Elena
Clang! Clang! Clang!
I jolt awake to the sound of my ancient alarm clock blaring, ripping me out of another restless sleep. Groaning, I rub my eyes and drag myself out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor of my studio flat in East Haven—one of the grimiest corners of Ironhaven, U.S.
Ironhaven stretches along the eastern coast, all steel towers and ocean winds. The rich hide away in their glass castles up in Sombra Heights. The rest of us—people like me—get crammed into places like East Haven or Blackridge, where the buildings are older than our debt and twice as heavy.
My flat is barely more than a box with a door. A tiny kitchenette with peeling laminate counters. A bed—drab, worn, but familiar. A small wooden desk I haven’t touched in months, though once it held my half-finished paintings. A cramped closet. And a bathroom with a toilet, a shower door that falls off its track every other week, and a mirror so scratched and cloudy it hasn’t shown a clear reflection in years.
Sometimes I stand in the middle of it all and wonder if I’ve hit the bottom. But it’s mine. For now, that’s enough.
I stumble into the bathroom and let the warm water from the shower chase the fog out of my bones. For a moment, I let myself believe it can wash everything else away too—my debt, my guilt, my loneliness. But the moment passes like it always does.
I step out, shivering, and wander to my closet. I stand there, staring at the sad state of it. More clothes are crumpled on the floor than actually hanging up or folded.
Shit. I’m almost out of clean clothes—again—because I forgot to do my laundry.
With no time to stress about it, I throw on a black blouse and some dress pants. I slide my feet into the only clean shoes I can find—my black pumps. The ones that pinch by the end of the day.
It’s almost time to head to Russo Industries for my first day as a secretary. Honestly, I have no idea how I landed this job. A miracle, maybe. Or a trap. But either way, it feels like my only shot. I need this paycheck. I need to start chipping away at the mountain of debt I built trying to pay off my mother’s medical bills.
Not that she stayed. As soon as she got healthy, she disappeared again—like she always does. I don’t know why I keep helping someone who’s never done a damn thing for me.
I glance at the time.
Shit. I’m about to miss the bus.
Grabbing my bag, I run out the door in those godforsaken shoes and sprint down the cracked sidewalk. My heart hammers as I round the corner just in time to see the bus pulling up. Barely made it. Again.
Once I’m seated, I pull out my phone and dial the only person who still feels like home—Marie. She picks up on the first ring.
“Hey, girly, how are you?” she chirps, her voice like sunshine through my busted window.
“Hey, I’m okay. I was almost late for my first day at this new job,” I say, leaning my head back against the grimy seat.
“Oh, that’s terrible. I’m sorry. At least you caught the bus,” she says. “Hey, I saw an ad this morning that made me think of you. It was on Instagram. There’s this contest… well, kind of a contest-slash-auction thing happening next week. The winner gets four thousand dollars.”
I raise an eyebrow, even though she can’t see me. “Okay… what kind of contest?”
She hesitates, like she already knows how I’m going to react. “It’s kind of like… a beauty contest. But the auction part is men bidding to have you stay with them for a month.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, sure. Let me just auction myself off like a damn prize. Great idea.”
“I know how it sounds,” she rushes out, “but four thousand dollars, Elena. That’s rent. That’s groceries. That’s—”
“I get it,” I cut in, softer this time. “I do. But I’m not confident or comfortable selling myself like that, even if I’m broke.”
Marie sighs. “Just think about it, okay? It could change everything.”
I glance out the window as the towering glass building of Russo Industries comes into view. My stomach tightens.
“I’ll think about it,” I lie. “I’ve gotta go. I need to pull myself together before I walk in there.”
“Okay. Call me tonight?”
“Yeah… I will.”
I hang up and shove my phone into my bag, breathing deep as the bus slows to a stop.
One day at a time, Elena. One day at a time.
Walking into Russo Industries, I marvel at the white floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the gorgeously dressed women working behind the front desk. Their hair is perfectly laid, not a strand out of place. Their nails are flawlessly manicured, and their makeup looks runway-ready.
I catch my reflection in the windows and suddenly feel so out of place. My hair is in a ponytail, but flyaways are sticking up everywhere. My shirt is wrinkled. My pants are just a little too short.
