CHAPTER 3
1237 Words
By the third day, Victoria understood something with painful clarity. Tristan Moore wasn’t trying to get rid of her. He was testing how much she could endure.
This realization came somewhere between the overlapping meetings, the contradictory instructions, and the emails sent at impossible hours. None of it was overtly cruel. Anyone watching from the outside would see nothing more than a demanding CEO and an efficient assistant struggling to keep pace.
But Victoria felt the intent beneath it. Every task was designed to stretch her thinner. Every correction was delivered with surgical precision. Every glance lingered just long enough to remind her that he hadn’t forgotten. And neither had she. She worked through it anyway.
Her fingers moved steadily across the keyboard even when her head throbbed. She kept her voice level, her posture composed, even when exhaustion tugged at her spine. She had learned long ago that survival often depended on how well you hid your cracks.
By late afternoon, the pressure became unbearable. Tristan exited his office mid-call, phone pressed to his ear, eyes sharp and distant. “Cancel my flight,” he said as he passed her desk. “Reschedule Sydney.”
Victoria looked up, startled. “Sir, your flight boards in 2 hours.”
He stopped. Slowly, he turned to face her. “Yes,” he said calmly. “And now it doesn’t.”
She hesitated, then stood. “If you cancel this late, the board will—”
“I didn’t ask for a risk assessment,” he said quietly. The words were soft. That made them worse.
“I’m just trying to make sure everything runs smoothly,” she replied, careful to keep her tone professional.
His gaze flicked over her face—measuring, assessing—before hardening. “That’s my job.”
The space between them felt suddenly too small. Too charged.
“I understand,” she said. “But you asked me to anticipate problems.”
“Not to challenge me.”
Her chest tightened. “I’m not challenging you.” His eyes darkened. “Then what are you doing?”
She opened her mouth—and stopped. Because the answer wasn’t something she could safely say. She swallowed. “Doing my job.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Tristan stepped closer. “Let me be very clear,” he said, voice low and controlled. “You are here to execute, not interpret. If that’s difficult for you, we can end this now.”
End this. The phrase hit harder than it should have. Victoria felt a sharp, familiar ache settle behind her ribs. She nodded once. “It’s not difficult.” “Good.” He turned away.
Something inside her snapped—not loudly, not dramatically, but enough that the words slipped out before she could stop them.
“You were never this afraid of questions.”
Tristan froze. The office went still. Slowly, he turned back. “Excuse me?”
Victoria’s heart pounded. She should apologize. Retract it. But the weight of the past pressed too heavily against her chest.
“You used to argue with professors,” she said softly. “You said questions were how you knew someone cared.”
His expression sharpened, anger flickering beneath the surface calm. “That was a long time ago.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “It was.”
Silence stretched between them, taut and fragile.
“You don’t get to talk about who I was,” Tristan said. “Not after what you did.”
Her breath caught. “What I did,” she repeated softly.
“You left,” he said flatly. “Without explanation. Without decency.”
Victoria’s hands trembled, but she kept them at her sides. “You think that’s all that happened?” she asked.
“It’s all I saw.” The words landed like stones.
She shook her head slowly. “You never looked very hard.” His jaw tightened. “Don’t turn this around on me.”
“I’m not,” she said, voice steady despite the ache blooming in her chest. “I’m just saying you don’t know the whole story.”
“That’s convenient,” he said coldly. “Everyone has a story when they want absolution.”
“I’m not asking for absolution.”
“No?” His eyes searched her face, sharp and unyielding. “Then what are you asking for?”
The truth burned at the back of her throat. Nothing, she thought. I’m asking for nothing.
“Professional distance,” she said finally. “That’s all.”
A humorless smile curved his mouth. “You gave that up when you walked back into my life.”
The words cut deeper than she expected. “I didn’t come back for you,” she said, more sharply than intended.
“Then why are you here?” The question hung heavy between them.
Because I have children you don’t know about.
Because I almost died.
Because your father destroyed my life.
She couldn’t say any of it.
“Because I need the job,” she said simply.
Tristan studied her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
Then he stepped back. “Then remember that,” he said. “And don’t confuse necessity with familiarity.”
He turned and went back into his office, closing the door firmly behind him. Victoria stood there, chest tight, ears ringing. She sat down slowly, hands shaking now that no one was watching.
The office emptied as evening fell, one by one, until only silence remained.
Victoria stayed. She worked through the last of the revisions, eyes burning, shoulders aching. When she finally shut down her computer, it was nearly ten.
She gathered her bag quietly, careful not to disturb the stillness.
Tristan’s office door was open. The light inside was dim.
She hesitated—then turned to leave.
“Victoria.”
Her name stopped her cold. She turned.
Tristan stood near his desk, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. He looked tired. Not weak—never that—but worn in a way she hadn’t seen before. “Why did you really come back?” he asked.
The question was quieter now. Less sharp. Still dangerous.
Victoria took a slow breath. “I didn’t plan to. I didn't know that this is your company when I applied”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
He studied her, as if searching for cracks she refused to show.
“You know,” he said, voice low, “I spent a long time convincing myself you didn’t matter.”
Her heart twisted painfully.
“And?” she asked.
“And you’re still here.”
Victoria swallowed. “So are you.”
For a moment, something fragile passed between them—unspoken, unresolved. Then Tristan stepped back, the wall sliding back into place. “Go home,” he said. “Tomorrow will be worse.”
She nodded, understanding the warning beneath the words. As she walked away, she didn’t look back. And Tristan didn’t stop her.
But long after the elevator doors closed, he stood alone in the dim office, staring at the empty space where she’d been—uneasy with a truth he wasn’t ready to name. The past hadn’t returned gently. And pretend as he may, he doesn't know if he could survive another Victoria in his life.
- Writer
