Chapter 8: The Echo I Can’t Place
437 Words
Alaric Montclair sat behind his sleek glass desk, his eyes fixed on the file in front of him—but his mind elsewhere.
He had requested Dahlia Hart’s file that morning. Not out of suspicion. Not really. But something had been gnawing at him since the moment she first stepped into his office.
There was a silence in her presence—familiar and unsettling.
Like a memory he couldn’t access.
⸻
Her file was brief.
No degree.
Single mother.
Years of freelance work with exceptional results.
References from small businesses who described her as “unshakable under pressure,” “quiet but brilliant,” “honest to a fault.”
There was nothing unusual.
And yet, he kept reading it over and over again.
Dahlia Hart… Why does that name sound like a lullaby I forgot?
⸻
Across the city…
Dahlia sat by Iris’s bedside, stroking her daughter’s warm cheek as cartoons played softly in the background.
The fever had broken the night before, and her tiny chest rose and fell in calm sleep.
Dahlia let out a long breath, her body finally relaxing after days of tension.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about the job.
About Alaric.
She hated that she still noticed him. Hated that she still remembered the exact sound of his voice when he used to call her name like it meant something.
But the man in that office wasn’t hers anymore.
Maybe he never was.
⸻
A week passed.
Iris got stronger.
Dahlia prepared herself to return to work, even if she walked straight into her own replacement.
She wouldn’t beg for the job back—but she’d show them she wasn’t weak. Not for them. Not for him.
That Monday morning, she dressed the same as always. Simple slacks. A pale blue blouse. A ponytail. No makeup.
She held Iris’s hand as they waited at the bus stop. Her daughter squeezed it and smiled up at her, her big eyes bright again.
“Mommy, will your boss be nice today?”
Dahlia smiled faintly. “He doesn’t know how.”
⸻
Back at Montclair Enterprises…
When Dahlia stepped off the elevator, people turned. Whispers restarted.
But she didn’t care anymore.
Not after everything she’d survived.
She walked to her desk—and froze.
A new bouquet sat there. White lilies and blue hydrangeas.
No note.
Her heart skipped.
She turned, only to see Alaric passing by her row. His gaze flicked to her—just for a second. Calm. Controlled. Then he walked into his office without a word.
Dahlia stood there, uncertain if what just happened… meant anything at all.
- Writer
