsome for this early in the morning—held not even a flicker of anger. Just... unreadable calm.
"Watch where you're going next time," he said, his voice low and steady.
Elena blinked, mouth slightly ajar. "I didn't mean to... it was just... I'm late, and—" She paused, glancing at the deep brown splashes across her blouse. "Great. Just great."
She turned slightly away, digging frantically through her bag for anything—anything at all—that could help blot the mess. A scarf? A tissue? Of course, she had neither when she actually needed them.
The man watched her silently for a moment, then slid his hand into his joggers pocket and pulled out a small, folded handkerchief.
"Here," he said, offering it.
Elena hesitated. "Are you sure?"
He nodded once.
She took it carefully, as if touching something fragile. "Thank you..." she began, but as she looked up—he was already jogging off.
"No name? No goodbye? Rude," she mumbled under her breath, though part of her was too stunned to say more.
She dabbed quickly at her blouse, then stuffed her now-slightly-stained CVs back into her folder, clutching her bag tight and continuing her run toward the estate.
Inside her head, her thoughts were spiraling: *You're late, you're stained, and you smell like coffee—perfect first impression, Elena. Just perfect.*
But even as she ran, something lingered from the encounter.
Not just the embarrassment or the stain. Not even the sharpness of his eyes.
It was his stillness.
His calm, almost detached presence. Like he was a man used to collisions—but not easily shaken by them.
She had no idea that the man she just bumped into was more than just a jogger. No idea that within the walls of the Lancaster estate, that same man would soon be far more than a stranger.
And this wasn't the last time their paths would cross.
Not even close.
Elena finally arrived at the Lancaster Estate building, her breath catching as she stood before the tall, mirrored glass entrance.
She lowered her gaze to her phone. *10:27 a.m.*
Her heart sank.
The interview had started nearly 30 minutes ago. The kind of lateness that most companies didn't forgive—especially not a prestigious estate like Lancaster.
But she wasn't about to give up.
She inhaled deeply, trying to steady her nerves. Her body still buzzed from the frantic run she had made from the bus stop. Tiny beads of sweat clung to her forehead and the small of her back, but she pushed forward, straightening her posture and brushing down her skirt. Her reflection in the door caught her attention: a striking woman with warm caramel skin, soft waves of black hair, and eyes that shimmered despite the stress. Her blouse still held faint marks of the coffee spill, but she held her head high.
If there was one thing she had mastered growing up with nothing, it was learning how to walk into a room like she belonged there.
As she stepped inside, the grand reception area nearly swallowed her. Polished marble floors, crisp white walls, and golden accents screamed wealth and precision. A massive chandelier hung above her, sparkling like it cost more than her entire education.
She kept walking, heels clicking against the tiles, chin lifted, each step confident—like a CEO's wife doing a surprise inspection. She prayed silently as she walked, *"Lord, just give me one more chance. Let someone see past my lateness. Please."*
She reached the elevator and pressed the button, gripping her bag tightly. A soft *ding* echoed, and the doors slid open. She stepped in alone, pressing the button for the top floor.
Just then, her phone buzzed.
*Aiden 💬: Are you there yet?*
She sighed and quickly typed back, *"I'm busy right now. I'll tell you everything later though."*
The elevator ascended smoothly. A calming instrumental tune played softly overhead, but it couldn't drown out the pounding of her heart.
*Ding.*
The doors opened.
The reception on the interview floor was quiet, sleek, intimidating. A slim woman in a navy blue pantsuit sat behind a white desk, typing something into a monitor. As soon as she looked up and caught sight of Elena, her brows arched in surprise—then narrowed slightly.
"You're... here for the receptionist interview?" the woman asked, her voice sharp.
Elena nodded, stepping forward.
"Yes, ma'am. I—"
"You're late," the woman cut in briskly, glancing at the wall clock. "The panel began seeing candidates at ten sharp. It's now twenty-seven minutes past. I'm afraid you have to go back."
Her words landed like bricks.
Elena felt her throat tighten. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. For a moment, silence hung between them like a thread that could snap.
"I understand," Elena said softly, her voice steady but low. "And I don't have an excuse. I just... I got held up on the way here."
The woman tilted her head, her face unreadable.
Elena took a shaky breath. "But I came because I want this. Not just for a job title or the paycheck—though, God knows I need it—but because I believe I'd bring value. I'm late, yes. But I'm not careless. I'm determined. I ran the entire way here just for the chance to be told 'no' to my face."
Something about her tone—calm but unyielding—made the woman hesitate. She stared for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Then, she clicked her pen against the table. "Wait here."
She stood and walked into a side room, leaving Elena alone in the silence.