Chapter Text
Liv
By the time the hotel room door clicked shut behind her, Liv’s brain was finally starting to catch up to the day.
She let her bag drop on the small table by the window and toed off her heels in the same motion, sighing as her feet met cheap but mercifully soft carpet. The room wasn’t anything special, standard corporate booking: queen bed, gray and navy color scheme, neutral art that meant nothing to anyone. But from the twelfth-floor window she could see enough of Adelaide to remind herself she was somewhere new. Narrow streets, low buildings, the shimmer of distant water catching light.
She shrugged out of her blazer and hung it over the back of the chair, fingers lingering on the lapel for a second.
She could still feel the weight of Rhea Ripley’s attention on her. The room, the skyline, the sixteen hours of travel,it all faded in comparison to the memory of those grey eyes studying her like she was either a puzzle or a weapon.
Liv blew out a breath and rubbed a hand over her face. “Get it together,” she muttered.
Her stomach grumbled in protest, reminding her she’d last eaten…what, a protein bar in the airport?
“Okay, okay,” she said, moving toward the desk. “First food, then spiral over your maybe future boss.”
She ordered room service, something simple and quick, and then turned her attention to the other thing she’d been avoiding: her email.
She flipped open her laptop, the familiar boot-up chime sounding too cheerful for how drained she felt. Wi-Fi connected. Notifications popped up in a neat little cluster. Two from her current company, which she ignored on instinct. One from her mother with a link to an article about how to prevent burnout (“Very funny, Mum”). And one with a subject line that made her pulse skip.
Nightmare Industries – Follow-Up Interview
She stared at it for a beat, then clicked it open, suddenly more awake than she’d been since landing.
Dear Ms. Morgan,
Thank you again for meeting with Ms. Ripley and taking the time to discuss the Project X Interim Leadership opportunity.
We would like to invite you to a second-round interview to further assess your fit for this critical role. This interview will be conducted by a four-person panel consisting of senior executives from our Legal and Finance departments.
Date: Tuesday
Time: 09:00 AM
Location: Conference Room 3A, Third Floor – Nightmare Industries Headquarters, Adelaide
During this session, you can expect questions regarding your experience with regulatory environments, financial governance, and risk management for high-profile initiatives. Please arrive ten minutes early and check in at reception on the ground floor. Business formal attire is appreciated.
We look forward to speaking with you again.
Kind regards,
Francesca Rossi
Executive Assistant of Ms. Ripley
Nightmare Industries Corporation
Liv read it twice, making sure she understood every detail. But she was also searching for what wasn’t there.
No mention of Rhea Ripley. She wasn't even cc'd in the email.
She scanned back up, re-reading each line, as if the name might materialize if she looked at it from a different angle.
Nothing.
She sat back in the chair, chewing the inside of her cheek. A second interview was good—great, actually. A four person panel with legal and finance meant they were taking her seriously. That they were already picturing her at the table where the real decisions were made.
But a small, petty part of her felt…disappointed.
She hadn’t realized until now how much she’d been hoping to see Rhea again. To test whether that crackle of tension in the office had been real or just her imagination overreacting to jet lag and adrenaline. And she didn't know why?
“Four-person panel,” she murmured, scrolling back down. “Two from legal, two from finance. No terrifyingly intense CEO mentioned.”
Probably for the best, she told herself. This was the serious part. Now came the scrutiny, the probing questions, the attempts to poke holes in her experience. She needed her brain in performance mode, not in whatever strange space it had drifted into during that interview when Rhea had leaned forward and asked, What makes you think you can handle me?
She shivered, just a little, remembering the way the word me had landed between them like a challenge.
Her laptop chimed again, this time with a different notification. Her phone, which she had tossed onto the bed, started to buzz a second later.
Liv snatched it up, saw the name on the screen, and felt tension ease out of her shoulders.
“Hey, Anna,” she answered, dropping onto the edge of the mattress.
“How’d it go?” Anna’s voice came through warm and slightly breathless, like she’d been half-jogging between meetings. “I’ve been staring ay the clock all day trying not to text you every hour.”
Liv smiled. “Well, I wasn’t escorted out of the building, so that’s a good sign.”
Anna laughed. “Always encouraging. Tell me everything. How was she?”
Liv hesitated, glancing reflexively toward the closed hotel room door, as if Rhea could somehow be standing on the other side.
“She was…” Liv searched for the right word. “Exactly who you said she’d be. Direct. No fluff. Intense.”
