Smoke and Silence
648 Words
Xavier Williams thrived in silence.
Silence was predictable. Silence never lied.
His office, perched above the city like a fortress, was as immaculate as it was cold. No flowers. No personal photographs. Just clean glass and gleaming metal that reflected a life stripped down to control.
A life without her.
He set his coffee down and turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Manhattan sprawled below, all steel spires and morning fog. Even now—three years later—he sometimes expected to see her reflection behind him, delicate hands smoothing the lapel of his suit the way she used to when she thought he wasn’t watching.
But there was nothing. Only smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers and the quiet he’d convinced himself he wanted.
His assistant slipped into the office with careful steps. “Mr. Williams. The Vance proposal is on your desk.”
“Leave it.”
Her breath caught. “Would you like me to—”
He turned, pinning her with a stare that shut her up mid-sentence. “Just leave it.”
“Yes, sir.”
She retreated, pulling the door closed as if afraid the wrong movement might set him off. Maybe it would.
Xavier took another drag of his cigarette, letting the bitter taste burn across his tongue. Ariana used to wrinkle her nose whenever she caught him smoking, muttering that he was trying to kill himself.
He exhaled slowly. You were the only thing that ever made me want to live.
His phone buzzed. Warren Creed.
Board wants your signature before noon. Don’t make me come up there and drag you out.
Try it, Xavier typed back.
You’re a bastard.
Tell me something I don’t know.
He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and loosened his tie, though it did nothing to ease the tightness across his chest.
Three years.
Three years of trying to replace her. Of failing.
And still, every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the sound of her voice when she finally gave up on him.
I can’t be in love with a man who feels nothing.
She hadn’t understood. He felt everything. He just refused to show it.
---
A thousand miles away, Ariana Jones stirred her coffee in small, careful circles.
The café was quiet, filled with the soft clink of spoons and the low murmur of early commuters. She picked the corner seat on purpose, the one that faced the door.
Old habits died hard.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the cup to her lips. Three years of therapy, of running, of trying to build a life that didn’t have his name stitched through every memory—and it still wasn’t enough.
He would never look for her here.
She kept telling herself that.
And yet, some small part of her—a cruel, stubborn sliver—almost wished he would.
She pulled in a steadying breath and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Today she was meeting with a recruiter. A fresh start. Another job, another chance to pretend she hadn’t once been someone’s wife.
Someone’s possession.
The door opened with a bright jingle, and Ariana’s heart lurched before she even turned her head.
But it wasn’t him. Just a man in a gray suit who didn’t spare her a glance.
Get a grip, she scolded herself. He doesn’t even know where you are.
And God help her, she hoped he never would.
---
Back in Manhattan, Xavier scrolled through the investigator’s latest report, eyes scanning every line with ruthless focus. Another dead end. Another wasted lead.
But he didn’t stop.
He wouldn’t stop.
He set the report aside and reached for the cigarette case again, knowing he’d finish the pack before the day was out.
Some men craved power. Others craved money.
He craved only one thing.
A woman he’d never learned how to keep.
- Writer
