Irina’s POV

Mrs. Gable’s office was freezing.

The air conditioning hummed with a low, oppressive vibration that set my teeth on edge. I sat rigidly on the very edge of the heavy black leather chair. Luka was strapped securely to my chest in his baby carrier. He was fast asleep, his tiny breaths puffing warmly against my collarbone.

I clamped my hands together in my lap to hide their violent trembling.

Mrs. Gable sat behind her massive, polished mahogany desk. She didn’t offer me water. She didn’t offer a warm, comforting smile. She just picked up her digital tablet, tapped the screen with a sleek stylus, and looked right through me.

"Let’s begin," she said, her voice completely flat and professional.

I nodded quickly. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

"The private residential estate is an incredibly large, highly sophisticated property," Mrs. Gable started, her sharp eyes locking onto mine. "It requires meticulous upkeep. Tell me, Irina. What is your experience with operating integrated, smart-home climate and security systems?"

I froze. My mind went entirely blank.

"I..." I swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. "I don’t have experience with that, ma’am. I just have a manual radiator in my apartment."

Mrs. Gable didn’t blink. She just tapped her stylus against the screen.

"I see. Are you familiar with the specific chemical care protocols for imported Italian marble and high-grade antique hardwoods?"

My face flushed a deep, humiliating red. In the Iron Thorn pack house, I had scrubbed the stone floors until my knuckles bled. But I had used cheap bleach and dirty water. I didn’t know anything about imported marble.

"No," I whispered. "I’m sorry. I usually just use basic soap and water."

"What about formal dining service?" she pressed, her tone growing slightly sharper. "Have you ever managed a formal silver service for high-profile executive guests? What is the proper protocol for a twelve-course banquet?"

My heart plummeted straight into my stomach.

I was drowning. I was completely out of my depth. I was an uneducated runaway sitting in a billionaire’s corporate tower, pretending I was good enough to work in a luxury estate.

"I haven’t," I choked out, dropping my gaze to my scuffed sneakers. The urge to run—to grab my bag and sprint out the glass doors—screamed in my brain. "I don’t know how to do any of that."

Mrs. Gable set her stylus down.

The sharp *click* echoed loudly in the freezing office.

"You clearly lack formal hospitality training," she said bluntly.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my chin from trembling. Hot, stinging tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I had failed. I had embarrassed Asher. I had embarrassed myself.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, keeping my head down. "I’m sorry for wasting your time. I should just go."

I placed my hands on the armrests, preparing to stand up and carry my shame out the door.

"I didn’t say we were done," Mrs. Gable said smoothly.

I stopped. I slowly lifted my head, blinking back the tears.

Mrs. Gable wasn’t glaring at me. She was looking at the baby carrier strapped to my chest. Her severe, tightly drawn expression had shifted. It wasn’t warm, exactly, but the clinical sharpness had faded.

"The estate is a residence, Irina," she said, folding her hands on the desk. "It is meant to be a home, not just a corporate showpiece. There are times when the environment is highly unpredictable. Tell me about your child."

I blinked, completely thrown off balance by the sudden shift in the interview. "Luka?"

"Yes. He is very young. Infants are notoriously demanding. How do you maintain a strict, orderly schedule when your child is entirely unpredictable? What happens if a child under your care runs a high fever in the middle of the night?"

The panic instantly stopped.

The freezing dread in my veins evaporated, replaced by a sudden, steady rush of heat.

I looked at Luka. I knew this. I lived this every single second of every single day.

"You don’t fight the unpredictability," I said. My voice didn’t shake. It came out clear and strong. "You adapt to it."

Mrs. Gable tilted her head slightly. "Explain."

"If he wakes up screaming, you don’t panic," I said, leaning forward in my chair. "Babies feed entirely on your energy. If you are stressed, they scream louder. You have to be their anchor."

I thought of my long shifts at Elena’s clinic. I thought of the terrified, pregnant women I sat with in the waiting room.

"You check his temperature. You check his breathing," I continued, the words pouring out of me naturally. I felt like a fish in water. "You eliminate the physical needs first—hunger, cold, pain. Once he is physically safe, you soothe the emotional needs. You hold him upright to ease his breathing. You keep the room quiet and calm."

I sat up straighter. The terrified omega completely faded away. The fierce, capable mother took over.

"And your work?" Mrs. Gable challenged, though her eyes were deeply engaged now. "How do you focus on your duties with a baby attached to you?"

"I work when he sleeps," I answered immediately, without a single second of hesitation. "I don’t waste time. When I work at the medical clinic, I anticipate the patients’ needs before they even ask. You always have to be two steps ahead. You have to read the room. If a situation is escalating, you don’t wait for an order. You step in and neutralize the stress."

Mrs. Gable watched me. Her sharp eyes were entirely focused on my flushed, determined face.

"What if there is an emergency in the house? A medical issue?"

"I triage," I said smoothly. I didn’t mention my supernatural healing gift, but I drew on the absolute confidence it gave me. "I stabilize the person. I check their vitals. I know how to sit with someone who is completely terrified. I know how to bring their heart rate down just by grounding them. I’ve done it. I do it every day at the clinic."

Mrs. Gable didn’t write anything down this time. She just looked at me.

The harsh, strict lines around her mouth softened by a fraction of an inch. She looked at my hands, which had stopped shaking completely. She looked at Luka, who was sleeping perfectly soundly in the middle of a high-pressure corporate interview.

"You have very strong instincts, Irina," Mrs. Gable said quietly.

I didn’t apologize. I didn’t shrink back.

"I do," I agreed firmly.

Mrs. Gable picked up her tablet. She tapped the screen twice.

"The estate requires absolute discretion," she said, her voice dropping back into its professional cadence. "It requires a calm, steady presence. You lack technical training, Irina. But technical training can easily be taught. Instinct cannot."

She stood up.

I immediately scrambled to my feet, holding Luka securely against my chest.

"Go back," Mrs. Gable said smoothly, walking around the desk to open the heavy office door for me. "Go home and wait for our news."

"Thank you," I breathed out, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across my face. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Gable."

She offered a single, crisp nod.

I turned around. I walked out of the pristine office with my head held high. I walked down the quiet, carpeted hallway and stepped into the private elevator. The silver doors slid shut, sealing me inside.

My legs felt like absolute jelly, but my chest felt incredibly light. I had done it. I had spoken up for myself. I hadn’t run away.

The elevator reached the ground floor with a soft chime.

I walked across the massive, blindingly bright marble lobby. I didn’t look down at my worn sneakers. I didn’t hunch my shoulders away from the expensive suits. I just kept my eyes fixed straight ahead on the heavy glass revolving doors.

I pushed through the glass.

The crisp, cold autumn wind hit my flushed face.

I walked out of the building and let out a long breath.