Building The Strongest Family-Chapter 200: The Grind Beneath The Glass Towers [ 1 ]

"I’ve been... surviving," he admitted, his voice carrying a weight of honesty.

Sophia turned her gaze away, fixating on the shimmering veins of traffic below.

The city pulsed with life, but here they stood, caught in a moment that felt suspended.

Billy stepped closer, taking in her silhouette against the pale-blue skyline. "You’ve been hard to reach."

"I’ve been busy."

The words landed like a scalpel in the soft part of his chest, quick and sharp.

He tried to laugh it off. "Yeah, I noticed."

Sophia shot him a glance, her lips pressed into a tight line. "I’ve had three job interviews this week, Billy. After graduation, everything just hit at once. My parents wanted me to move back home, but I needed to find my own way. It’s been... chaotic."

"I get that," he replied slowly, searching for the right words. "But I thought we’d navigate all that chaos together."

Her expression flickered,an unsettling mix of discomfort and guilt, but she masked it quickly.

"I didn’t mean to ghost you," she said softly. "It wasn’t personal; I was just... recalibrating."

Recalibrating.

Billy let the word linger between them like fog rolling through an empty street.

"So that’s what we’re doing now?" he asked quietly. "Recalibrating?"

When their eyes met, something softened within her, a glimpse of vulnerability before she buried it again.

"What did you want me to say? That I’ve been crying myself to sleep since Arthur kicked you out?"

"I don’t need pity, Sophia."

"I know you don’t," she snapped back before softening again. "I know."

They stood in silence amidst the wind and neon lights, the echoes of who they were vibrating between them like an off-key note hanging in the air.

Finally, Billy broke the stillness. "Do you remember what you told me our third night here?"

Sophia raised an eyebrow playfully. "Which one?"

He smiled faintly at the memory. "You said... ’As long as you have a story to tell, I’ll be there to listen.’"

She looked away again as if avoiding the weight of those words.

The wind tugged at her coat like a whisper from their past.

"I meant it," she murmured finally. "Back then."

Back then.

Those two words struck harder than they should have.

Billy stepped forward, heart racing with hope and fear intertwined. "Soph... I know things are messy right now, I’m not who I used to be, but I’m still me! I still believe in everything we dreamed about; I just see a different path now."

Her jaw clenched tightly as if bracing for impact. "Billy, look around! You have no job or family name backing you anymore! You’re living in a rundown hotel and scavenging for credibility in a city that devours idealists for breakfast."

"I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And I’m supposed to... what? Just wait for you to crawl out of this mess?"

"I’m not asking you to wait. I’m asking you to walk with me. Through it."

Sophia closed her eyes, and for a fleeting moment, Billy feared she might break down. But when she opened them again, they were dry, determined.

"I’ve had one foot out the door for months now," she confessed. "You just didn’t want to see it."

He recoiled as if her words struck him like a physical blow. "What?"

"You’ve always been lost in your dreams, Billy. Even when we were together, part of you was always off in another world, lost in your scripts and stories. I loved that about you; I really did. But eventually, I realized I was more in love with the idea of us than the reality we lived."

Billy stepped back as if those words carried a gust of wind behind them.

"I was the reality," he said, hurt seeping through his voice. "I was always right here."

"I know," she replied softly, her gaze steady. "That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to end it sooner."

The silence between them grew heavier, not sharp or angry, but dense with unspoken truths.

"I don’t hate you," she added quietly.

"That’s not what hurts," he shot back.

"I want you to be okay."

"That doesn’t help either."

Sophia bit her lip thoughtfully before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a folded slip of paper.

"What’s this?" he asked, eyeing it curiously.

"A contact," she explained. "It’s a small company hiring low-level assistants. It could help you get back on your feet, for now."

He stared at the paper in disbelief before looking up at her, searching for reassurance.

"You still believe in me?" His voice trembled slightly.

Her response came as a gentle whisper: "I believe you’ll survive".

----------

In the days that followed his fateful meeting with Sophia, Billy Osborn discovered a new kind of invisibility.

Not the glamorous sort that allowed you to slip past the paparazzi at high-society events or escape scrutiny at family fundraisers.

No, this was a deeper, more profound invisibility, the kind where people didn’t even see you standing right in front of them.

For an entire week, he threw himself into job applications.

Gone were the days when he could rely on his family’s legacy placement division to land him cushy corner office gigs or prestigious internships at international finance firms.

Now? He wasn’t aiming high, he was just aiming to eat.

He rewrote his résumé twice, even changing his name to William Byrne in hopes of shedding some of the weight that came with being an Osborn.

But as a fresh graduate in Neo-Luminara, where thousands were vying for the same few positions, finding a job felt like searching for a needle in a haystack.

Here, it seemed you either had money backing you up or had to prove you weren’t just another liability.

Billy found himself waiting in line at Employment Node Stations alongside tired-faced graduates and middle-aged technicians displaced by automation.

He clicked away on digital job boards only to be met with automated replies:

"Thank you for your application. We have chosen to move forward with other candidates."

"Please consider applying for future roles."

"We regret to inform you..."

Those phrases became his lullabies, comforting yet haunting reminders of hope dashed.

---

On the fifth morning, he ventured into a cramped underground career fair beneath East Sector 12.

The air was thick with the scent of cheap coffee, hot cables, and resignation, a fitting backdrop for what lay ahead.

Booths lined the walls offering temporary warehouse shifts, call center slots, janitorial vacancies, and courier contracts, most low-paying gigs with little to no benefits.

Dressed in his cleanest shirt tucked into worn pants, he squared his shoulders despite feeling tired and thin; dark shadows underlined his eyes but pride kept him upright.

At one booth manned by a bored-looking woman in a badge-stamped blazer, he introduced himself: "Hi, I’m... uh... William Byrne. I just graduated from..."

She cut him off without looking up from her holo-tab: "We’re only hiring applicants with two years of verified commercial drone-cert experience."

"I can learn fast! I’m reliable! I’m not afraid of long hours," he pleaded.

"We’re not training," she replied flatly before tapping twice on her screen. "Next."

---

By midday, rejection after rejection had piled up, seventeen times by count, and Billy’s feet throbbed from walking marble floors he’d once strolled through without care.

His stomach grumbled; breakfast had been nothing more than a 10-unicred meat roll that tasted like glue rather than food.

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