CHAPTER FIVE: Black Coffee & Bitter Truths
1082 Words
Claire was up before the sun.
She dressed quickly, careful not to wake Anne, and prepared a simple breakfast. By the time her sister stirred with a sleepy yawn, Claire had already packed her bag. She gently helped Anne into her clothes, checked her temperature—normal—and whispered, “We’re going to Elsa’s today, okay? Just for a few more days until you’re better.”
Anne nodded, still groggy. Claire kissed her forehead.
By 7:00 AM, they were on the move. She dropped Anne off at Elsa’s with a grateful smile, then made her way to the Morningstar Tower.
It was Monday.
Her first official day.
She wanted to arrive before her boss. It was the least she could do.
When she reached the 42nd floor, the office was still quiet. The city was just waking up, but Claire was already in motion. One of the senior assistants showed her to her desk just outside Luke Morningstar’s private office—a sleek corner space with a breathtaking view and an even more intimidating silence.
“This is where you’ll work,” the assistant said. “Bring Mr. Morningstar his coffee by 8:30. Black. No milk. No cream. No sugar. Don’t mess that up.”
Claire smiled tightly. “Got it.”
She spent the next half hour settling in, memorizing the day’s schedule, and familiarizing herself with the digital system. At exactly 8:25, she walked to the executive lounge, made his coffee with shaking hands, and headed toward the double oak doors of Luke Morningstar’s office.
A sharp knock. Then a low voice: “Come in.”
Claire stepped in.
He sat behind a massive glass desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He didn’t look up.
“Good morning, sir,” Claire said, setting the coffee on his desk. “You have three calls this morning, a finance meeting at ten, a product development review at noon, and a board briefing by three.”
He didn’t respond immediately.
He just… stared.
His grey eyes were empty but stormy, like a sea before it breaks. Claire stood still, unsure if she’d said something wrong.
Then, finally, Luke exhaled.
“Cancel all of it.”
“Sir?”
“The meetings. The calls. Push everything to tomorrow.”
Claire blinked. “Yes, sir.”
She turned and left without another word, but the silence he left behind felt heavy. Weighted.
Back at her desk, she focused on work, but her mind lingered. Something about his eyes…
Something was wrong.
Inside his office, Luke leaned back in his chair and pulled out his phone. He hesitated before pressing “Call.”
The line rang.
“Good morning, son,” came his father’s deep voice.
Luke’s throat tightened. “So… she told me.”
There was a pause. “I see.”
“You knew all along?” Luke’s voice was quiet, but sharp.
“Yes,” his father sighed. “She asked me not to say anything. She didn’t want to burden you.”
“She’s dying, Dad.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“I wanted to. But she made me promise. You’ve always been close to her. She didn’t want to break your heart before she had to.”
Luke said nothing.
His father added, “I’m sorry, Luke. I truly am.”
The line went dead a minute later.
By ten o’clock, Mark arrived. He didn’t need an invitation to enter.
“Any word from the hospital?” he asked.
Luke shook his head. “Not yet.”
Mark took a seat, pulling out a thick folder. “Alright, let’s get your mother her dying wish.”
Luke arched a brow.
“A contract marriage,” Mark said flatly. “I’ve drawn up a list of potential candidates. Women from reputable families. Clean records. Polished reputations. No scandals. We reach out by tomorrow, start screening.”
Luke didn’t even look at the file.
Mark tilted his head. “You sure you’re not interested in… her?”
“Who?”
Mark gestured toward the door with his chin. “Your new secretary. Claire.”
Luke scoffed. “That low-life?”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “She’s smart. Composed. Doesn’t look like she’s trying to seduce you. And you clearly remember her.”
Luke’s jaw tightened. “That’s irrelevant.”
“Is it?”
Luke didn’t answer. He didn’t want to admit he’d thought of her the night before. Or that her voice calmed something he hadn’t realized was tense.
“She wouldn’t survive a week with my family,” he muttered.
Mark smirked. “She might surprise you.”
Later that evening, Claire knocked once more on Luke’s office door.
“Come in,” he said, his voice softer this time.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving for the day,” Claire said. “Everything’s been updated and moved to tomorrow’s schedule.”
He looked up, slightly startled. “You’ve been here this whole time?”
She gave a small smile. “Yes, sir. That’s my job.”
Luke nodded, dismissing her with a quiet “Good night.”
As she left, Mark turned to Luke again. “Still sure?”
Luke didn’t respond.
Too much noise in his mind.
By the time Claire picked up Anne from Elsa’s house, the sun was already fading. She walked through their apartment door, shoes in hand, shoulders aching.
Anne curled up on the couch, already drowsy.
Claire made dinner, cleaned up, and finally collapsed into bed beside her sister. The day had gone smoothly, but something about her boss’s eyes stayed with her.
There was pain behind them.
Something deep. And old.
Still, it wasn’t her place to wonder.
She closed her eyes.
[…]
She closed her eyes.
But sleep didn’t come easily.
And when the dream came, it was always the same.
She was eleven again, walking into her father’s study after school. The door creaked open, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the floor. She remembered calling his name.
No answer.
Books were scattered. The window was open. The room smelled… off.
And then she saw him.
Hanging.
Still. Silent.
Suspended in the air like a ghost that refused to leave.
Claire jolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath caught in her throat.
She lay still for a moment, blinking at the ceiling.
Some nightmares weren’t born from fear.
They were born from memory
- Writer
