Chapter 4
1160 Words
The glass-paneled conference room buzzed with the quiet hum of conversation, papers rustling, and the occasional click of heels against the polished floor.
A woman entered. It was Rochelle.
She walked with an air of unshakable confidence, her stride graceful yet purposeful, the subtle sway of her hips commanding attention. She was dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged her curves in all the right places, her rich wavy hair cascading over her shoulders. Every head turned as she stepped in, but only one gaze lingered too long.
Eric Norman sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, his fingers momentarily frozen around the pen he’d been toying with.
His breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on her.
Rochelle.
After five years of silence, absence, and signed divorce papers, she was—striking, composed, and somehow more beautiful than he remembered. He didn't think she'd be this beautiful still. He had left her in shambles and helpless, and here she was proving him wrong.
Rochelle felt his stare before she even looked his way. Her eyes grazed across the table, expression unreadable, and locked briefly with Eric’s. No smile. No nod. Nothing. Just a subtle raising of her chin as she took a seat across the room, far enough to keep distance but close enough for him to see everything he’d lost.
Eric shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
He hadn’t expected her to attend this merger meeting. Their companies—hers and other companies in branding and in tech development—were all instrumental to the partnership forming between them in the labour market. It was another pure coincidence… or maybe fate. He wasn’t sure which, but now that she was here, he couldn’t ignore her.
From the moment she sat down, Rochelle knew what she was doing.
She leaned slightly forward when she spoke, her voice calm but authoritative.
She didn’t stumble, she didn’t let her eyes wander to Eric unless absolutely necessary. Even then, she treated him like any other professional in the room—polite but indifferent.
And that burned him more than silence ever could. She didn't look at him with any feeling of familiarity in her—he was just like a stranger to her. Eric tried to find moments to re-engage, little opportunities to make himself relevant.
He cracked jokes during breaks, some of which earned half-hearted chuckles from others, but Rochelle didn’t flinch.
He offered to pour her coffee, Rochelle declined with a faint, “I prefer tea,” not even sparing him a glance, and that hit him right in the chest. Her lack of attention was sharper than any insult. She remembered how easily he used to charm her, how quickly he could twist words and wear down her defenses.
But Rochelle wasn’t that woman anymore.
The woman sitting in that chair—poised, powerful, and radiant—had been forged from heartbreak and long nights spent piecing herself back together. She’d learned how to smile in spite of the ache, how to walk away with dignity even when she wanted to scream.
Now she was back in front of him, and all she could think about was making Eric feel what she had felt—regret, longing, the weight of something precious slipping through fingers too careless to hold on.
“I have to say, your branding team has done impressive work,” one of the board members said.
“Thank you,” Rochelle said with a smile on her face, her tone modest but confident. “We just know how to strategize and I’m grateful for my team.”
“Exactly,” the man nodded. “Authenticity. That’s the biggest gift in the industry.”
Eric smiled faintly at the compliment. It used to be his favorite thing about her—that she could see through the noise, find the truth of a message and sell it without losing its soul. It was why he fell in love with her in the first place.
He cleared his throat, daring to speak. “That insight… it’s always been her strength.”
There was a moment of pause in the room. Rochelle turned her head toward him, slowly. Their eyes met, but, her’s were cold, unreadable.
“Let’s stay focused on the proposal,” she said smoothly. “Personal commentary can wait until after business.”
The air thickened with tension for a second, and then just as quickly, the moment passed. Conversation resumed, but Eric’s expression dimmed.
He hadn’t expected forgiveness.
But he had hoped for something—maybe an opening, a flicker of old warmth. Instead, he got nothing. And it stung.
During the mid-day break, people trickled out of the room for lunch.
Eric lingered by the window, pretending to check his phone, stealing glances toward Rochelle as she stood near the coffee station, engaged in a quiet, animated conversation with a tall man from the legal team. She laughed—soft, genuine. That laugh used to be his.
She knew he was watching.
She positioned herself just right, letting the light catch the subtle shimmer of her lip gloss. She didn’t need to flirt.
The way she leaned in slightly, the way she touched her hair, was enough.
Just enough for Eric to wonder if she was seeing someone. Just enough to make him remember what it was like to have her attention—and what it cost to lose it.
He finally walked over, emboldened by a whisper of desperation.
“Rochelle,” he said softly, as if the sound of her name might bring her back to him.
She turned, slowly, her smile fading into professional neutrality. “Eric.”
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I could say the same,” she replied. Her tone was polite, but distant.
There was a silence, awkward and heavy.
“I must say, you look… amazing,” he tried.
“Thank you,” she said, glancing at her watch. “We should head back, I don't have much time to waste.”
“Rochelle,” he said quickly, his voice low, “Can we talk after this?”
Her gaze didn’t soften. “About what?”
“You know what.”
She paused. For a heartbeat, he saw something flicker in her expression—maybe pain, maybe nostalgia—but it was gone before he could place it.
“No, Eric,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I do.”
And with that, she turned and walked away, heels clicking against the floor like a countdown he could no longer control.
Eric stood frozen, watching her blend effortlessly into the crowd of professionals and suits, all of whom saw a brilliant strategist, a force in the corporate world.
But to him, she was still the woman who used to fall asleep in his arms, the one whose silence now hurt more than her anger ever could.
- Writer