“I did warn you,” Anna said dryly. “Did she make you sit across the desk like you’re on trial, or did you get the ‘perch-on-the-edge-of-the-desk’ treatment?”
Liv blinked. “That’s…a thing?”
“Oh, it’s a thing,” Anna said. “Desk means you’re either in trouble or wasting her time. Perch means she’s in hunting mode. Curious. Evaluating.”
Liv’s mind flashed back to the way Rhea had sat, boots planted, hands folded loosely as she watched Liv like she was weighing every word.
“Definitely perch,” Liv said slowly.
“I knew it,” Anna said, smug satisfaction clear even through the line. “So? What did she ask?”
“The usual,” Liv said, defaulting to the safe version of events. “Crises I’d handled, stakeholders I’d managed, why I’m leaving my current role, why Nightmare. She pushed on risk, on pressure. Wanted to know if I’d crack.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t,” Liv said, allowing herself a small grin. “At least, I don’t think I did.”
“That’s my girl,” Anna said. There was a soft rustling sound, followed by a muffled sigh. “Sorry, I’m just trying to get comfortable. Sitting all day is not a pregnant woman’s friend.”
“Hey, you’re the one who decided to grow a whole human smack in the middle of an IPO,” Liv teased gently. “Terrible planning, honestly.”
“Tell my uterus,” Anna said dryly. “Anyway, did she give anything away? With Rhea, silence is not necessarily a bad sign. It just means she’s thinking three moves ahead and not bothering to tell you.”
Liv thought back to the interview. The moments where Rhea hadn’t reacted at all, where those grey eyes just pinned her in place as Liv talked. The quiet beat after Liv had said she wasn’t afraid of her. The way Rhea’s expression had shifted by the smallest fraction of a degree, like something inside her had clicked.
“She was…” Liv said carefully, “hard to read. But she asked smart questions. No trick scenarios, no fake friendliness. Just straight to the point.”
“That sounds like her,” Anna agreed. “Did she challenge you?”
“Constantly,” Liv said. “But it felt…fair. Like she wanted to see if I’d push back.”
“And did you?” Anna’s tone was teasing, but there was something sharper underneath.
Liv hesitated for half a second, remembering the heat in Rhea’s gaze when she’d said she wasn’t afraid of her. “Yeah,” she said. “I did. I figure if she wants someone to nod and agree with everything she says, she wouldn’t be looking for an interim lead for X.”
“Good,” Anna said, satisfaction threading through her voice. “You’re not there to be a yes-woman. You’re there to make sure the rocket doesn’t explode on the launchpad.”
“Comforting imagery, thanks,” Liv said.
Anna chuckled. “So. Did they give you any sense of next steps?”
“I just got an email,” Liv said, shifting back onto the bed and propping herself against the headboard. “Second interview tomorrow morning. Panel with legal and finance. Third floor, nine a.m.”
“That was fast,” Anna said. “That’s a very good sign.”
“Really?” Liv asked, staring at the email on her laptop again like it might change its mind.
“Rhea doesn’t like to waste time,” Anna said. “If she thought you were a no, you’d already know. The fact that she’s pushing you to the next stage means you cleared a big hurdle.”
“She’s not mentioned in the email,” Liv pointed out, trying to make it sound like a casual observation instead of the weird, small sting it was. “Just the panel.”
“That doesn’t mean she won’t be involved,” Anna said. “She trusts her teams. Legal will want to drill you on regulatory risk. Finance will want to know you speak their language. But Rhea will see their notes, and if she wants to drop in, she will. She has a habit of appearing in rooms she wasn’t supposed to be in.”
Liv’s pulse kicked up at the thought. “You make her sound like a ghost.”
“A very large, very judgmental ghost,” Anna said. “But seriously, Liv, a panel interview is standard. Don’t overthink it. Use it as a chance to show them you can collaborate with more than just the CEO.”
Liv exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I know. I just…”
Just what?
Just can’t stop replaying every second of that first meeting?
Just can’t stop thinking about the moment Rhea’s gaze had dipped, fractionally, to her mouth?
“Just what?” Anna asked.
Liv shook her head, even though Anna couldn’t see it. “Nothing. I guess I’m still a bit wired from the whole thing. It’s been a long day.”
“You’re allowed to be wired,” Anna said gently. “This is a big opportunity. And for what it’s worth, I pushed hard to get you through the door.”
“I know,” Liv said, warmth spreading through her chest. “Thank you. Really.”
“You’re the one doing the work,” Anna said. “I just nudged a door open. The rest is you.”
