THE RIVAL
902 Words
The city was gray at dawn. Clara left her apartment before the streets filled. She walked fast to the station. Her routine was exact. Train, walk, lobby, elevator. The pattern steadied her. She wanted control.
The building loomed again. She passed security and entered the elevator. Her reflection stared back. She pressed the top floor and gripped her bag tighter.
Her office door held a stack of files. A note on top. Adrian’s handwriting was sharp. Summarize by ten. Meeting at eleven. Prepare a briefing sheet.
She sat. Her pen moved across the pages. She wrote clean lines, typed figures, and outlined risk. By nine-thirty the folder was done. She straightened her skirt and walked into Adrian’s office.
He was at his desk, head bent over a file. He gestured for her to sit. She placed the notes in front of him. He read them without comment. When he finished, he placed them on the desk.
“Direct. Useful,” he said.
She nodded.
“You will attend the meeting. You will sit at my side. Take notes. Speak if I ask.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned back to his work. She returned to her desk, but her chest felt tight.
By eleven the staff began to file into the boardroom. The table was long, the walls lined with glass. Clara took a seat near Adrian. She laid her notebook in front of her. Executives shuffled papers. Voices were clipped.
Adrian entered last. His presence silenced the room. He sat at the head. “Begin.”
Reports followed. Clara wrote fast. Each speaker summarized trends and projections. She caught details and kept her notes neat.
Then the door opened.
A man walked in. His steps were calm, his suit dark, his smile easy. He glanced around the room before his eyes settled on her. He held her stare too long.
Clara froze.
Ethan Voss.
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Late.”
Ethan shrugged. “Traffic.”
He slid into a chair across the table. His eyes drifted to Clara again, then back to Adrian. His presence pulled the room into silence for a moment before the reports resumed.
Clara forced herself to keep writing. But she felt him watching. Each time she glanced up, his eyes found hers. He smiled faintly.
When it was his turn to speak, his tone was smooth. His numbers sounded confident, his delivery relaxed. Executives nodded. Adrian did not. Adrian’s stare was sharp, his expression unreadable.
Clara tried to focus on the content, but the weight of Ethan’s eyes unsettled her. She pressed harder into her notes. Her hand shook once, and she steadied it.
After an hour, Adrian closed the meeting. “We are done.”
The executives began to leave. Ethan stayed in his chair. His gaze swept across the table, stopping at Clara again.
Adrian stood. “You heard me.”
Ethan rose slowly. “Of course.” He stepped closer to Clara. Adrian watched him.
“This is my assistant, Clara Hayes,” Adrian said flatly.
Ethan smiled. He extended his hand. Clara hesitated, then placed hers in his. His grip was firm, warm. He held it longer than polite.
“A pleasure,” he said softly.
“Likewise,” she forced out.
His eyes gleamed.
Adrian’s voice cut. “Leave.”
Ethan released her hand, slow, as if marking the moment. He looked at Adrian. “Until next time.”
At the door he glanced back at Clara, smirking. Then he walked out.
The silence in the room was sharp. Adrian looked at her. His words were precise. “Do not let him distract you. He feeds on weakness.”
She held her voice steady. “Understood.”
“Stay focused.”
She nodded and left the room. Her chest pounded as she closed the door behind her.
Back at her desk, she set her notes down and stared at the screen. Her mind replayed the moment. His eyes. His voice. His grip. She pressed her hands flat on the desk. She told herself to breathe.
Hours passed. Adrian called her in once more for corrections. She worked fast and precise. By five, her tasks were done. She packed her bag. She told herself the day was over.
The elevator carried her down. At the lobby, she stepped out.
“Clara.”
The voice made her stop.
He stood near the wall, hands in his pockets. Calm, as if waiting.
Her body stiffened.
“You should not be here,” she said.
“I had to see you.”
“You do not know me.”
He stepped closer. His eyes locked on hers. “I do.”
She turned away.
“Lila.”
The name froze her.
Her throat closed. Her pulse raced. She spun to face him.
His smile widened. “Told you I knew you.”
Her voice came low. “Do not call me that.”
“What should I call you? Clara?” His tone lingered.
She said nothing. She walked toward the doors.
His words followed. “See you soon, Lila.”
She pushed through the glass doors into the night. Cold air struck her face. Her steps were quick.
She told herself to keep moving. Get home. Lock the door. Stay hidden.
But she knew.
Her past had followed her.
It now walked the same halls as her.
And it spoke her name aloud.
- Writer
