Chapter 12
I ’ve checked the time so many times I might as well just tattoo it on my wrist.
8:57 AM.
Still no Eve.
I sit in the third row—not too close to the front to seem overeager, not in the back like I’m hiding. It feels like the Goldilocks of seating choices, and yet somehow it still doesn’t feel right.
I tuck my phone into my lap and glance around. Everyone’s dressed up again. Polished. Quiet. The air hums with nerves, and I’m no exception.
My leg is bouncing, hands wringing in my lap before I force myself to stop. I can't look like I'm falling apart. I have to appear collected. Graceful. Poised.
Like I belong here.
I replay the conversations from last night in my head like a mental montage on repeat.
The charming man who smelled like cedar wood and asked intelligent questions.
The silent one with the cold smile and assessing gaze that made me feel like I was being dissected.
The older gentleman who made me laugh with a terrible dad joke and genuinely seemed to care if I was comfortable.
And then... Lucian.
His challenge still lingers like a ghost. Don’t do what she did. Be better. Show me.
I did try. I was better. I think. God, what if I overdid it? What if they all saw right through me and thought I was trying too hard?
I slide my purse off my shoulder and set it carefully on my chair, along with my blazer. Then I make a beeline for the coffee station in the back of the room.
I don’t even care if the caffeine makes my heart race more—at least it’ll give my hands something to hold.
The coffee’s lukewarm and bitter, but it gives me something to focus on.
9:12.
Still no Eve.
Conversations are starting to hum among the other recruits. Nervous laughter. Whispered speculation. I return to my seat and scroll through my inbox, as if a job offer might magically appear and make all of this irrelevant.
It doesn’t.
9:24.
I’m just about to start spiraling again when my phone buzzes.
HARPER: Don’t forget you’re the moment today. They’re lucky to breathe your air.
I smile, immediately typing back.
ME: More like panic in human form with killer lipstick. But thank you.
HARPER: Panic is sexy if you accessorize it right. Also, you wore white. You’re the sacrificial virgin in a room full of horny vampires. I’m sure they ate it up.
I choke on my coffee.
ME: Helpful as always.
HARPER: Text me the second you know who won you. Or I riot.
9:45.
At last, the doors at the front of the room open and Eve walks in, a black folder in one hand and her hair in a slick, perfect bun. She doesn’t look flustered, but the quickness of her steps gives her away.
“Sorry, darlings,” she says as she makes it to the front. “Minor chaos upstairs. But I have your placements.”
All the air seems to suck out of the room. My heart hammers behind my ribs. I sit up straighter, clutching my cup like it might anchor me.
This is it.
This is the moment that decides everything.
And I’m not sure if I’m ready.
I take another sip of my now-cold coffee, willing it to settle the storm building in my stomach. It doesn’t.
The room is buzzing with soft chatter and barely-contained anticipation. Girls sit in tidy rows, hair and makeup still perfect from the early morning prep session. Some bounce their legs. Some chew the inside of their cheeks. Me? I can’t feel my hands.
Eve steps to the front of the room, a thick stack of black folders in hand. She doesn’t waste time.
“Alright, ladies,” she says with a bright, confident smile. “You all survived the first phase of training, which is no small feat. And I’m proud of every single one of you. But today… today is the next step.”
A hush falls over the room.
“The highest bid in this batch goes to…” She flips open the first folder. “Mila Rosenthal.”
Mila gasps, her perfectly manicured hands flying to her mouth. She turns, wide-eyed, as the other girls clap politely.
“Your sponsor was impressed with your poise, your warmth, and the way you handled difficult questions with a smile.” Eve hands her the folder. “You’ll be meeting with him shortly.”
Hm, I thought the top girl got to pick her sponsor. I wonder why it was switched up.
Mila beams and glides out of the room with a confidence I can’t muster.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, trying not to feel the sharp pinch of disappointment. I didn’t think I’d be the top girl, but… hearing someone else’s name stings more than I expected.
Eve continues down the list, calling name after name.
“Bianca Monty.”
“Nicole Parks.”
“Addison Voss.”
Each girl receives her folder and exits the room with a mix of nerves and excitement, disappearing into whatever future they’ve just been handed. Their heels tap against the floor. Their giggles and relieved laughter linger in the air.
And I sit. Smile glued in place. Palms sweaty. Heart pounding.
It’s fine. Totally fine. I probably just wasn’t in the top half. Maybe I’m later on the list. Maybe she’s going alphabetically in reverse and I’m just low down on the order.
Another name. Another girl leaves.
One by one, the seats around me empty.
It’s not fine.
It’s getting harder to breathe.
My fingers twitch against my thighs. My vision flicks to the clock.
9:53.
Eve calls another name. Another girl squeals, hugging her seat mate before grabbing her folder and leaving.
I smile with her. Nod. Pretend I’m not dying inside.
My legs bounce now. I can’t stop them. I pinch my thumb and index finger together, a grounding trick I saw on TikTok.
It doesn’t work.
“Clara Jennings.”
Clara leaves.
Then there were two.
And then just me.
The room is silent now. The buzz is gone. All the laughter, the chatter, the electricity—it left with the others.
