Chapter 5
The message had come when Clara least expected it.?
Her phone buzzed against her hip, startling her as she scrubbed the kitchen floor, her knees aching from the hard surface. She frowned, wiping her damp hands on her faded skirt before picking it up.
“Congratulations, Miss Clara Bennett. You have been selected for a position in the Design Unit of Cole Global Enterprises. Please report to HR Monday, 8:30 a.m.”
Her breath caught. The sponge slipped from her hand, water splashing.
Clara blinked once, twice, three times. Cole Global? The same company that had rejected her without even granting an interview? She had sent in sketches for their “test task,” true, but that had been weeks ago.
Her heart thudded. It must be a mistake, a prank or some cruel joke.
But the message bore the company’s official insignia.
Clara pressed the phone to her chest, half-laughing, half-crying. “Thank you, God,” she whispered.
“What’s that racket?” her stepmother’s sharp voice carried from the living room. “Why are you grinning like an idiot?”
Clara rose slowly, nerves fizzing through her. “I—I got a job. At Cole Global Enterprises. In their design unit.”
Her stepmother arched a penciled brow, her lips curling in disdain. “Good. Because your rent is long overdue. You can’t expect to live under this roof for free. I told you—if you stay here, you pay. Don’t think getting some job suddenly changes anything.”
On the couch, her stepsister burst out laughing. “Design unit? Oh, please. You’ll be fetching coffee for real designers. Don’t embarrass yourself, Clara.”
Clara turned back to the floor, letting the sponge bite into her palm. Words rose to her tongue but she bit them back. What was the use? They didn’t care. They never had.
But inside, something glowed. She’d done this. Her sketches—those hours spent hunched over paper and shading by the light of a single lamp—had caught someone’s eye. That mattered more than anyone’s sneer.
She would make this work. She would prove them wrong.
-----
In another part of the city, Adrian Cole closed his laptop with a grim smile. Daniel’s contact list had delivered once again. Clara Bennett. He had traced her name from a long list of rejected applicants, her sketches left forgotten in the slush pile. Forgotten by everyone except him.
He’d recognized the fluid lines, the stubborn hope scribbled in every pencil stroke.
“She deserves a chance,” he had told Daniel. “Not just anywhere but right here at CGE.”
Daniel had raised a brow but said nothing. The next morning, Clara’s name slid onto the shortlist, then onto the final list, all strings pulled without her ever knowing.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, his fake employee ID clipped to his shirt pocket. Ethan Hayes – Logistics. A far cry from CEO, but that was the point. From this position, he could roam unnoticed, plant devices and watch behavior unfiltered. And now, he could watch Clara too.
The thought unsettled him more than he liked.
-----
Monday came in a rush of nerves. Clara stood outside the gleaming towers of Cole Global Enterprises, her heart hammering. The mirrored glass reflected a young woman in a secondhand blouse and scuffed shoes, clutching a worn leather bag.
“You belong here,” she whispered to herself.
HR processed her briskly. Her Badge was handed over quickly with a clipped smile. “You’re in Design. Probationary. Don’t be late.”
The design floor dazzled her at first glance—rows of drafting tables, digital pads, glowing monitors. But the moment she stepped inside, silence fell. Heads turned. There was a few exchanged looks. One woman smirked openly.
“New hire,” a lady on cornrows whispered. “Let’s see how long she lasts.”
Clara felt the weight of their stares as she unpacked her sketchbook. She bent her head, determined not to falter.
Then Vanessa Blake arrived.
The sound of her heels struck like gunshots against marble. Heads dipped as she passed, all deference and dread. She stopped directly in front of Clara’s desk.
“You’re the new girl?” Vanessa’s gaze swept over Clara, her lips twisting. “Let me give you some advice. Pretty faces don’t last long here. This isn’t an art class sweetheart. We don’t doodle for fun. We create campaigns worth millions. Try not to waste my time or you’ll be out of here faster than you can spell your name.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Clara said softly.
Vanessa’s smirk lingered, and with one last dismissive glance, she walked off. A couple of the other designers exchanged looks, some amused, some pitying, while Clara forced herself to swallow the sting and return to her desk.
-----
From the corner, Ethan adjusted the box he was carrying, hiding his view behind it. His jaw tightened. He had seen enough. Vanessa Blake. She was fast becoming a thorn in his side. He’d deal with her after he was done with his investigations.
He glanced back at Clara, she bent back to her work, her shoulders stiff but unbroken. Brave little thing.
-----
At noon, Clara slipped out to the break area, her lunch box balanced in her hands. A shadow fell across her.
“You’re new,” a warm voice said.
She looked up. A man in a logistics uniform stood there, lean, with striking blue eyes and a faint smile. Recognition pricked her memory. The man from the rain? Her heart jumped.
“Clara Bennett,” she said quickly, almost nervously.
“Ethan Hayes,” he replied smoothly, offering his hand. She shook it. His grip was firm, steady.
Something unspoken passed between them.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” she said, surprise softening her voice.
“Yea, I just got lucky,” Ethan answered lightly, the lie slipping off his tongue too easily.Lucky. The word tasted strange. Nothing about them being here was luck. He had moved men and money like chess piece just for a chance to sit in this chair across from her.
“You can sit here,” Clara offered, patting the seat. She opened her lunch, then glanced at his empty hands. “You didn’t bring anything? Here, you can share some of mine.”
Ethan blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t eaten home-cooked food in years, not since his mother’s kitchen. And now, this slip of a girl wanted to hand him half her meal without hesitation. Didn’t she know kindness could be dangerous? That generosity often came with strings?
