Chapter 13
825 Words
What He Refused to Name
Ace Monteverde had built his life on anticipation.
He anticipated market shifts before they happened.
He anticipated people’s weaknesses before they revealed them.
He anticipated desire, loyalty, betrayal.
That was why he stayed ahead.
That was why he never lost.
So the unfamiliar tension sitting in his chest that evening irritated him more than it should have.
He remained in his office long after the floor had emptied, city lights reflecting against the glass walls. Papers lay neatly arranged on his desk, each one reviewed, approved, finalized.
Nothing was out of order.
And yet, something felt wrong.
His eyes drifted, unbidden, to the empty space outside his office.
Bea’s desk.
She had left earlier than usual.
Not rushed.
Not flustered.
Not waiting for instructions that never came.
She simply gathered her things and left.
The image replayed in his mind with unwanted clarity.
Why did that bother him?
He told himself it was efficient. Awareness. A CEO noticed patterns, after all.
But deep down, he knew the truth he refused to acknowledge.
She had stopped waiting.
Ace leaned back in his chair, jaw tightening.
That was dangerous.
From the beginning, Bea had been predictable in her unpredictability. She endured. She complied. She absorbed cruelty without complaint. She stayed.
He had told himself it was because she needed the job.
Survival.
But something had changed.
He saw it in the way she answered now. Shorter. Controlled. Professional to the point of distance. No tension in her voice. No hesitation in her movements.
Like someone who had already decided something important.
And he did not like that.
Ace stood abruptly, walking toward the window.
The city had always calmed him. The reminder of scale. Of power. Of everything he controlled.
Tonight, it felt smaller.
He remembered the café across the street.
The thought arrived uninvited.
Why?
Then another image followed.
Bea sitting across from Adrian Vale.
The memory made his jaw clench.
Adrian’s calm smile. The ease in his posture. The way he spoke without expecting submission or fear.
Ace did not dislike Adrian because he was a rival.
He disliked him because he was comfortable.
And comfort was something Ace had never offered Bea.
Nor himself.
His phone buzzed.
A message from the board.
Ignored.
Another buzz.
A notification from the building security system.
Movement detected on the lower floor.
Useless information.
And yet, his mind twisted it into something else.
Where is she now?
The question struck him with enough force that he stiffened.
He did not ask where employees were after hours.
He did not need to.
So why did the idea of her somewhere else, living a life he did not see, unsettle him?
He turned away from the window and reached for the glass of whiskey he rarely touched these days.
He did not drink to escape.
He drank to control.
But tonight, the burn did not ground him.
Instead, it brought back memories he had buried.
His father’s voice.
Cold. Exacting. Unyielding.
Control is not cruelty. Control is protection.
Ace had learned early that emotions were liabilities. That softness invited loss. That attachment created weakness.
And yet…
He remembered the way Bea looked at him sometimes. Not with desire. Not with fear.
With disappointment.
As if she expected more from him.
That look bothered him more than hatred ever could.
He replayed their last conversation.
You may go.
Her controlled nod.
Her steady walk.
The absence of hesitation.
She had not looked back.
Ace slammed the glass down harder than necessary.
This is absurd.
She was an employee.
Nothing more.
But if that were true, the thought of losing her presence would not feel like something being taken from him.
He moved to his desk and pressed the intercom button.
Then stopped.
What would he say?
Come back?
Stay late?
Explain yourself?
None of those made sense.
Because the truth was, he did not want her obedience.
He wanted her attention.
And that realization sat heavy in his chest.
He thought of Adrian again.
Of the ease in Bea’s posture when she spoke to him. The faint lightness in her eyes that Ace had never been able to give her.
The idea made something twist painfully inside him.
Was that jealousy?
No.
Jealousy implied competition.
This felt closer to fear.
Fear that someone else could give her something he never allowed himself to offer.
Fear that she might choose it.
Ace exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
This was why he avoided emotional entanglements.
They distracted.
They destabilized.
They demanded accountability.
And Bea was becoming exactly that.
He sat back down, forcing himself to focus on work.
Numbers. Projections. Deals.
But every line blurred into the same thought.
She is pulling away.
And for the first time in his life, Ace Monteverde did not know how to stop something from slipping beyond his control.
Nor did he know what would happen if it did.
- Writer