Eve doesn’t say anything at first. She just stands at the front of the room and clasps her hands together. Because she is all out of folders.
Her gaze lifts and lands on me.
My stomach plummets when she gives me a sympathetic smile.
Because now I know.
No one bid on me.
I wasn’t picked.
My heart thuds in my ears. Loud. Heavy. Final.
I told myself I wouldn’t let this define me. That if it didn’t work out, I’d move on. That this was just a steppingstone.
But even though I’ve been applying for other jobs, I’ve been here . Focused. Trying.
And it still wasn’t enough.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard, trying to will the tears away.
Because when you’re the last girl sitting in a room full of empty chairs?
You don’t need anyone to tell you you’ve failed.
You already know.
Eve’s expression is unreadable as she crosses the room. Each step across the marble floor hits like a judge’s gavel hammering in my verdict.
She stops directly in front of me.
My breath stutters.
“Come with me, Sienna.”
That’s all she says.
No folder. No sponsor’s name. No smile.
Just four words.
I nod numbly and stand, my legs stiff and unsteady beneath me. I gather my things with mechanical precision, following her like I’m headed to an execution.
Because I am, aren’t I?
She’s taking me to sign a final form. To be walked out the back door of The Ledger with polite apologies and a folder that says Not a Good Fit in bold letters across the top.
I should ask her.
Should say something. Ask why but I don’t.
I’m not sure I want to know the reasons.
The hallway is too quiet. Too clean. Every soft step feels like a nail hammered into my coffin. My pulse beats in my throat, my ears, my wrists.
The elevator heads up to the topmost floor. We don’t take the path the other girls did when they went off to meet their sponsors.
Oh, God. Maybe they throw the undesirables from the rooftop like discarded dreams.
We exit the elevator and descend down a corridor I haven’t been in before. The walls are lined with black marble, threaded with veins of gold. Opulent. Stark. Intimidating.
Just like this place.
Just like the rejection I know is coming.
Finally, Eve stops in front of a large, closed door.
It’s beautiful—sleek black wood, carved with ornate gold filigree that glints in the soft lighting. A polished brass handle gleams like it’s never been touched.
This is… not the exit.
I frown, confused, my brows pulling together as I look between the door and her.
“Where are we?—?”
Eve turns to me, one brow arched with infuriating calm.
And then she smirks.
Not smug. Not cruel. Just… knowing.
“Your sponsor,” she says simply, gesturing toward the door. “Enjoy your training.”
I blink.
My lips part.
“What?”
But she’s already stepping back. Her steps retreating down the hallway. Gone without another word.
I stand frozen, that single phrase ringing in my ears like it’s been shouted through a megaphone.
Your sponsor.
I have a sponsor.
I’m not being fired.
My heart stutters. Skips. Lurches.
I have a sponsor.
But no folder. No name.
No information at all.
Just this door.
My palm presses flat against the cool surface before I realize I’ve even moved.
Then—one slow breath later—I turn the handle.
And step inside and in an instant, I’m frozen.
Lucian fucking Vale.
Standing in front of a sleek black desk, leaned casually against it like he has all the time in the world. His gray eyes are already on me, unreadable, unflinching. Like he’s been waiting.
Like this was always part of his plan.
The door shuts behind me with an ominous click .
My breath catches so hard it burns.
No.
No. No. No.
Not him.
Anyone but him.
I take one slow step inside, heart pounding like war drums in my ears. My eyes flick over him instinctively—black suit, dark shirt, the collar open just enough to feel indecent, his sleeves rolled back to reveal tattooed forearms.
He doesn’t speak.
Just watches.
Waiting.
The silence stretches until it strangles me, a knot twisting tight in my chest.
He knew.
He knew I was sitting in that room, watching every other girl walk out with a folder and a smile while I convinced myself I was about to be fired.
And this bastard said nothing.
Heat floods through me—rage, humiliation, disbelief—all colliding like lightning in my chest. My hands curl into fists at my sides.
“You—” I exhale, sharp and venomous. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
His brow lifts. Just slightly. Unimpressed. Unbothered.
“Careful.”
One word. Cool and smooth like poured ice.
Oh, I see how this is going to be.
He looks at me like I’m just a piece in his game. Like none of it mattered—the waiting, the anxiety, the sheer panic that made me question everything .
And now I’m supposed to what? Smile? Thank him?
Fuck. That.
“You let me sit there,” I spit. “Alone. While every other girl walked out with her folder like a damn graduation ceremony—thinking I failed. That no one wanted me. That I wasn’t good enough. ”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just watches.
My voice shakes with the force of it. “Was that fun for you? Was it satisfying to sit up here while I practically had a heart attack downstairs?”
His head tilts, expression still unreadable. “It was necessary.”
“Oh, necessary ,” I echo with a bitter laugh, pacing a short line in front of his desk. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You’ll find I’m a lot of things,” he says simply, “but unbelievable isn’t one of them.”
God, he’s infuriating.
And the worst part?
He’s still the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.
That voice. That calm control. That maddening confidence that only makes me want to bite him.
I plant my hands on my hips, leveling him with a glare. “Well, congratulations. I’m here. So now what?”
His eyes flick down, then back up. Slow. Deliberate.
Now?
Now the real game begins.