Everything inside me is screaming to turn around, run back to my rickety old bed, and burrow under my thin blankets forever. But I can’t. I need to be here. I need the money.
I square my shoulders and walk with what I hope looks like confidence up to the desk. Don’t be intimidated, Elena. You need this. Just fake it till you make it, I tell myself.
“Hi, my name is Elena. I’m here for my first day,” I say, praying my voice isn’t trembling.
The woman behind the desk looks up with a dazzling, practiced smile. “Hi, Elena! I’m Angela. You’ll be shadowing me today. You’ll be working up here with me.”
She pulls a printed sheet off the counter and hands it to me.
“Here’s your phone script for answering calls and making appointments. We’ll head down to IT real quick to get your login.”
She says it all so fast I barely process it before she’s already standing, motioning for me to follow. I quickly grab the paper and hurry after her, struggling to match her quick, confident pace toward the elevators.
Once we’re inside, I glance at our reflections in the mirrored golden walls. I groan internally. Next to her polished outfit and perfect posture, I look like nothing more than a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s closet.
I sigh and stare down at my feet, already feeling uncomfortable and completely out of place.
Bing!
The elevator chimes as we stop at SL2—Sublevel Two, I’m guessing. Angela strides out without hesitation, her heels clicking confidently against the floor. I hurry after her toward one of the cubicles.
Sitting in the tiny space is a lanky, nerdy-looking guy with glasses and a slightly too-big nose. He glances up as we approach, gulping a little when Angela leans on the edge of his desk.
“Hey, Clarke, this is Elena. She’s new here. Can you get her set up on the system and take her over to HR for payroll?” Angela asks, flashing him a bright smile.
Clarke swallows hard, then glances at me with a polite, almost awkward smile. “Hi, I’m Clarke. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he says, sounding like he’s rehearsed that line a thousand times. He clears his throat and looks back at Angela. “Yeah, I can get her set up, but it’ll take a bit.”
“Perfect! Thanks. Elena, when you’re done, take the elevator back up to L for Lobby. I’ll be at the front desk to get you started.” She gives me a quick wave before walking off without waiting for a response.
I turn back to Clarke, clutching the paper in my hand like it’s a lifeline.
“Okay… will do,” I murmur, feeling weirdly exposed, like I’m on display.
Clarke clears his throat again and starts typing. “Can you write down your full name and date of birth for me, Elena? I need it to look you up in the system,” he explains, sliding a scrap of paper and a pen toward me. “You’ll have a laptop, a company cell phone, and a Russo Industries email. They’re for work use only, but you’ll take them home with you every night.”
I quickly scribble Elena Russo, 03/25/1999 on the paper and slide it back across the desk.
“Great. I’m gonna take you to HR to get your paperwork started. I’ll finish setting up your login while you’re in there. Fair warning—HR always takes forever.”
I nod and follow him down the hall, trying not to feel like a little kid being led to the principal’s office. We stop at a door labeled “Russo Industries - Human Resources” and step inside.
“Hey, Mac,” Clarke calls to a guy sitting at the front desk.
I glance around. The room has five people in it, all of them either typing frantically or on the phone.
Mac doesn’t even look up right away. “Someone’s computer crash?” he asks without missing a beat.
Do I really blend in that much?
“Nope,” Clarke replies. “Brought you a new employee. She needs her paperwork started while I finish her system setup.”
That finally gets Mac’s attention. He looks up at me like I’ve just appeared out of thin air.
“Oh… who’s she?” he asks Clarke, ignoring me entirely.
Clarke sighs. “Her name’s Elena. She’s the new receptionist. Can you handle her paperwork so I can finish my part?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Mac grumbles, motioning for me to come over.
Clarke turns to me with an encouraging smile. “You’re in good hands. Mac’s the one who’ll help get you set up with payroll and everything like that.”
“Thank you,” I reply, watching as Clarke leaves the room. My arms feel stiff at my sides, unsure what to do next.
Mac sighs again, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Alright, Elena. I need your ID, your Social Security card, and you’re gonna fill in these forms on this tablet,” he says, holding out the newest iPad with a W-10 already open on the screen. “Also need your bank info. Payday’s February second.”
