Chapter 12
1042 Words
What She Could Not Say
Bea learned that silence could be louder than cruelty.
Cruelty announced itself. It was obvious, sharp, something she could brace herself against. She understood cruelty. She had lived with it since the night her parents’ names became headlines instead of voices.
But silence?
Silence crept in slowly. It settled in places she did not know were vulnerable.
Ace Monteverde had barely spoken to her for two days.
No unnecessary commands.
No deliberate provocations.
No women walking past her desk with victorious smiles.
Just work.
And that unsettled her more than anything else.
She sat at her desk that morning, fingers hovering over the keyboard, pretending to review emails she had already memorized. Every few seconds, her eyes drifted to the closed door of his office.
She hated herself for it.
Why do I still look?
She told herself it was habit. Routine. Awareness required for her job. But deep down, she knew that was a lie she repeated so often it had started to sound true.
The truth was simpler and far more dangerous.
She wanted to know if he was thinking about her.
And that realization terrified her.
Because wanting had cost her everything once before.
She straightened when the office door finally opened.
Ace stepped out, phone pressed to his ear, expression unreadable. He did not look at her as he walked past, his voice calm as he discussed figures and timelines.
“Send me the revised projections by noon,” he said to the person on the line. “No delays.”
He ended the call and continued toward the elevator.
Without a glance.
Something inside Bea tightened.
She should have been relieved. This was what she wanted. Distance. Professionalism. Clear lines.
So why did it feel like rejection?
She forced herself to focus. She was not here to be seen. She was here to survive.
Still, when the intercom clicked less than an hour later, her heart reacted before she could stop it.
“Miss Bea. Inside.”
She closed her eyes briefly before standing.
Ace was behind his desk this time, jacket on, sleeves buttoned, walls firmly back in place. He looked every bit the untouchable CEO again.
“Sit,” he said.
She did.
He slid a folder across the desk. “The overseas expansion. I need a summary by the end of the day.”
“Yes, sir.”
She reached for the folder, but his voice stopped her.
“You’ve been quieter than usual.”
The comment caught her off guard.
“I’m focused on my tasks.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
She lifted her gaze slowly. His eyes were on her, sharp but searching, like he was trying to read something she had hidden too well.
She chose her words carefully. “I believe professionalism requires focus.”
Silence followed.
He leaned back in his chair. “Do you feel uncomfortable here?”
The question struck deeper than she expected.
Uncomfortable?
She thought of the women.
The tests.
The deliberate cruelty.
The moments of softness that confused her more than the harsh ones.
“Yes,” she wanted to say.
No, she almost said.
But what came out instead was the truth she could afford to give.
“I manage.”
His jaw tightened.
That answer displeased him.
“I did not hire you to merely manage,” he said.
The words hung between them.
She wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or ask him what exactly he thought he had hired her for.
But she did neither.
“I’ll have the summary ready,” she said quietly.
She stood.
For a moment, he said nothing. Just watched her. And in that silence, she felt the weight of everything unspoken press against her chest.
Her past.
His pride.
The tension neither of them seemed willing to name.
“Bea.”
He said her name softly.
Not Miss Bea.
Just Bea.
She froze.
“Yes, sir?”
The distance between them felt suddenly fragile.
“I don’t like changes I can’t anticipate,” he said.
She understood, then, what he really meant.
She swallowed. “I haven’t changed.”
That was another lie.
She had.
She was tired of enduring.
Tired of being tested.
Tired of pretending she felt nothing.
He studied her face, eyes lingering like he was trying to memorize something he feared losing.
“Good,” he said finally, his voice colder again. “You may go.”
She left his office with controlled steps, but the moment she sat down, her chest ached.
Because she had wanted to tell him something.
That his silence hurt more than his cruelty.
That she was not furniture he could rearrange when it suited him.
That she was slowly learning how to leave.
But she said none of it.
At lunch, she met Adrian.
Not because she planned to.
Because he happened to be there.
The café across the street was quiet, sunlight filtering through wide windows. Adrian looked up when he saw her, surprise softening into a warm smile.
“Bea,” he said. “What a coincidence.”
She hesitated only a second before sitting across from him.
They talked about nothing important. Work. Traffic. Coffee that was never as good as it promised to be.
And yet, she felt lighter.
He did not watch her reactions.
Did not test her limits.
Did not make her feel like she owed him endurance.
“You look tired,” he said gently.
She almost laughed at how easily he noticed.
“I am,” she admitted.
“You don’t always have to be strong,” he said.
The words settled into her chest like something she had been waiting to hear.
When she returned to the office, Ace was already inside, door closed.
She sat down.
Worked.
Finished everything she was assigned.
But her mind wandered.
And for the first time since she started working there, she imagined a life beyond that desk.
Beyond that door.
Inside his office, Ace stared at the summary she had delivered.
Perfect. As always.
But something about it felt distant.
Like it had been prepared by someone already halfway gone.
And that realization unsettled him more than any challenge ever had.
- Writer
