Aria's POV
I buried my head on my stale pillow when I got home, hitting them with my hands from my anger as the tears came.
I've been fired, what am I going to do now?
I somehow managed to gather myself and my emotions. It was still early.
" There's still time to go to the library and then the park," I said to myself as I got off the bed.
I changed to something skimpier still concealing my entire figure underneath. I was insecure about my body and ashamed of the scars it possessed.
I started on my heels and headed to the library, then the park. I was sitting on the bench reading..... when an old lady with platinum blonde hair sat down beside me.
"Hello dear," she greeted kindly. For an old lady by herself in the park, she wore very expensive jewelry. I could tell just by looking at it.
"Hello ma'am," I greeted back with a small smile. I continued with my book as she opened a newspaper.
Ten minutes into reading, these men in black tuxedos approached our bench. I panicked.
I was easily frightened.
The old lady stood up and extended her arms to them. They held onto her, supporting her to help her stand on her own two feet. They left without another word. Suddenly, I noticed she had forgotten her newspaper. I took it and ran in their direction.
"Excuse me, ma'am!" I called getting a little closer, but was cut off by one of the bodyguards.
"Can I help you?" he asked firmly, with a tone that made me regret running after them.
"I'm sorry,the lady forgot her newspaper." I was out of breath. Damn, I needed to exercise more.
"Why don't you keep it and educate yourself? Maybe then you'll find out who the lady is, so you can address her by her name next time."
His response was rude but encouraging. I walked back to the bench and watched as the black G-wagon drove away with her inside. I looked at the page she was reading to the left side of the article it stated. "Personal assistant wanted at Sinclair Global Holdings. Terms and conditions apply."
And, of course, terms and conditions meant college education, knowledge about job responsibilities, punctual, fluent English, impeccable character, previous work experience, related employment history and more. I had applied for so many jobs like this before but gotten turned down once they looked at me like I wasn't human. I didn't like it.
I wasn't like them, actually. I didn't own a house or a car or have expensive clothes and shoes, or have the ability to wine and dine at restaurants, but I am a human being too!
I was a plain and simple one. I lived in a cheap apartment, wore beat-up clothes that were stained and crumpled. I ate scraps left in the kitchen at Kane's cafe after breakfast, lunch and dinner were served. After my rent was paid I usually had money for my essential needs, like feminine products and canned foods that didn't spoil in a hurry since I didn't own a refrigerator.
I was at rock bottom but I'd accepted it and learned how to be satisfied with the little I had and could afford. I found comfort in reading books . I loved reading about the poor girls who found princes and billionaires who got them off their feet , got married and lived happily ever after. I kept on wishing that something like that would happen to me, but they were only books, they were fiction. In this modern world, princes and billionaires didn't go for poor girls like me. They dated models and designers and women with the looks, body and beauty who could fit into their lifestyle. Who would want someone like me?
I got on my feet and left the park before it got too dark. I was afraid of walking the street at night.
I sat in the silence of my tiny apartment, the newspaper trembling in my hands. The bold letters of the ad seemed to glare at me, taunting me with promises I had no right to dream of.
"Personal Assistant Wanted at Sinclair Global Holdings."
The words danced in front of my eyes, sharp and impossible.
My chest rose and fell as two voices warred inside me.
"Look at your life, Aria," the first voice whispered. "You're jobless. The rent is due at the end of the month. You have nothing left—no savings, no family to fall back on. Once you're evicted, that's it. You'll have nowhere to go."
The other voice was harsher, crueler. "Give up. Girls like you don't get jobs at Sinclair. They'll take one look at your clothes, your scars, your messy hair, and they'll laugh you out of the building. You'll never belong in their world. Don't embarrass yourself trying."
I pressed my palms hard against my face, trying to muffle the storm inside my head. For a moment, I wanted to surrender. To stop fighting. To accept that this was all life had for me—scraps of food, a bed that smelled of mold, and a future that ended in silence.
But something deep inside me refused to give in.
No.
I wasn't ready to vanish.
I sat up straighter in the rickety wooden chair, the newspaper crumpling in my grip. My body shook with exhaustion, but beneath the tears, beneath the fear, was a fire I couldn't smother.
Tomorrow, at seven sharp, I would walk through the gleaming doors of Sinclair Global Holdings. Maybe they would reject me, like so many before. Maybe they would see nothing but nobody from the wrong side of the city. But for once, I didn't care.
I had nothing left to lose.
I dragged myself to the cracked mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. My reflection stared back—swollen eyes, tangled hair, skin pale from stress. I barely recognized the girl looking back at me. But buried beneath the mess, I saw something fierce. Something unbreakable.
"Tomorrow," I whispered, my voice rough but steady, "everything changes."
Clutching the newspaper against my chest, I lay down on the hard mattress, my mind racing with fear and fragile hope. Sleep came slowly, but with it came a single, reckless thought.
Maybe this was the beginning of my story.