There was a pause, then Anna’s tone softened further. “One more thing, because I feel like I should prepare you: Rhea is…standoffish. You probably noticed.”
Liv huffed a quiet laugh. “You could say that.”
“She’s not unfriendly,” Anna said. “She just…doesn’t do small talk. Or obvious emotions. People misread her all the time. They think she doesn’t care. She cares a lot. Maybe too much. It just comes out as being harder on everyone than she is on herself. If she seemed distant, don’t take it personally. It’s not you. It’s her default setting.”
Liv thought about the way Rhea had looked at her when she’d said, I think you need someone who can stand their ground with you. The faint softening around her eyes. The way her jaw had relaxed, just barely.
“Yeah,” Liv said quietly. “I noticed.”
“What did you notice?” Anna asked.
Liv hesitated.
That under all that steel, there was something raw. That beneath the control, there was something fragile she guarded fiercely. That for a few seconds, when Liv had called her out, she’d seen a flash of something like fascination in Rhea’s eyes.
“Just that she’s… maybe not as unreadable as she thinks she is,” Liv said instead. “If you pay attention.”
Anna chuckled. “Careful. People who think they can read Rhea either end up promoted or fired. Sometimes both.”
“Good odds,” Liv said lightly. “Keeps things exciting.”
“That’s one word for it,” Anna said wryly. “Okay, I’ll stop mother-henning you. Get some rest. Hydrate. Bring your A-game tomorrow and remember: if legal tries to intimidate you, remind them you’re not signing anything without your own counsel.”
Liv snorted. “You know that’s the kind of line I’d actually use, right?”
“That’s why I like you,” Anna said. “Text me after the panel. And Liv?”
“Yeah?”
“If they’re calling you back this fast, Rhea’s interested. That doesn’t happen often. Don’t talk yourself out of believing it.”
The words buzzed pleasantly in Liv’s chest long after they hung up.
Interested.
The word shouldn’t have made her heart do the thing it just did. Interested could mean a hundred things. Interested in her experience. Interested in her track record. Interested in whether she’d crack under pressure.
Not…the other interested that was plaguing Liv's brain.
She tossed the phone on the bed, and figured she should lay down herself. She let herself flop backward for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. The cheap white paint had a faint crack running diagonally over the light fixture, splitting the surface in two.
“Stop being ridiculous,” she told herself. “This is work.”
Her laptop chimed again catching her attention, but it was just a notification from Zara. But her mind wouldn't escape the trap it set itself in, so she rolled out of bed, curiosity tugging her back to the desk chair. Once seated, she scooted forward, opened her laptop and opened a browser.
If she was going to face down a panel tomorrow and possibly a surprise CEO drop-in she wanted every scrap of context she could find.
She typed “Rhea Ripley Nightmare Industries” into the search bar and hit enter.
The results were…extensive.
Articles from financial outlets, tech blogs, leadership magazines. Grainy conference photos where Rhea stood on stage, silhouetted against glowing slides. Interviews where she talked about cybersecurity, AI ethics, data privacy. Quotes about building resilient systems and refusing to compromise on integrity.
Liv clicked through, scanning headlines.
The Woman Behind Nightmare: How Rhea Ripley Built a Tech Titan.
From Adelaide to the World: Nightmare Industries’ Reluctant Visionary.
Ripley on Risk: “If You’re Comfortable, You’re Not Really Innovating.”
Reluctant visionary, Liv thought, amused. That tracked.
She skimmed a few pull quotes, searching for something beyond the polished soundbites.
“I don’t need people to agree with me,” Ripley said. “I need them to be honest with me. If everyone in the room thinks I’m right, I question whether I brought the right people into the room.”
That made Liv smile.
Another article talked about her upbringing, working-class family, scholarship to university, early years in a failing company she’d later turn around. There was a photo of her at some awards gala, sharp jawline, black suit, expression somewhere between bored and impatient.
Liv’s cursor hovered over the image.
She looked younger in the picture. Less guarded. But there was still that same intensity, that same sense of someone who’d decided, a long time ago, that she’d never be the one knocked off balance.
She sat back, then opened another tab almost without thinking.
If the media version of Rhea was this controlled, maybe her social media was less so.
Instagram seemed like the safest bet. She typed in the handle she’d seen mentioned in one of the articles, @rhea.ripley.nightmare and waited for the profile to load.
Private.
Of course.
But the handle had a blue check and a tiny circular profile picture that matched what Liv remembered, a close-up, half-shadowed, strong lines and dark eyes. The bio read:
CEO @ Nightmare Industries
Adelaide | Everywhere
Building systems that don’t break
Not your motivational speaker.
