chapter thirteen
919 Words
Chapter Thirteen
Xavier
Something was wrong.
I knew it the second Eve Adams walked back onto the executive floor.
She avoided looking at me completely.
No sarcasm.
No quiet comments.
No eye contact.
Nothing.
And suddenly the entire building felt colder.
I stepped out of my office slowly while watching her organize files at her desk with suspiciously calm movements.
Too calm.
“You’re upset.”
Straight to the point.
Usually Eve argued first.
Today she simply answered:
“No.”
Lie.
Obvious lie.
I moved closer carefully. “Look at me.”
Her hands paused briefly over the keyboard.
Then continued typing.
Interesting.
Very concerning.
“Eve.”
Still nothing.
The irritation rising inside me had nothing to do with work anymore.
“What did Mira say to you?”
That finally got a reaction.
She looked up instantly.
Pain flickered across her expression so quickly most people would’ve missed it.
I didn’t.
“You should ask your fiancée that question,” she replied quietly.
Dangerous answer.
Because now I knew two things immediately:
Mira had spoken to her.
And whatever was said mattered enough to hurt her.
I lowered my voice. “What did she tell you?”
Eve stood suddenly.
And for the first time since I met her…
She looked uncertain around me.
Not intimidated.
Not nervous.
Uncertain.
That disturbed me deeply.
“There was another assistant before me,” she said softly.
Silence.
Cold silence.
I felt my entire body tense instantly.
Ah.
So this was the conversation.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“Mira told you about Amelia.”
The name alone felt like reopening an old wound.
Eve studied my face carefully.
“She died.”
Not a question.
Fact.
I looked away toward the office windows briefly.
Three years.
And somehow the guilt still felt fresh.
“Yes.”
The executive floor around us faded into distant noise.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then finally—
“Tell me the truth.”
Her voice came out quieter this time.
More personal.
More vulnerable.
“Did something happen because of you?”
The question hit exactly where it hurt.
Because the answer wasn’t simple.
And maybe that was the worst part.
I inhaled slowly before speaking.
“Amelia worked for me for four years.”
Memories returned immediately.
Too quickly.
Her laugh.
Her loyalty.
The exhaustion I ignored.
“She was brilliant,” I admitted quietly. “Overworked. Stubborn. Constantly trying to prove herself.”
Something painful crossed Eve’s face at that.
Like she recognized parts of herself in the description.
Dangerous realization.
“One night,” I continued carefully, “she stayed late preparing documents for an international merger.”
My jaw tightened slightly.
“There was a car accident on her way home.”
Silence.
Eve stared at me without moving.
“She died instantly.”
The words still tasted wrong after all this time.
Cold.
Heavy.
Permanent.
“I’m sorry,” Eve whispered softly.
But sympathy wasn’t what destroyed me.
It was the next question.
“Why do you blame yourself?”
Because I did.
Every day.
I leaned against the edge of her desk slowly.
“Because she stayed late for me.”
The truth settled heavily between us.
“She was exhausted,” I admitted quietly. “I knew she was exhausted. But I still pushed harder. Expected more.”
The memory still made anger rise sharply inside my chest.
At myself.
At ambition.
At the version of me that once believed work mattered more than people.
“I built this company by demanding perfection,” I said coldly. “And eventually someone paid for it.”
Eve’s eyes softened painfully.
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in her voice surprised me.
“You didn’t force the accident to happen.”
“No,” I replied quietly. “I created the conditions for it.”
Silence followed again.
Heavy silence.
Then Eve asked the question I feared most.
“Is that why you became like this?”
Like this.
Cold. Distant. Emotionally detached.
I looked directly at her.
“Yes.”
The honesty felt strangely relieving.
“After Amelia died, I stopped allowing people close to me.”
Because attachment became dangerous.
Because caring about people meant eventually losing them.
Because guilt changes a man permanently.
Eve stepped closer slowly.
Too close.
Close enough for me to notice the sadness in her eyes.
“You’re not him anymore,” she whispered.
The statement hit harder than expected.
Because lately…
Around her…
I wasn’t sure who I was becoming anymore.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” I said quietly.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m worth saving.”
The air between us shifted instantly.
Emotional.
Dangerous.
And suddenly I realized something terrifying:
Eve wasn’t afraid of my coldness anymore.
She was starting to see the broken parts underneath it.
And that was far more dangerous than attraction.
Because attraction fades.
But being understood?
That ruins people completely.
Then suddenly—
A loud voice interrupted the moment.
“Mr. Moore!”
Security rushed toward us urgently.
I straightened immediately. “What happened?”
The guard looked pale.
“There are reporters downstairs again.”
I frowned. “I told them to remove—”
“It’s not about the company leaks this time.”
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Cold dread moved through my chest.
The guard hesitated before finishing carefully:
“They found Amelia’s story.”
- Writer
