Chapter 9
500 Words
Bea
Bea had always believed pain had a limit.
That there would come a point where the body, the heart, the mind simply refused to feel more.
She learned she was wrong the day her parents died.
And she was learning it again now.
She sat at her desk, staring at the glow of her monitor, but the words on the screen refused to stay still. Numbers blurred. Emails lost meaning. The office air felt heavier than usual, like something unseen was pressing down on her chest.
She did not look toward his door.
She had trained herself not to.
Looking made things real.
And lately, reality hurt more than imagination.
Why does he do this?
The question circled her mind like a wound she could not stop touching.
Ace Monteverde did not need to speak to her the way he did. He did not need to watch her reactions. Did not need to push, test, pull, then suddenly soften.
Cruelty, she understood.
Kindness, she did not.
Cruelty meant distance.
Kindness meant danger.
She could survive being treated like nothing.
She could not survive believing she meant something.
The intercom remained silent that morning.
And somehow, that hurt more than being called inside.
Because silence meant he was thinking.
And when powerful men thought too long, someone always paid for it.
Her phone buzzed softly on the desk.
A message.
From an unknown number.
This is Adrian. I hope I’m not being inappropriate. I just wanted to say it was nice meeting you.
She stared at the screen.
Her first instinct was to ignore it.
Getting close to anyone was a risk she could not afford.
But the memory of his voice returned — calm, respectful, seeing her instead of looking past her.
Her fingers moved before she could overthink it.
Thank you. It was nice meeting you too.
The reply came almost instantly.
If you ever feel like having coffee outside that building, somewhere without glass walls and pressure, I’d like that.
Her breath slowed.
Coffee.
Such a simple thing.
No expectations. No power games. No sharp eyes watching how she reacted.
Just normal.
She had forgotten what normal felt like.
But even as the thought warmed her, guilt followed.
Why does this feel like betrayal?
She worked for Ace.
That was all.
He did not own her time outside work.
He did not own her thoughts.
He did not own her heart.
So why did it feel like she was doing something wrong?
The office door opened.
Her body reacted before her mind did.
She looked up.
Ace stepped out, eyes scanning the space, until they landed on her.
And for one split second…
She felt like he already knew.
Not about the message.
But about the shift.
The distance.
The slow movement of her heart away from him.
Her phone screen went dark in her hand.
And she hated that she felt the need to hide something that had never belonged to him in the first place.
- Writer