I dig through my purse, pulling out my worn ID and Social Security card. As I hand them over, my stomach sinks. February second. That’s after rent is due.
I’m already short…
I clench my jaw, remembering the last time my landlord hinted—again—that I could pay “another way.”
The auction Marie mentioned creeps back into my mind, no matter how much I try to shake it off.
I know you don’t want to, Elena… but this might be your only option.
I fill out the digital paperwork as quickly as I can. It feels like hours pass, but when I glance at the antique watch my grandmother gave me before she passed, I realize it’s only been thirty minutes.
Once I’m finished, I head back to Clarke, who hands me my new work phone, a laptop, and my login details.
“Welcome back, Elena,” Angela says, her smile once again plastered across her face like it’s part of her uniform.
“What I’m gonna have you do today is pretty simple—just watch the phones and answer calls. You’ll be covering the lines for the fifteenth floor, which is where the Russo siblings’ offices are.”
My stomach twists again. The Russo siblings…? I try to keep my expression neutral as she continues.
“You’ll be managing their meeting times, appointments, and taking messages. Everything you need to say is on that printout I gave you. Try your best not to patch anyone through unless it’s absolutely necessary. Once you’ve taken a message, email it to whichever sibling it’s for. Their emails are already loaded into the system—[email protected] and [email protected].”
Angela pauses, as if expecting me to object or panic. I just nod, though my throat feels tight.
“It should be easy,” she finishes. “Let me know if you need help.”
“Okay,” I manage, my voice small.
I make my way over to the desk and start unpacking the laptop and phone Clarke gave me. I log in and pull up the Notes app so I can write down messages as they come in. Clicking over to the email client, I spot both sibling addresses already saved in the system.
I let out a small breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
At least Clarke thought ahead.
I pull up the calendar next, thankful again when I see it’s already color-coded—blue for D. Russo, green for V. Russo. It makes it all feel… just a little less overwhelming.
I straighten my back and set my fingers on the keyboard, telling myself I can do this. I just have to fake it till I make it.
And hope I make it.
I quickly settle into the rhythm of the job, answering calls, taking notes, and sending emails. By the time six o’clock rolls around, I’ve survived my first day without a single hiccup.
I pack up my new work phone and laptop, take a deep breath, and catch the bus back to East Haven.
Once I’m home, I dig through the mess on my closet floor, gathering whatever halfway-professional clothes I can find. I head down to the laundromat in the basement, needing something—anything—to feel clean and put together for tomorrow.
While the machines rumble, I pull out my phone and call Marie.
“Hey, Marie. What can you tell me about that contest?” I ask as soon as she answers.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Wait… I thought you said you weren’t gonna do it?” she says, half-laughing. “But okay, hold on. Let me find it again and send it to you.”
We chat about our days while I wait. A few minutes later, the post pops up in my inbox.
Come to the Santoro Club, 5628 Sombra Avenue, Ironhaven. Arrive by 6:30 p.m. on January 21st to register. All participants will be weighed, measured, and dressed in white. You will be judged, and the night will progress from there. Come if you dare to unlock your future. Contest starts at 7:00 p.m. sharp.
I read it twice, my stomach tightening with every word. It sounds sketchy. Stupid, even. But four thousand dollars could change everything.
I sigh into the phone. “I’m gonna do it,” I whisper.
Marie squeals on the other end. “Yesss! I hoped you would!”
I glance at the calendar on my wall and feel my breath hitch. The contest is tomorrow night.
I’m gonna have to go straight from work to the club if I want to make it on time.
As soon as my laundry’s done, I hang the clothes up—hoping the wrinkles will fall out overnight—and jump into the shower. I shave, wash my hair, and try to ignore the knot tightening in my stomach.
I decide to leave my hair down tomorrow. I can almost hear my grandmother’s voice in my head, reminding me how much better I always looked with my hair down.
Climbing into bed, I stare at the ceiling, freshly shaved and wide awake. I have no idea if tomorrow will bring disaster or something that could actually change my life.
Either way… I’ll find out soon enough.
Eventually, the hum of the city fades, and I fall into a restless, uneasy sleep.