Liv snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”
She hit follow before she could talk herself out of it, then immediately wondered if that was weird. Too premature. Too…something.
Relax, she told herself. Executives followed each other all the time. It was networking, not flirting.
She backed out and searched her name again, this time with different filters. LinkedIn, obviously. Nightmare’s corporate site, where Rhea’s headshot was aligned with the rest of the board and executive team. A few candid shots from industry events, panel discussions, keynotes.
But nothing genuinely personal. No vacation photos. No random pictures of coffee or pets. No blurry night-out shots like the ones cluttering Liv’s own feed from years ago.
She switched to X.
@RheaR_Nightmare
This one wasn’t private. But it wasn’t exactly personal, either. Retweets of research papers, commentary on regulation changes, the occasional dry joke at the expense of grandstanding politicians who didn’t understand tech.
Still, it was…something.
Three weeks ago:
If you’re building something that could change how people live, maybe don’t treat security like a “nice to have.”
Eight months before that:
“Move fast and break things” is how you end up explaining to Parliament why you leaked half the country’s medical records.
Liv scrolled, reading between the lines. The tweets were sharp. Witty. Occasionally brutal. Beneath the professional distance was a pulse of someone who cared deeply about the impact of what they were building.
She liked that.
She caught herself, cursor hovering over the like button on one tweet, and pulled back.
Now doing that would be too much, too soon.
Besides, if things went well, she’d be working under this woman. The power imbalance alone was enough to slam the brakes on whatever weird flutter her brain kept trying to make out of nothing.
Still, the question lingered: Who was Rhea when she wasn’t the CEO? When she wasn’t on stage or in boardrooms or perched on the edge of her desk staring down potential hires?
Was there someone she laughed with? Someone who saw past the armor, past the iron control?
Liv shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought.
Don’t go there.
She clicked over to Nightmare’s official Instagram instead, scrolling through product announcements, glossy videos, behind-the-scenes shots of the Adelaide headquarters. A few frames included Rhea at a distance, talking to engineers, passing through open-plan spaces, caught mid-conversation with some government official.
In none of them was she smiling widely, but there were small, softer expressions. A faint quirk at the corner of her mouth as she listened to someone present. An almost fond look aimed at a group of interns who were clustered around a whiteboard.
Liv lingered on that last one.
You’re not as unreadable as you think you are, she thought, echoing her own words from earlier.
She closed the laptop gently, the lid clicking shut with quiet finality.
Enough. She had what she needed: confirmation that Rhea was as controlled publicly as she was in person, with just enough edges to keep people guessing.
She stood, stretching until her spine popped, and moved toward the small closet where she’d hung the rest of her clothes. She ran her fingers along the row of dresses and blouses, eyes landing on a charcoal sheath dress with sharp lines and a high neckline.
Business formal, the email had said.
She pulled it out, held it against herself in the mirror, and imagined walking into Conference Room 3A tomorrow morning. Four executives. One long table. Possibly a surprise CEO ghosting in late.
She could picture it almost too clearly, the way eyes would flick to her as she entered, the quick mental calculations as they measured her against whatever expectations they’d built from her resume and Anna’s recommendation.
Good, she thought. Let them underestimate me.
She hooked the dress on the outside of the closet door for easy access, then flicked on the kettle on the small counter. Tea, a hot shower, and at least seven hours of sleep. That was the plan.
Except when she finally crawled into bed, lights off, curtains pulled half-closed against the city’s glow, her mind refused to obey.
It replayed the interview in fragmented scenes, like a highlight reel she hadn’t asked for.
Rhea’s voice: low, controlled. What makes you think you can handle me?
The way she’d gone still when Liv said, I’m not afraid of you.
The moment their eyes had locked and the room had narrowed to just the two of them, everything else falling away.
Liv turned onto her side, then onto her back, then onto her other side. The sheets rustled. The air conditioner hummed. A distant car horn blared, then faded.
This is work, she reminded herself again.
But underneath that, like a stubborn bass line she couldn’t shake, another thought thrummed:
It might not always feel like just work.
She exhaled, long and slow, and finally closed her eyes.
Tonight, all she could do was rest.
As she drifted, the last clear image in her mind wasn’t the email, or the panel, or the risk register she’d probably be dissecting if she had another hour of focus in her.
It was Rhea, leaning back against her desk, arms folded, eyes sharp and unexpectedly intrigued.
Like she’d found something in Liv she hadn’t been looking for, but wasn’t quite ready to let go of, either.