Big corporations really are in a league of their own.
The moment Diana Bell stepped into the lobby of the Knight Group, she couldn't help but let out a silent sigh of admiration.
The gilded dome was hand-set with countless fragments of natural crystal, shimmering like a dreamlike galaxy under the cool white lights. Floors of cold-toned luxury stone were polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the silhouettes of passersby and stretching endlessly into the distance. A massive ring-shaped crystal chandelier hung in the center, radiating a reserved yet opulent glow.
The reception desk—a mix of dark gray brushed metal and minimalist frosted glass—exuded a sense of restrained arrogance that kept people at a distance. Standing in such a wealthy hall, even the faint scent of cedarwood in the air seemed to carry the fragrance of money.
The staff moved with purpose, dressed impeccably. Men in sharp suits, women in sleek skirt suits—everyone had "elite" written all over them.
Diana couldn't help but think back to her previous small-time employer, "Strive Education." The owner, boss Archer, was a middle-aged man with a prominent beer belly who frequently strolled into meetings wearing a string tank top, oversized shorts, and a pair of squeaky flip-flops.
As the saying goes, like general, like soldier. Most of the male employees there looked like they had just returned from a wet market. Compared to the "modern regular army" of the Knight Group, her old company felt like a band of disorganized stragglers who hadn't even had time to change clothes before being routed.
Diana politely stated her business at the front desk. After verifying her identity, the receptionist swiped her through the high-tech sensory gates. Today's interview was on the 8th floor, while William Knight's seat of power sat far out of reach on the 38th-floor penthouse.
Diana was in a group of eleven; she had drawn the very last slot. Sitting in the waiting area, she watched as one candidate after another pushed open the door and walked out looking dejected. Some shook their heads in sighs; others couldn't even keep their hands steady while holding their resumes.
Nearby was a semi-open pantry. Diana stood up and walked over to an automatic Italian espresso machine, brewing a cup of dark roast latte. The high-quality beans immediately released a rich aroma that dispelled the oppressive atmosphere of the hallway.
Holding the coffee, Diana walked over to a candidate who had just come out and handed it to her. "Soothe your throat; your lips look dry."
The gesture was a godsend. The dejected girl froze for a moment, then whispered her thanks.
Diana took the opportunity to steer the conversation naturally. "What are the interviewers looking for in there?"
The candidate managed a bitter smile. "The questions are all over the place. Aside from the standard self-introduction, they care more about how you handle emergencies—like how you negotiate with parents when a student's grades plateau, or your future stability and specific educational philosophy."
Diana tilted her head. "Sounds like standard exam questions?"
The girl shook her head. "The questions aren't hard; it's the answers they want. They're tired of the 'standard' answers. They want something that makes their eyes light up. Unfortunately, it seems none of us ten even made it past the first round. Good luck to you."
Diana nodded, then walked into the interview room with a confident stride.
She distributed her custom resumes to the six interviewers. Her record of three consecutive years as the top sales and top-rated teacher at her previous company hit the room like a bombshell, instantly jolting the tired nerves of the panel.
In this world, any decorative language falls flat in the face of absolute data. Diana passed the first round with an air of total dominance. The first-round supervisor even personally pressed the elevator button for her to head to the second round, where the department manager would take over.
In the second interview room, the manager, Dorian Buck, flipped through her resume and pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses.
"Miss Bell, your track record is flawless. But I'm curious—with online streaming classes being so popular, why does a master teacher of your caliber have zero record of showing her face on camera?"
Diana gave a self-deprecating smile, not intending to sugarcoat it. "Because my former boss believed my looks would 'disturb' the clients. He told me to stick to voice recordings and stay away from the camera so I wouldn't scare people off."
Dorian was stunned for a moment, then let out a disbelieving laugh as if he'd heard a ridiculous joke. He put down his pen and looked Diana up and down. It was a look of pure appreciation for beauty, devoid of any lewdness.
"Miss Bell, if you're considered 'scary,' then I think our entire company needs plastic surgery. You are one of the most distinctive beauties I've ever seen."
Diana responded smoothly, "Thank you for the compliment. You're also the second most handsome man I've seen today."
Dorian's eyes crinkled with a smile. He was smart enough not to ask who the first was. He realized this woman possessed an incredibly strong core. "So, what exactly did that boss get wrong?"
Diana said frankly, "He didn't see wrong back then. At the time, I weighed 180 pounds and my face was covered in breakouts. He wasn't running a charity, and I don't blame him." She looked Dorian straight in the eye, her tone firm. "But whether then or now, I never felt 'ugly.' Back then, I was a heavy piece of raw ore; now, I've simply polished myself."
Dorian's eyes flickered as he closed the folder. "Miss Bell, follow me. We're going to the third round."
