The Glint Beneath the Dust
The morning light in Velmara was the kind that lied beautifully. It painted the city in gold, slipping across the glass towers and over the streets where the air smelled like exhaust and wet pavement. For some people, it meant new beginnings. For Tahila, it only made the cracks look sharper.
She stepped off the bus with her bag hanging low on her shoulder. Her fingers were red and sore from scrubbing chemicals; her knees ached from bending too long over tile floors. But she still moved quickly, head down, blending in with the stream of other workers flooding through the narrow street toward the corporate towers.
The rhythm of her days hadn't changed in years: clean, move, clean again. Still, there was something slightly different about the air today like it was holding its breath, waiting.
Her phone buzzed.She glanced down.
Dinner tonight. My treat. No arguments.
Adam.
She stared at the message for a moment, lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile. He didn't add a smiley face, didn't say anything extra, but somehow she could still feel the warmth behind the words. Adam had a way of reaching through the screen like that steady, calm, a soft place in a world made of sharp corners.
She typed back a quick Okay.
It wasn't that she didn't want to go. She did more than she wanted to admit. It was just that her days left little room for anything gentle. But lately, she'd been haunted by her own thoughts too often. The messages. The screenshot. That voice in her mind whispering that she had a choice. Maybe dinner would quiet it, if only for a night.
By noon, she was halfway through her shift at the Garnet Tower. The building gleamed like something sacred marble floors, scented air, and those mirrored walls that showed her a hundred versions of herself all trying to look invisible. She cleaned quietly, methodically. Each motion was muscle memory now: spray, wipe, polish.
Her mind wandered anyway.
Seven thousand likes.That number sat in her head like a live wire. She hadn't meant for her post to mean anything it was just… her. Raw, a little messy, honest. But it spread faster than she could understand, all because Olivia's cruelty had drawn eyes her way. The irony was bitter; her humiliation had become her spotlight.
People had commented, too. Some cruel. Some kind. A few called her brave.She didn't know what to do with that.
"Brave," she whispered under her breath, wringing out the mop. "Yeah, right."
By late afternoon, her back was screaming. She leaned against the supply closet door, eyes half-closed, listening to the distant hum of the office. Laughter floated down the hallway executives heading out for their late lunches, the click of heels, the faint whir of the elevators. A world she cleaned but never belonged to.
When her shift ended, she stepped out into the street. The sun was lower now, melting behind the skyline. The air was thick and warm, the kind that stuck to your skin. She decided to walk instead of catching the next bus—she needed air, space to think.
That was when she saw it.
A small crowd had gathered near the corner of Marquette and Dorne Street, heads tilted up at a digital billboard. A few construction workers, some delivery riders, even a couple in sleek suits paused to look. Curiosity pulled her closer.
The screen flickered, then sharpened into an image:"Dore Global seeks personal tea maker for CEO."
Her brows furrowed. That couldn't be right. A tea maker? For a CEO?
Then she saw the salary.
Her breath caught. Ten thousand dollars a month.
For a moment, the sounds of the street dimmed the honking, the chatter, the vendors calling out their prices. All she could hear was her own pulse hammering in her ears. Ten thousand. That was more than she made in nearly a year of cleaning other people's offices. That kind of money meant rent she didn't have to dread, food she didn't have to ration, maybe even a new phone that didn't flicker like a dying star every time she used it.
She stared at the listing again, reading every word twice. It sounded simple, too simple. Prepare and serve beverages to the CEO. Maintain discretion and professionalism.
Her stomach fluttered with a nervous kind of hope.It was ridiculous, right? People like her didn't get jobs like that. But then again… someone had to. Someone always did. Why not her?
Her phone buzzed again, snapping her out of the moment. Another message from Adam.
Don't be late tonight. I'm picking you up at seven.
She smiled faintly and started typing a reply, but then her gaze lifted again to the billboard.Ten thousand.
It sounded like a miracle. Or a trap.
Still, her fingers moved almost on their own. She slid down to sit under the shade of a jacaranda tree near the curb, petals scattered around her like small purple stars. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the job portal on her cracked screen.
Her reflection in the phone looked back at her tired eyes, messy hair, faint smudge of cleaning dust on her cheek. She sighed. "You don't look like someone who makes tea for CEOs," she muttered, trying to laugh, but her voice came out soft, unsure.
The form loaded slowly. Each page felt heavier than the last: name, address, experience. When it asked for a profile picture, she hesitated. All her photos were old, taken on days she barely recognized herself. She chose one anyway, one Adam had taken months ago while they were walking near the docks. She hadn't known he was snapping it she was mid-laugh, sunlight catching the side of her face. It didn't look perfect. But it looked alive.
She attached it and hit Submit.
The screen blinked. Application received.
Her heart gave a tiny, startled leap. That was it. She'd done it.
For a moment, Tahila just sat there, watching people move past her the crowd flowing like a river she couldn't quite step into. The smell of roasted chestnuts drifted from a nearby stall, mingling with the metallic tang of the street. She should have felt triumphant. But instead, a strange unease coiled low in her chest.
Too good to be true.The phrase lingered like a whisper.
What if it was a scam? What if there were a thousand applicants, people with perfect resumes and expensive clothes? What if the job wasn't real at all?
She pushed the thought away. Hope was dangerous, but she clung to it anyway. Maybe for once, something would go right.
She stood, brushing dust off her skirt, and adjusted her bag. The sun had dipped further now, setting the horizon on fire. Velmara looked almost beautiful from this angle if you didn't look too close. She started walking again, weaving through the thinning crowd toward her next job across the river.
Her thoughts spiraled new apartment, a small garden, even a trip by the coast someday. Things that had once been impossible now shimmered at the edge of reach.
She didn't see the black car parked across the street.
It was a sleek, understated vehicle, its surface gleaming like ink under the dying light. The tinted windows reflected the world in fragments buildings, pedestrians, sky so that it was impossible to see who sat inside.
Inside, the air was cool. A faint hum of an engine filled the silence.
The man in the back seat didn't move for a while. His gaze remained fixed on the figure of the woman under the tree the one smiling at her cracked phone like it held the world.
He lifted his own phone, the faint glow illuminating his sharp features.
She took the bait," he said quietly.
The voice on the other end was smooth, amused. "Of course she did. You know how to dangle a spark in front of the right person."
He didn't respond. His eyes followed Tahila as she stepped back into the crowd, merging with the noise and motion of the city.
She disappeared behind a bus pulling out from the curb, and only then did he lower his phone.
"Proceed with the next step," he said.
The car's tinted window slid up with a soft, hydraulic hiss, sealing him away from the noise outside.
By the time the car pulled away from the curb, Tahila was already halfway down the street, her heart light for the first time in months.
She never saw the reflection in the passing window the glint of eyes watching her from behind black glass.