Love, Loss and Statham

It always starts the same. You fall madly in love, live the greatest life, and then you are left behind. Heartbroken, hurt, and alone.

It happens to all of us.

My grandmother got left behind when my grandfather died. My parents got a divorce. And I learned the hard way that love isn’t forever when my father left me behind after the divorce and never looked back again. One minute he was tucking me in with bedtime stories, the next he was a ghost—new life, new family, no more room for me.

That won’t happen to me. I will not fall into the love trap. No thanks. I’d rather stay alone, have casual friendships, and live my life without heartaches. No strings, no expectations, no disappointments.

And what better place to avoid heartbreak than in the toughest company in the world: Statham Enterprise.

Statham Enterprise is run by Erik Statham, the one person you don’t want to meet as a business owner. The moment he sets foot in your office, you know you’re doomed. He’s merciless. Once he smells blood, he won’t let go until he owns the company, the building, and probably your soul.

People fear him. Some respect him. Most just try to stay out of his way. He’s built an empire out of other people’s failures, and he wears that like a badge of honor.

So naturally, it was the perfect place for someone like me.

A place where emotions are a liability, and detachment is a skill. Where nobody cares about your weekend, your relationship status, or your emotional baggage. You could be dead inside and still get promoted—as long as you brought results.

I could hide in plain sight, blend into the chaos of ambition and profit margins, and no one would question why I didn’t go for after-work drinks or share Instagram stories from my “fun-filled Sunday.” No one would notice that I never brought a plus-one to corporate events, or that my idea of intimacy was a solid Wi-Fi connection and a glass of wine.

And here I am, waiting to be called in for my job interview. I know I’m the best person for the job. I graduated cum laude from Harvard Business University, top of my class, with three internships under my belt and a reputation for never missing a deadline. I eat pressure for breakfast.

But… I’m a woman.

And Statham has a reputation for hiring only men.

Not officially, of course. On paper, he’s all about equality and diversity. The website practically glows with staged photos of board meetings that look like a UN ad. But behind closed doors, it’s a different story. His boardroom looks like a GQ spread—tailored suits, smug smiles, testosterone in the air so thick you could choke on it.

I shift in the uncomfortable leather chair in the waiting area and glance at the other candidates. All men. All older. All trying too hard not to look at me.

I’m the outlier. The wild card.

But I didn’t come this far to let a little misogyny stand in my way.

The receptionist finally looks up and gives me a curt nod. “Miss Lane? Mr. Graham will see you now.”

Mr. Graham. Not Statham himself. Interesting.

I rise, smoothing the front of my fitted blazer, and walk toward the door with the confidence of someone who has already visualized her name on the office door. Confidence is half the game, and I’ve trained myself to fake it so well it almost feels real now.

The interview room is minimalist and cold, just like I expected. Chrome, glass, and a single abstract painting that looks like it was chosen to impress clients, not inspire anyone.

Behind the desk sits a man in his early fifties—Mr. Graham. He doesn’t stand up. Just gestures to the chair across from him like he’s doing me a favor.

“Miss Lane,” he says, glancing at my resume without really looking at it. “You know this is a very competitive position.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

His mouth quirks slightly. Not quite a smile. “You’ve got an impressive background. Harvard. Consulting work. You’re young.”

“I’m also better than anyone else on your list.”

That catches him off guard, just for a second. But I don’t flinch.

This is who I am. This is how I survive.

“I like confidence,” he says finally. “But Statham doesn’t care about degrees or charm. He cares about results. Loyalty. Efficiency. And strength.”

“I have all four. And I don’t break under pressure.”

He leans back in his chair, folding his hands together. “We’ll see.”

The interview continues, a series of sharp, calculated questions designed to make lesser candidates squirm. I don’t squirm. I know my numbers, I know my strategy, and I know exactly how to play the game.

By the time I step out of the office, I know I’ve made an impression. Whether it’s the right one, time will tell. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that being underestimated is a secret weapon.

As I wait for the elevator, I catch my reflection in the glass. My makeup is still perfect. My posture is straight. But there’s something else in my eyes—something sharp. A hunger.

I don’t want a family. I don’t want a ring.

I want to win.

And if Statham Enterprise is the mountain, then I’m the storm that’s coming to conquer it.

Let them doubt me. Let them whisper when I walk into the room.

They won’t be whispering for long.