Chapter 3

With my first pot of gold in hand, life suddenly felt a whole lot easier.

The barrage of comments popped up again.

[Vivian is hiring assistant designers. She wants hands-on experience, not just a fancy degree. Girl, this is your chance; go for it.]

My heart skipped a beat.

But I didn't jump in. Instead, I dug out the old design drafts I had won awards for back in college.

Looking at them now, they were definitely rough and naive, but they were bursting with that first spark of passion.

I sacrificed two weeks of sleep to polish up three new pieces, then gritted my teeth and shelled out to get a well-known senior designer to critique and help me refine them.

When I sent in my resume, I was upfront about not having a formal design degree, but I made sure to include solid real-world examples and my portfolio.

Without a fancy school name to back me up, I let my work do the talking.

When I sent it off, I honestly didn't expect much.

Most people who got into Vivian's company were top graduates from elite schools. Me? I was someone from a second-tier university, already out in the real world; how could I possibly compete?

But a week later, I got an interview invitation.

Vivian was the one sitting across from me at the interview.

She flipped through my simple resume booklet, her gaze lingering on my portfolio for what felt like ages.

"Your school isn't exactly impressive," Vivian said, straight to the point.

"Exactly. So I put all my energy into perfecting my work," I replied.

Vivian looked up, her eyes seeming to pierce right through my nervous facade, and suddenly asked, "What's your biggest weakness?"

I didn't dodge the question. "I never went through formal design training, but I understand what the mass market really wants better than most, because that's the world I come from."

Vivian studied my rough but sharp-edged portfolio, then finally nodded. "Start tomorrow. The pay's not great, and you'll be swamped with work. There's a lot you need to pick up. If you can't take it, you're free to leave now," she said.

I almost jumped out of my chair. "Thank you, Ms. Sinclair. I'm ready to work hard!"

Vivian was borderline obsessive about details; even if a single pixel was off, she'd make one redo the whole thing from scratch.

But here, I finally got a taste of genuine, hands-on commercial design training and picked up all sorts of casual workplace chatter that floated around.

One afternoon, I was sent to the conference room to deliver coffee.

Vivian's irritated voice drifted out from inside. "The Carter Group's project out west—those numbers are just too perfect. It feels off, but they're pushing us so hard right now."

I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing.

Just then, the live comments flashed across my screen.

[This is bad. Matthew's family is using that fake project to cash out, and now they're trying to trap Vivian.]

I steadied my breathing, knocked softly, and entered quietly to set down the coffee.

Vivian's brow was furrowed, looking quite troubled.

"Ms. Sinclair," I kept my eyes down as I said, voice low but clear. "Sorry to interrupt, I happened to overhear your conversation.

"Some of the older staff once mentioned that the project out west might have hidden costs later on. And, well, they said sometimes the numbers can be made to look pretty on paper."

Vivian snapped her gaze up at me.

I stayed respectful, but my hands were clammy with nerves.

After a long pause, Vivian finally looked away and said coldly to the project director, "Put this project on hold. Dig into those hidden costs and the numbers; get me the truth."

The director nodded and replied, "Yes, Ms. Sinclair."

I quietly slipped out of the conference room, my back soaked in cold sweat.

A few days later, word spread through the company.

The Carter Group's project had indeed blown up; it turned out the numbers were totally fake.

Everyone was praising Vivian for her sharp decision, saying it was her call that saved the company from disaster.

Vivian never thanked me directly, and she never brought it up again.

But the next morning, I found a brand-new professional book on my desk.

Inside the cover was Vivian's signature, her handwriting sharp and confident.

Her message was simple: [Observe, listen, think.]

I stared at those words, clutching the book to my chest like I was holding onto a ray of hope in my life.