Chapter 4: Chasing Shadows and Dreams

Chasing Shadows and Dreams

Elena's POV

The phone buzzed in her hand, its vibration making her jump. She stared at the screen, half-expecting bad news. That's all it ever was—someone calling to remind her of yet another failure, another placement gone wrong, another person who didn't want her. She braced herself, breath held tight, but this time, the voice on the other end wasn't delivering a death sentence.

It was fucking hope.

"Miss Elena Winters?" The woman's voice was annoyingly cheerful. "We're pleased to inform you that you've been shortlisted for the interview at Blackwood Enterprises. Please arrive at the main office tomorrow at 9 a.m. sharp."

"Wait, I—what?" She nearly dropped the phone, gripping it so hard her knuckles turned white. "I—are you serious?"

"Yes, ma'am. Tomorrow at 9 a.m.," the woman repeated, sounding a bit impatient now, like she had better things to do than convince some fucking nobody that she actually had a chance. "Do you need the address?"

Elena swallowed hard, nodding before realizing the woman couldn't see her. "Yeah. I mean, no, I've got it. I—thank you."

The line clicked off, leaving her standing in the cramped, shitty excuse for an apartment, staring at her reflection in the grimy mirror. A hundred thoughts crashed through her head, a whirlwind of disbelief and fear. Her first fucking interview at a real company. The kind of place that could change her life.

Or destroy it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the rising panic. Don't fuck this up. Don't fucking mess this up, Elena. She repeated the mantra over and over, like it was a spell that could somehow keep her from self-destructing. But deep down, a darker voice whispered: You always mess up.

Always.

Her fingers itched to do something, anything. She glanced around at the empty shelves and the few threadbare clothes hanging in her closet. Nothing there screamed "hire me." Nothing there screamed success. She had to get something new. Something that made her look like she belonged somewhere better than the gutter she'd crawled out of.

Fucking hell," she muttered, grabbing her bag and bolting out the door before she could talk herself out of it. She ignored the snide looks from her neighbors as she passed, their sneers and whispers. Let them fucking talk. Let them sneer. Tomorrow, she'd show them all.

The mall was a sensory overload. Flashing lights, polished mannequins in expensive suits, rows and rows of glossy, perfect clothing she couldn't even dream of affording. She scowled, fingers curling into fists as she stalked past one overpriced store after another.

"What the fuck am I even doing here?" she muttered, shoulders hunched. "I can't afford this shit."

But she had to try. She had to at least look like she belonged. Her steps faltered outside a small, tucked-away boutique. It wasn't fancy, not by a long shot, but it had a few pieces that looked… decent. Clean lines, professional cuts. She bit her lip, glancing at the price tags and wincing.

"Shit."

It was too much. Way too much. But she couldn't walk into that interview looking like a fucking reject. After a deep breath, she forced herself to step inside. A bell tinkled, and an older woman behind the counter glanced up, eyeing Elena's faded jeans and oversized sweater.

"Can I help you?" The woman's tone was polite, but there was something in her eyes. Judgement. Like she was already measuring Elena and finding her lacking.

"Yeah," Elena said, voice tight. "I need… something for a job interview. Something…" Professional? Presentable? Fucking magical? She couldn't find the words.

The woman's gaze softened, just a little. "You've come to the right place. Let me see what we have."

By the time Elena left the store, clutching a slim garment bag and a small bag of cheap makeup, she felt like she'd been through a war. The outfit was simple—a navy blouse and a pencil skirt that hugged her curves without being too tight. She'd even let the woman talk her into buying a pair of low heels, even though she was sure she'd trip and make a fucking fool of herself in them.

Baby steps," she whispered to herself. "Just… baby steps."

That night, she laid out the clothes on her bed, staring at them like they were some kind of alien artifact. It felt surreal, like they belonged to someone else. Someone confident. Someone worth something. Not a girl who'd been passed from one shitty foster home to another, running from ghosts and scars that no one else could see.

"Don't fuck this up," she whispered, curling up on the bare mattress. "Don't fucking ruin this."

Sleep came slowly, her mind swirling with fear and hope and memories she tried to bury. And then… the dreams started.

She was running through a dark forest, branches clawing at her skin. Shadows loomed all around her, whispering her name, taunting her. She could feel something behind her, a presence that made her skin crawl and her heart race. It was cold—so cold that every breath felt like ice in her lungs.

"Who are you?" she screamed, spinning around. But there was no answer. Just that presence, creeping closer, wrapping around her like a noose.

You'll never escape, a voice hissed. Deep, smooth, and filled with malice. I'll find you. And when I do…

She screamed, jerking awake, sweat-soaked and shaking. The words were still ringing in her ears, echoing in the dark room. I'll find you…

"Fuck," she gasped, clutching her head. "What the fuck was that?"

It wasn't the first time she'd had strange dreams, but this one… this one was different. It felt too real. Too sharp. Like a warning.

Or a promise.

You'll never escape.

She shivered, staring into the darkness. Something deep inside her whispered that she was being hunted—that somewhere, out there, someone was looking for her. And if they found her…

"No," she whispered fiercely. "No fucking way."

She wasn't going to run again. She wasn't going to let fear rule her life. Not anymore. Tomorrow, she'd walk into that interview with her head held high. And whoever the fuck was out there, whoever was trying to break her… they could fucking choke on it.

She was done running.

With trembling hands, she grabbed the makeup she'd bought earlier. Maybe she'd look like a mess. Maybe she'd fail. But she'd be damned if she didn't walk into that office looking like she fucking belonged.

Even if she didn't believe it herself.