Faking Fate [Book 1]

Chapter Three: First Meeting

They say your life can change in an instant. I never believed it until today.

The sky loomed heavy and overcast, as if it shared the weight of the anxiety building inside me. I stood outside the towering glass structure that dominated the skyline, clutching my camera bag like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. This wasn't just any building—it was the kind of place where fortunes were made, where lives were shaped by decisions made behind soundproof, gleaming walls. Today, I was about to see if mine was one of them.

I checked my phone—1:55 p.m. Only five minutes until my life might change, or crumble back into the same old mess. The thought of turning around crossed my mind, the urge to retreat to the comfort of my tiny, cluttered house, where a leaky faucet and an ever-growing pile of unpaid bills awaited. But I couldn't. Not this time. If I turned back now, I'd never stop wondering.

With a deep breath, I pushed through the revolving doors and stepped into the cool, polished lobby. Marble floors stretched out beneath me, high ceilings echoed above, and modern art that probably cost more than I'd made in the last year hung on the walls. People in tailored suits moved with the kind of purpose that screamed confidence, each of them engaged in serious conversations or glued to their phones. I felt wildly out of place in my blouse and jeans, but I straightened my shoulders, faking the confidence I so desperately needed.

Approaching the reception desk, I tried to calm the nerves that were threatening to choke me.

"Good afternoon. How can I help you?" the receptionist greeted me, her smile polished and professional.

"I have a 2 p.m. appointment with Mr. Alexander Wolfe," I said, surprised that my voice didn't shake.

She typed something into her computer, then nodded. "Ms. James, correct? Mr. Wolfe's office is on the 42nd floor. Take the elevator straight ahead, and someone will meet you when you arrive."

Forty-second floor? Of course.

"Thank you," I said, flashing a smile that felt a little too tight as I headed toward the elevator.

Waiting for the doors to open, I fiddled with the strap of my camera bag, trying to shake the sense that I was in way over my head. I wasn't used to these kinds of places. Weddings, family photos, small local events—that was my world. This was completely out of my league.

"You can do this," I whispered to myself as I stepped into the elevator. The ride up felt excruciatingly long, each floor making my heart beat faster. By the time I reached the 42nd floor, I was wound so tight I thought I might snap.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and I was greeted by another receptionist, this one as poised and elegant as the office itself.

"Ms. James?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied, gripping my camera bag like it was the only thing keeping me from floating away.

"Right this way, please."

I followed her down a corridor lined with more abstract art that could've paid off my student loans, and before I could fully process the surreal nature of it all, we stopped in front of two imposing wooden doors. She knocked softly and pushed one open.

"Mr. Wolfe, Ms. James is here."

"Thank you, Sarah," a deep voice answered from within.

As she stepped aside, I walked in, my heart thundering. The office was vast, its walls made almost entirely of glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city. But it was the man standing by the window that held my attention.

Alexander Wolfe.

He was taller than I'd expected, his broad shoulders and powerful build giving him a presence that filled the room. He didn't need to raise his voice or make grand gestures—his mere existence seemed to demand attention. His face was all sharp lines and controlled expressions, framed by meticulously styled dark hair that seemed to rebel just enough to make him look a bit too perfect.