Vivian's POV:
The following morning arrived far too quickly.
Rogers Press held a planning meeting that felt as if it would never end. Seated among designers, surrounded by glossy sketches and product models, I struggled to concentrate on the creative director's presentation. Numbers kept swirling in my thoughts—forty thousand dollars. That sum echoed inside my head, relentless and loud, drowning out every idea or inspiration anyone tried to offer.
Leo's hopeful face drifted into my thoughts, clouding the blueprints and numbers scattered in front of me. My attention wandered, drawn to the window where the city's sharp lines blurred, replaced by the image of my boy's pale cheeks and anxious eyes. Even the muffled traffic outside faded, replaced by the phantom rhythm of the hospital's heart monitor. How was I supposed to gather the money we needed? Every valuable thing was already gone, every loan request turned down, and every friend or relative had been called.
Out of nowhere, I became aware of Carlos Rogers—my boss—watching me with sharp, measuring eyes. His gaze wasn't angry—just uncomfortably perceptive, as if he was quietly unraveling my every thought.
Unease prickled up my spine. What reason did he have to focus on me—a newcomer, hardly noticeable? Was he about to call me out for missing days at work? Would I lose my job before I even passed probation? I simply couldn't let that happen.
"Vivian, isn't it?" he said, snapping me out of my thoughts as the meeting ended. "Join me in my office, please."
Crossing the hallway, I felt as if I was walking to my own sentencing. Each step made my heart thump louder, mirroring the fear I felt for Leo. When I sat down across from Carlos's imposing desk, my hands were clammy with sweat.
"You seemed a million miles away today, Vivian. Is everything alright here? Are you unhappy?" Carlos observed, propping his chin in his palm.
Lying was pointless, and I couldn't afford to risk my job by hiding the truth. I took a shaky breath and told him everything: Leo's illness, the desperate need for surgery, the endless nights awake, and the impossible forty thousand I needed to save my child. My voice shook here and there, but I pushed through, sharing the weight I had been carrying alone. Finally, I asked the question that wouldn't stay silent any longer.
"Is there any way the company could give me a salary advance, or maybe offer a small loan?"
Carlos took in every word I said without uttering a sound. When I finished, he stared at the painting on his office wall, letting the silence stretch between us until it felt unbearable.
"Vivian, I'm truly sorry about what you're facing with your son." He finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. "But you must understand how things work here. Since you're still on probation, the finance department wouldn't even consider approving an advance or loan that large. It's just not possible under company policy."
Another door had slammed shut.
Disappointment surged through me, bitter and heavy. Deep down, I had known the answer all along. I lowered my head, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling, but something inside refused to let go.
A wild determination took hold. I stood, legs trembling but voice clear. "I understand, Mr. Rogers. But... is there any way you could help me, personally? Just the two of us—no paperwork, no official channels. A private agreement."
The room seemed to freeze. I realized I had crossed into forbidden territory, making a plea that mixed business with desperation. My cheeks burned, but I refused to look away. At this point, pride no longer mattered. There was nothing left to lose.
Carlos didn't move for a long time. Shock flickered across his features, the mask of professionalism slipping as he studied me. He looked for pretense, for some hint of manipulation, but found only a mother's raw desperation.
Something softened in his expression. His shoulders dropped, and the tension in the air eased a little.
"Take a seat, Vivian," he said at last, his tone warmer than before. "Let's figure this out together."
