Chapter 9: Words We Don’t Say
635 Words
The meeting room was filled with low murmurs and rustling papers as executives took their seats. Dahlia sat quietly at the far end of the table, pen in hand, her notebook open, her expression unreadable.
She was used to this now—the way they overlooked her, the way their eyes passed over her like she wasn’t meant to be here.
“She’s back?” Mira’s voice was low but sharp enough to cut across the room.
“Thought she quit after the little… mistake,” another murmured.
Laughter followed.
Alaric walked in just as the room went quiet. His eyes scanned the table until they landed on Dahlia.
“Before we begin,” he said, his voice like glass against stone, “I want to make one thing clear.”
The room held its breath.
“The error from last week was not Ms. Hart’s fault. It was a deliberate setup by internal staff, and those responsible have been dealt with. If I hear another word of slander or whispers at her expense, I will personally ensure your desks are empty by noon. Understood?”
Silence.
Someone cleared their throat. No one dared speak.
Dahlia’s head remained lowered, but her fingers tightened around her pen. She didn’t look at him. Not even once.
But her heart was racing.
⸻
After the meeting…
Dahlia had barely returned to her desk when her phone rang.
“Mr. Montclair would like to see you. Now.”
Her stomach twisted, but she stood, composed herself, and walked toward the office she once dreamed of entering for different reasons.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Alaric didn’t look up right away. He was flipping through a folder before placing it down and folding his hands.
“You didn’t defend yourself.”
Dahlia blinked. “Excuse me?”
“In that meeting. Last week. The week before. You just take it. Every whisper. Every lie. You sit there like they have a right to walk over you.”
She straightened her back. “Because I know myself. I don’t need to bark back to prove anything. As long as I do nothing wrong, I can stand tall.”
Alaric leaned forward, his voice sharper now. “Are you sure you’re not wrong?”
Her breath caught.
“You wear the same dull clothes every day. No color. No effort. Your hair’s always tied back like you’re trying to disappear. You keep your head down. You stay silent. You make it easy for them to doubt you.”
Something in her face cracked.
“Not everyone has the luxury to dress to impress,” she whispered. “You think I don’t want to walk in with red lips and heels that make people listen? I can’t afford that—not when I have a daughter who needs food, medicine, daycare, a future.”
His expression faltered.
But she didn’t stop.
“You sit there in a suit that costs more than my rent and ask why I don’t speak louder. Maybe because every time I do, someone like Mira twists it around. And maybe I’m tired. Tired of having to prove I belong in rooms that never wanted me in the first place.”
A heavy silence settled between them.
Alaric’s gaze lingered on her—not with judgment, but with something harder to place. Something like… realization.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
“You’re right,” he said, finally. “But so am I.”
She blinked at him.
“If you won’t defend yourself, people will keep assuming you have something to hide. You’re stronger than that. You shouldn’t have to hide to survive.”
Dahlia swallowed hard, her eyes burning—but she held his gaze now.
Neither of them looked away.
Not this time.
- Writer
