Chapter 18
949 Words
The Courage to Imagine Elsewhere
Bea had spent most of her life believing that imagination was a luxury.
When her parents were alive and their name still carried weight, imagining the future had been easy. Vacations planned months in advance. Business expansions discussed over dinner. Dreams spoken aloud as if they were inevitable.
Then everything collapsed.
And imagination became dangerous.
It led to hope.
Hope led to disappointment.
Disappointment led to pain she could not afford.
So she learned to live only in the present. One task at a time. One day survived was already a victory.
But lately, imagination had been creeping back in.
Uninvited. Persistent.
She noticed it that morning as she stood in front of her closet, staring at clothes she had worn on repeat for months. Neutral colors. Safe cuts. Outfits that blended into boardrooms and corridors without drawing attention.
She chose differently today.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing reckless.
Just a softer blouse. Her hair left loose instead of tightly restrained. Small changes that felt like quiet rebellion.
When she arrived at the office, she felt it immediately.
The glances.
Not from everyone. Just from him.
Ace’s eyes lifted the moment she stepped onto the floor. Not because she announced herself. Not because she made noise.
But because he sensed her.
The awareness unsettled her more than she expected.
She lowered her gaze and walked to her desk, forcing her breathing to remain steady. She reminded herself that she did not owe him anything beyond professionalism.
Still, she felt his attention linger like a weight.
The morning passed with an unusual calm. No sharp commands. No deliberate tests. No women arriving with entitlement written into their posture.
The quiet felt temporary. Like the pause before something shifted.
At eleven, Ace called her inside.
She entered with controlled steps, posture straight, heart steady.
“Yes, sir?”
He studied her for a moment longer than necessary. His gaze lingered, assessing, measuring.
“You have lunch plans today?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard.
“Yes,” she replied honestly. “I do.”
“With whom?”
The directness surprised her.
“Adrian,” she said calmly.
Something dark flickered behind his eyes.
“I see.”
Silence followed.
She waited for instruction. For dismissal. For reprimand.
None came.
“Make sure you’re back by one,” he said finally.
“Yes, sir.”
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her again.
“Bea.”
She paused.
“You’ve been distant,” he said quietly.
She faced him slowly. “I’ve been honest.”
The words were not sharp. They were firm.
Ace’s jaw tightened. “Honesty can be destabilizing.”
“So can silence,” she replied.
Their eyes locked.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Ace looked away first.
“You may go.”
She left his office with her heart pounding, not from fear, but from something else entirely.
She felt seen.
And she was no longer sure she wanted that.
Lunch with Adrian felt like stepping into another world.
They walked instead of sitting, moving through streets filled with noise, life, and movement. Adrian spoke about his work, about projects that excited him rather than consumed him. He asked about her past without prying, listened without trying to fix anything.
“You’re different today,” he said.
“How?” she asked.
“Lighter,” he replied. “Like you’re letting yourself exist.”
The words struck deeper than he intended.
She laughed softly. “I’m trying.”
They stopped near a small café, sunlight spilling across the sidewalk. Adrian turned to her, expression serious but gentle.
“You don’t have to answer this,” he said. “But are you happy where you are?”
Bea hesitated.
Happiness was a word she rarely used.
“I’m… functioning,” she said slowly.
“That’s not the same,” he replied.
She knew that.
And that was the problem.
When she returned to the office that afternoon, something felt different.
Not the building. Not the routine.
Her.
She sat at her desk and completed her tasks with focus and clarity. She noticed Ace watching her more than once, his gaze thoughtful, unsettled.
This time, she did not shrink under it.
Near the end of the day, he called her in again.
“You seem distracted,” he said.
She met his gaze evenly. “I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“About my future.”
The words landed heavily in the space between them.
Ace stood slowly. “Your future is stable here.”
She shook her head slightly. “Stable isn’t the same as fulfilling.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re becoming reckless.”
She exhaled slowly. “No. I’m becoming honest.”
That honesty had a cost.
She could see it in the way his composure tightened.
“You’re forgetting your place,” he said quietly.
“No,” Bea replied. “I’m remembering myself.”
Silence followed.
Ace stepped closer, but she did not retreat.
“I don’t like uncertainty,” he said.
“I know,” she answered. “But I can’t live my life avoiding it.”
He searched her face, as if looking for fear.
He did not find it.
That scared him.
“Return to work,” he said finally.
She nodded and left.
As she gathered her things that evening, she felt a strange sense of peace. Not because her problems were gone, but because she had begun imagining a life beyond endurance.
Inside his office, Ace watched her reflection disappear in the glass.
And for the first time, he wondered if control had been his greatest weakness all along.
- Writer
