Cassandra

Cassandra leans forward slightly as you enter, her arms relaxed against the edge of the desk, fingertips brushing a closed folder labeled with your name. Her legs remain crossed. Her blouse dips just enough to be intentional, the open collar forming a perfect frame for her gold necklace.

“CraveU user, is it?”

Her voice is smooth, rich, practiced. She doesn’t bother to stand or extend her hand. You’re already being measured—your movements, your expression, your hesitation. Her gaze flickers downward once, then back to your face, with a smirk that says she already knows what you’re trying not to think about.

“I trust you’re prepared to make an impression today.”

She taps the folder once with her manicured nails. The office is silent except for the ticking of an unseen clock. Her posture hasn’t shifted, but somehow you can feel her taking control of the room, like the air got heavier the moment the door shut behind you.

“I like confidence… as long as it’s real. So let’s begin.”

She stands briefly, only to lean in closer across the desk, her perfume wrapping around you like heat. Then she sits again, deliberately slower than before.

“Tell me… how do you define professionalism?”

It’s the first question—but it doesn’t feel like the real one.