Diana inwardly pumped her fist. Nice. Round two, check.
Dorian led her to the office of the General Manager, Violet Cole. The door was slightly ajar, and sounds of low-voiced teasing drifted out.
"Violet, I heard Lord Knight went to that multinational political and business summit today?"
"You're asking the obvious. Whether he's busy or not—is that something you really need to ask me?"
"Tsk tsk, I just noticed you're wearing a new perfume today. Did you think Lord Knight might come by for an inspection?"
"Shut it. I just have an urgent contract for him to sign. Stop guessing and get back to work!"
When Diana stepped into the room, she saw Violet Cole sitting in a leather swivel chair, dressed in a wine-red suit. Her makeup was as exquisite as if it had been clipped from a fashion magazine—sharp and professional, a rare find of a career woman.
Dorian introduced her, "Violet, this is Diana Bell, the one who won the industry's Gold Master Teacher award."
The warmth of the previous teasing vanished. The moment Violet saw Diana's near-perfect face and impeccable aura, the spark of admiration in her eyes instantly morphed into an instinctive rejection. It was the natural wariness a powerful woman feels toward a competitor of the same caliber.
The questions that followed were nothing short of a verbal ambush.
Violet tapped the desk. "Miss Bell, if there are five cups of coffee but six executives present, how do you distribute them?"
Diana smiled. "I wouldn't distribute them. I would immediately prepare a sixth cup, and perhaps a seventh as a backup. Such a situation is a result of a failure in preparation. In any project I manage, I never allow such unprofessional oversights to occur."
Caught off guard, Violet shifted her attack. "You were at your old company for three years with top-tier performance, yet you never showed your face online. Is it because you're afraid of the camera, or because your old company never intended to groom you as a core asset?"
Dorian tried to intervene, "Violet, she explained earlier, it was due to her physical condition at the time—"
"Why could others do it but you couldn't?" Violet interrupted with a cold sneer. "Flies don't swarm around eggs that aren't cracked. Have you ever reflected on whether the problem was your own attitude?"
Diana's gaze remained steady and unyielding. "What a fly swarms around depends on its nature. It doesn't just go for eggs; it goes for rotten meat and trash. Just like the saying 'it takes two hands to clap' is a logical fallacy—a slap to the face rings loud, and it hurts. I will take responsibility for my professional errors, but I refuse any form of baseless accusation or internalizing unnecessary drama."
Such sharp wit forced Violet to admit, however grudgingly, that the woman before her was a talent.
"How much did you weigh before?"
"180 pounds. Now I'm 100."
Violet froze, the pen in her hand nearly slipping. "You lost 80 pounds in three years?"
Diana corrected her calmly, "No. In one year."
The office fell into a dead silence.
One year. 80 pounds. That implied a terrifying level of self-discipline, sweat, and a willpower that bordered on masochism. Looking at Diana, Violet felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of awe. She thought of the five pounds she had been trying to lose, a goal that always died at the hands of hotpot and desserts.
But that awe was quickly swallowed by professional insecurity.
"Fine. The interview is over. Go home and wait for a notification," Violet waved her off.
Dorian stood to the side, stunned. Usually, once a candidate reached Violet's level, they were hired on the spot unless they made a massive mistake. But Violet's current attitude clearly showed she had no intention of keeping her.
Diana returned to the Imperial Palace apartment and collapsed onto the sofa. She waited all day, but no job offer came through.
Meanwhile, William Knight had been working through the night at the government building after his morning off and various social obligations. He didn't return to the Imperial Palace until noon the next day.
Entering the dining room, he found only Noah Bell staring blankly at a table full of food.
"Where's your sister?" William asked, loosening his tie.
Noah sighed. "Playing dead upstairs. Said she has no appetite and told us to leave her alone."
William frowned. "What happened?"
Noah shrugged. "The interview at Knight Group yesterday. Guess she got rejected. She's currently questioning her entire existence."
Without a word, William headed straight for the second floor.
He pushed open the bedroom door to find Diana fast asleep in a thin, pale pink silk nightgown, fanned by the cool breeze of the AC. She was in a deep sleep, exhausted from the past few days.
Her sleeping posture, however, was far from elegant. She was sprawled in the middle of the bed, one leg stretched out straight while the other was pulled up carelessly. Because the gown was extremely short and the fabric lightweight, the hiked-up leg had pulled the hem high, leaving the intimate view between her thighs completely exposed to the air.
William had entered the room intending to check on her, but his gaze froze the moment it swept over that patch of fair skin. His heart hammered violently against his ribs.
In that instant, the temperature seemed to skyrocket, and the air grew thick and scorching. He held his breath, unable to look away.