Chapter 10
1283 Words
THE CEO WHO BEGAN TO CRUMBLE
Ken Jones woke before his alarm. Not because he was rested. Because he hadn’t slept.
The city outside his penthouse windows glowed faintly with the early gold of dawn, but there was no warmth in it. The apartment felt hollow — a luxury cage stripped of everything that once made it a home.
He ran a hand over his face.
His eyes burned. His head ached.
His chest felt tight, like something inside him had caved in during the night.
He checked his phone again. No message from Mira.
He swallowed hard. “Mira… please,” he whispered into the empty room.
But the silence remained unbroken.
The blanket still carried her scent — a soft mix of lavender and fresh linen — but the space beside him remained untouched, its coldness mocking him.
Ken stood abruptly, as if the bed itself had become unbearable. He paced the living room, running a hand through his hair, replaying the night she walked away.
Her voice.
Her eyes.
Her certainty.
Now watch how beautifully I rise without you.
Those words sliced deeper than any scream could have.
He didn’t know which part hurt more — her leaving, or the terrifying realization that she had meant every syllable.
And he had no idea who he was without her.
***
By the time he arrived at his office, the sky had turned a pale winter blue. The building’s glass panels reflected the morning light, but nothing reflected inside him.
As he walked through the lobby, whispers trailed behind him like smoke.
“He looks horrible.”
“Didn’t he brag about his perfect marriage?”
“I heard his wife moved out.”
“Does this mean the mistress won?”
Ken’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.
He didn’t care about scandals before.
He fed off attention, thrived on admiration, navigated rumors with a smirk and a wink.
But today, their voices pierced him.
Today, their words confirmed the one truth he didn’t want to face:
Everyone could see his world falling apart.
He entered the executive floor, and his assistant scrambled to her feet.
“Good morning, sir—”
“Not now,” he barked, brushing past her before she could offer coffee or pity.
He shut his office door harder than necessary.
The silence inside was suffocating.
He loosened his tie, sank into his chair, and pulled out his phone.
Still nothing from Mira.
He typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Deleted.
Everything he wanted to say —
I’m sorry, please come back, I can’t do this without you, I’ll change, I’ll do anything — felt inadequate compared to the magnitude of what he had done.
For years, he took her love for granted.
Assumed she would always stay.
Assumed her patience was infinite.
Assumed her quietness was acceptance.
He had mistaken gentleness for weakness.
And now he was tasting the consequences.
***
A soft knock came at the door.
He inhaled sharply.
“Come in,” he forced out.
The door opened.
Chyna stepped in.
Of all people, she was the last person he wanted to see.
Her long, glossy hair fell over her shoulders perfectly.
Her lipstick was the exact shade of seduction she used when she first slipped her way into his life.
Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor.
“Ken…” she said gently, closing the door behind her.
He looked away, jaw tight.
“What do you want?”
“You didn’t answer any of my messages,” she said, her tone dripping with feigned concern. “I was worried.”
He laughed — harsh and hollow.
“Worried? Really?”
Her expression didn’t shift.
She approached him slowly, her voice softening.
“Ken, you look exhausted. Let me—”
“Don’t touch me.”
This time, his voice cracked.
Chyna froze mid-step.
A flicker — tiny but unmistakable — crossed her face.
Annoyance?
Frustration?
Disappointment?
Ken saw it.
And suddenly… everything sharpened.
For the first time, he saw clearly.
Saw the woman standing before him.
Saw the role she had played.
Saw the cracks he ignored.
Chyna wasn’t here out of love.
She wasn’t here out of remorse.
She was here because she had expected Mira to leave.
Because Mira’s absence meant opportunity.
Because she wanted his name, his status, his spotlight.
“How long,” he whispered, “have you been waiting for her to walk away?”
Her lips parted.
She didn’t deny it.
And that silence was confirmation enough.
Ken stood abruptly.
“I was a fool,” he said quietly.
Chyna blinked. “Ken—”
“A fool to think you cared about me.”
He shook his head, disgusted — not with her, but with himself.
“I threw away the one person who actually loved me for someone who saw me as convenience.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You’re being unfair.”
“And you,” he snapped, “helped me destroy my marriage.”
Her eyes flashed with irritation.
“You made choices too.”
“Yes,” he said flatly. “Terrible ones.”
And for once, there was no charm in him.
No arrogance.
No delusion.
Just cold, brutal honesty.
“Leave my office.”
Chyna hesitated, anger tightening her posture.
For the first time, she realized Ken was slipping out of her control.
That his guilt was stronger than her manipulation.
That Mira’s departure had changed him in ways she couldn’t anticipate.
She walked out silently, but the air she left behind felt colder.
***
Ken rubbed his temples as he stared at his laptop screen.
Numbers blurred.
Contracts made no sense.
People spoke around him in meetings, but their words didn’t land.
He couldn’t focus.
Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think straight.
Everything he once commanded so easily now slipped through his fingers.
Employees exchanged glances when he stumbled over simple instructions.
Investors frowned at his disheveled appearance.
Even his board members noticed the shift.
“Is everything alright, Ken?”
“You seem distracted lately.”
“Your performance is slipping.”
He lied.
He deflected.
He downplayed.
But when he returned to his office, he sagged into his chair, exhausted from pretending.
His phone buzzed again.
He snatched it.
But it wasn’t Mira.
It was Chyna.
We need to talk. This isn’t over.
He deleted the message.
Another buzz.
Ken lifted the phone with a spark of hope.
A mistake.
It was a reminder:
Board meeting at 3 PM.
Reality crashed in.
Mira wasn’t calling.
She wasn’t texting.
She wasn’t looking back.
She was already building a life that didn’t include him.
He felt it in his chest — the tightening, the panic, the c***k widening in the center of his ribs.
“I’m losing her,” he whispered shakily.
Then slowly, painfully:
“I already lost her.”
***
He stood in front of his office window, staring down at the city.
The same city where Mira now breathed freely.
The same city where she was rebuilding herself.
He thought of her hands typing again.
Her eyes lighting up at new ideas.
Her quiet strength when she chose to rise.
He had underestimated her silence.
Misread her gentleness.
Mistook her loyalty for weakness.
Now, her absence hollowed him out.
The truth was cruel:
He didn’t lose Mira overnight.
He lost her piece by piece.
Every late night.
Every excuse.
Every lie.
Every time he chose Chyna instead of coming home.
And now, he would spend his days — weeks — months — years realizing what he had thrown away.
And the most terrifying part?
Mira wasn’t breaking.
She was rising.
And he was only beginning to break.
- Writer
