Silence
855 Words
“Thank you for coming, Miss Santori.”
That was all Adrian Vale gave her.
No smile.
No “we’ll be in touch.”
Not even a glance that lingered long enough to suggest anything.
Velvet walked out like it didn’t matter.
She kept her shoulders back, her chin level, heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome for calm.
She held her portfolio with the kind of grip that said I belong here,
Even when her stomach tightened with the truth—she had no idea if she’d just impressed him or irritated him.
At reception, the woman behind the desk offered a polite smile. “Did it go alright?”
Velvet returned an equally polite one. “It was… informative.”
Elevator doors slid open.
And when they shut behind her, when the world narrowed into mirrored walls and soft music, the mask cracked—just slightly.
Maybe you talked too much.
Maybe you were too bold.
Maybe you looked like you were trying too hard.
She hated the thoughts the way she hated unpaid bills—persistent, humiliating, impossible to ignore.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her best friend, Amelia “Mills” Milton:
HOW DID IT GO?? I’m pacing. I’ve eaten three grapes and I feel like a Victorian woman awaiting a telegram.
Velvet exhaled through her nose, almost smiling.
He barely reacted. Like viewing a wall that’s rich.
Mills replied instantly:
That’s his brand. “Emotionally Unavailable Billionaire: Corporate Edition.” You did your best. That’s enough.
Velvet stared at the text.
That’s enough.
It should have been enough.
But she wasn’t built for “enough.” She was built for survival. For pushing until the door opened, because if she didn’t, nobody else was going to open it for her.
Outside the building, London's air was sharp and clean in that expensive-district way. Velvet stood for a moment, looking up at Vantage Veloré Group, and forced herself to breathe.
Then she did what she always did when she felt her confidence slipping.
She went back to routine.
⸻
That night, she cooked pasta because it was what she had.
Her son—small, bright-eyed, too observant—sat at the table swinging his legs, doing homework with exaggerated seriousness.
“Did you get the job?” he asked without looking up.
Velvet paused.
Children are terrifying. They asked questions like they weren’t afraid of answers.
“I don’t know yet,” she said gently.
He frowned. “But you’re smart.”
Her throat tightened.
“So are you,” she replied, reaching to tap his pencil lightly. “Now focus. What’s seven times eight?”
He groaned. “Why do numbers exist?”
She laughed, real this time, and it warmed something in her chest.
Later, after bedtime stories and a kiss on his forehead, Velvet returned to her tiny kitchen table and opened her laptop.
She applied for two more jobs.
Not because she wanted them.
Because she refused to let hope make her lazy.
Day One passed.
Nothing.
Day Two arrived.
Still nothing.
It shouldn’t have bothered her. Not really.
But it did.
It bothered her because she couldn’t tell whether Adrian Vale had dismissed her—or whether he was the kind of man who liked to make people wait because waiting put them beneath him.
By the second night, she caught herself checking her phone too often, like a bad habit.
Mills called.
“Tell me everything,” her best friend demanded. “And don’t skip the details, Velvet. I want the whole vibe.”
Velvet leaned back in her chair. “He’s… quiet.”
“Quiet men are always the ones with secrets.”
“He didn’t flirt. Didn’t compliment. Didn’t even pretend to be impressed.”
“And yet you’re thinking about it.”
Velvet went silent.
Mills softened. “Listen. You did what you could. If he calls, he calls. If he doesn’t, you’ll still be Velvet Santori. Still brilliant. Still a mother who turns chaos into order.”
Velvet’s eyes stung unexpectedly.
She blinked hard. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Promise me you won’t spiral.”
“I won’t.”
The moment she hung up, her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Velvet stared.
Her heartbeat surged like it recognized danger.
She answered on the second ring, voice calm by force.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then—
“Miss Santori.”
That voice.
Low. Controlled. Like he was speaking from behind a locked door.
“Yes?”
“I dislike inefficiency,” Adrian Vale said. “So I’ll be direct. You start Monday.”
Velvet sat very still.
No excitement. No congratulations. No warmth.
Just a decision.
“Understood,” she said, because she refused to sound relieved.
A pause.
Then, “Eight a.m.”
“I’ll be there.”
Another pause—long enough to feel like he was listening to her breathing.
“And Miss Santori?”
“Yes?”
“Wear the lavender again.”
The line went dead.
Velvet stared at her phone.
Then she whispered, almost to herself, “So you did notice.”
- Writer