“That’s kind, but—”
“I insist,” she said with a shy smile. “Food tastes better when shared.”
He sat, letting her press half a sandwich into his hands. Something warm flickered in his chest—unwelcome, distracting. But he didn’t pull away.
-----
The trouble began that afternoon. Clara returned from delivering a file to find one of her sketches displayed on a colleague’s screen. The lines were hers, unmistakable.
“That’s my design,” she blurted before she could stop herself.
The colleague, a woman named Teresa, stiffened. “Excuse me? This is mine.”
Clara froze, staring at the screen. She could trace every curve of the lines, every detail she had obsessed over late into the night.
Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. “That…that sketch—it’s mine.”
Teresa leaned back in her chair, one brow raised in mock surprise. “Yours? Really? You’ve been here five minutes, Bennett. Maybe you’re confused.”
A snicker broke out from another desk. “The newbie thinks she’s Picasso.”
Laughter rippled. Clara’s throat went dry. “I’m not confused. I submitted that design during the recruitment task.”
“Bold claim,” Teresa drawled, folding her arms. “Accusing colleagues of theft on your first day? Not very smart.”
Before Clara could speak again, heels clicked against the floor. Vanessa’s voice cut like glass. “What’s this commotion?”
Teresa was quick. “She’s saying I stole her work. Can you imagine? I’ve been here three years, and the newbie walks in accusing me.”
Vanessa’s gaze swept the room before settling on Clara. “Is that true?”
Clara’s mouth went dry. Everyone was watching, some with smirks, some with pity, most with curiosity. Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the desk. “I—I’m only saying it’s my work. I drew it.”
Vanessa’s lips curved in a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “Stealing is a serious charge. But so is lying. Do you know what we do to frauds around here?”
The words hung like a noose in the air. Laughter, cruel and sharp, rippled through the room.
Someone whispered, “She’ll be gone before the week’s over.”
Clara’s pulse hammered in her ears. She wanted to defend herself, to scream—but her voice caught in her chest. She could feel the ground shifting beneath her, the hostility closing in.
Then a new voice cut through the tension. Low, calm and commanding.
“What’s going on here?”
It was Daniel Wilde. Their elusive CEO’s Personal Assistant, whose position was at the very top of management, right beside the Boss.
The room went still.
Every head turned as Adrian Cole’s PA strode in, his dark suit sharp, his gaze sharper. He didn’t hurry nor raise his voice. He simply approached with the kind of authority that made people instinctively straighten in their chairs.
Teresa faltered but recovered quickly. “Sir, it’s nothing. Just a misunderstanding. The new girl thinks one of my designs belongs to her.”
Daniel looked at Clara, then at the screen. Without a word, he extended a hand. “Show me the original.”
Clara fumbled, pulling out her sketchbook from her bag. She opened to the page, her fingers trembling, and handed it over.
Daniel compared them in silence. His jaw tightened. Raising his head, he addressed Clara. “Good work, Miss Bennett. Keep it up.” Then he turned to Teresa. “Explain to me,” he said softly, dangerously, “how this design, drawn by Clara Bennett weeks ago for the recruitment test, ended up on your workstation with your name on it.”
Color drained from Teresa’s face. She opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again. “I—I must have saved it by mistake—”
“Enough.” Daniel’s voice sliced through the excuse. He turned slightly, his gaze sweeping the room. “Does anyone else here believe in stealing a colleague’s work and passing it off as their own? Because let me make this clear—such behavior gets you out the door. Fast.”
No one spoke.
Daniel handed the sketchbook back to Clara. His tone remained calm, but the words hit like iron. “Teresa, you’re finished here. Security will escort you out.”
Gasps erupted. Teresa sputtered, but Daniel had already dismissed her with a flick of his gaze. Two guards appeared, leading her out as whispers rose like smoke.
Daniel turned to Vanessa, his gaze steely. “And you. Watch yourself. Your talent doesn’t excuse sabotage. Consider this your last warning.”
Vanessa paled.
Clara stood frozen, breathless.
Then Daniel did something no one expected. He turned back to Clara.
“Welcome to CGE, Miss Bennett,” he said, his voice carrying across the stunned room. “If you need anything—resources, support—you come directly to me. Do you understand?”
Clara nodded weakly, her eyes wide.
“Good.” He gave her the briefest nod before turning on his heel and walking away, as calm as he had entered.
The silence he left behind was deafening.
Then, slowly, the murmurs began.
“Did you hear that? Straight from Daniel himself…”
“Who is she?”
“Never seen him vouch for anyone before…”
Vanessa’s eyes glittered with malice. She leaned toward Clara’s desk, her voice low but sharp enough for others to hear. “Enjoy the spotlight while it lasts. Some people only climb by sleeping their way up. Just a matter of time before they fall.”
Clara heard a few ladies snicker. But she lifted her chin, refusing to bow her head in shame. Vanessa snorted, “Marketing team meets in five,” before walking away dismissively.
That evening, Clara sat at her desk, sketching quietly. The air felt different now. Her colleagues still eyed her with suspicion, but there was no denying her talent. Slowly, some of the frost thawed.
But Vanessa’s glare cut like a knife across the room. If hatred had a face, it wore her lipstick.
And in the shadows, Ethan watched. Pride tugged at him, mixed with unease. Clara had shone today, despite everything. She was becoming more than just a distraction—she was becoming dangerous to his focus.
Yet when she caught his eye and smiled faintly, warmth spread through him again.
Maybe distraction wasn’t always a curse.