The Silence Was Loud.
1585 Words
Chapter Three
The Silence Was Loud.
She didn't remember how she got home.
The city lights blurred past the window of the cab. Her chest ached with every breath she took, and her head felt heavy—too full of everything, and nothing at all.
Asher knew.
Not everything.
But enough to make her world collapse.
“Alissa Williams.”
The name he said like a threat.
Like a promise.
Like he’d pull every thread until she unraveled.
She stood at her front door, hands trembling as she pushed the key in. The silence that greeted her wasn’t comforting tonight. It pressed against her like a second skin.
Alissa slid to the floor, back against the door, and pulled her knees into her chest. No makeup. No lashes. No smile to fake. Just her.
Just… her.
And she hated it.
Hated the way the quiet made her think.
Made her remember.
She used to fear a lot of things—falling in love, trusting people, being poor. But nothing scared her more than this:
Being completely alone with herself.
No distractions. No masks. No escape.
The kind of alone that echoes in your bones.
She turned her phone over in her hand.
No messages.
Not from her cousin.
Not from anyone.
Of course not. No one really knew her—not even her cousin. They knew the version she created. The girl who was always okay, always smiling, always "handling it."
But tonight, she wasn’t handling it.
She was drowning in it.
Her gaze landed on the broken picture frame by her nightstand. The one she never threw out.
Her mother’s face, caught mid-laugh.
Gone.
Just like her father.
Just like everyone else who ever saw through her.
Her hands began to shake again.
She wasn’t crying.
Not yet.
She hadn’t cried in years—not since she was thirteen, standing at that graveside with too many strangers and not enough love.
And now, here she was. Twenty-three.
Still pretending.
Still wearing names that didn’t belong to her.
Who was she… when no one was watching?
When there was no room full of people to impress, no boss to lie to, no man to seduce?
She was the girl who had no one.
And that was her biggest fear.
Suddenly, the air felt too thick. Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe.
She stumbled to the bathroom, gripping the sink, staring into her reflection.
Mascara smudged.
Lipstick gone.
Eyes wild.
She looked like a ghost.
“Who are you?” she whispered to the mirror.
It didn’t answer.
Of course it didn’t.
Because even the mirror didn’t recognize her.
She turned the tap, splashed water on her face, trying to wash away the panic, the shame, the weight of being seen—and known.
But water couldn't clean a cracked soul.
Her phone buzzed.
She grabbed it like a lifeline.
Unknown Number.
> “We’re not done, Alissa.”
Her heart sla
mmed against her ribs.
Asher.
Of course it was him.
Even her fear wasn’t hers alone anymore.
Alissa kept walking, her steps heavy, her breath fogging up the night air. The lights from the gala faded into a blur behind her. Her heels pinched, her purse strap dug into her shoulder, and her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall.
She didn’t want to go home. Not to her father’s empty mansion, not to the silent rooms that reeked of expectation and pretense. She needed space. Air. A place where she could feel like herself—whoever that even was anymore.
She stopped at a small park, half-lit and nearly deserted. Just the way she liked it. Her phone buzzed again. She didn’t need to check. It would be her father or her assistant or her brother’s cold “where are you?”
She sat on the bench, hugged herself, and tilted her face to the sky.
It was here, in the hush of midnight, that her biggest fear returned—not in a flash of violence or a crowd of strangers—but in the quiet: being alone with her thoughts.
The silence made her think. About her mother. About how everything she became was shaped by her absence. About the girl she used to be—the one who laughed loudly, sang off-key in the car, wore her hair in wild curls because her mum said it made her look like sunshine.
Gone. All of that was gone. Buried beneath power, image, control.
And now this—falling for a man who didn’t even know her name.
She exhaled shakily, reached for her necklace—her mother’s charm—but it wasn’t there. She froze. Her fingers searched desperately over her chest, neckline, collar.
Gone.
Panic gripped her.
No. No. No.
That necklace was the last thing her mum had given her before she passed. She had worn it to the gala for luck. And now—it was gone.
Her breath came faster, chest tightening as if the night itself was caving in.
She stood up too quickly, heart racing, scanning the street. The gala? Did it fall off at the gala?
She had to go back.
---
Ten minutes later, she was back outside the hotel, heels clicking against marble, chest heaving. The party had ended. Cleaners swept the floors. Security gave her a bored once-over.
“Miss, guests already left.”
“I just need to check the ballroom. I lost something.”
They hesitated, then let her through.
She stepped into the space, now eerily empty. Golden light reflected off polished floors. Her heart pounded.
She crawled between chairs, scanned under tables, moved stage cords. Nothing.
She finally spotted a glint near the bar—silver and delicate. Her heart leapt.
She rushed forward—and stopped.
Asher stood there, holding the necklace.
Frozen.
She couldn’t breathe.
He turned slowly, confused. “This was under one of the chairs. I didn’t know it was yours—”
Alissa took a step back, instinctively. Her mask was off. Literally, metaphorically. There was no hiding now. No more pretending.
His gaze narrowed. Recognition flickered. “Wait... you’re—?”
She didn't wait to hear the rest.
She ran.
Heart breaking, mask shattered, fear echoing through every step.
---
She ran.
Not gracefully or thoughtfully, just ran—heels clacking against the marble steps, dress catching the wind behind her like wings made of fear. The night air bit into her skin, sharp with shame and something dangerously close to regret.
Why did he have the necklace?
Why was he looking at her like that?
Why did her heart feel like it was sprinting toward something she wasn’t ready to face?
Alissa ducked into the back of the building where the shadows swallowed her whole. She leaned against a stone pillar, panting. The mask was still clutched in one trembling hand, now cracked along the edge. Fitting.
Her life was built on clean lines, perfect posture, and carefully chosen words. But tonight—tonight was raw.
She slid down the wall slowly until she sat on the ground, knees pulled to her chest.
Memories bled through the cracks.
---
Eight years old.
A girl hiding behind the kitchen curtain while her father slammed doors and blamed ghosts for her mother’s absence.
She’d stayed quiet, invisible.
Because being seen meant being hurt.
Being seen meant being left.
---
Tears pricked her eyes. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry tonight—not for a necklace, not for a man, not for a past she’d buried under ambition and pretty lies.
But Asher had seen her.
She wasn’t sure how much he saw, but that look—confused, tender, knowing—was too much.
“Alissa?”
The sound of her name was a whisper wrapped in thunder.
She froze.
His voice was close.
She didn’t respond, barely even breathed.
“Asher?” another voice called out. Probably one of the gala hosts or a friend. “Where did you go?”
Footsteps shuffled. Then silence.
He hadn’t seen her.
Not fully. Not yet.
Still hiding, huh? her mind whispered bitterly.
She waited several long minutes after the sounds faded before slowly standing up. Her body was stiff from the cold. Her mask was cracked. Her necklace was gone. Her walls were thinner.
And she hated it.
Alissa walked away from the gala grounds for the second time that night, each step heavier than the last. This time, she didn’t run. She walked—defeated, tired, vulnerable.
But the worst part?
A small part of her wanted to turn back.
To be seen again.
To be found.
---
When she finally got home, the apartment felt colder than usual. She hung the mask by her mirror—a silent reminder that tonight, she had almost taken it off completely.
In the dim light, she stared at her reflection.
No makeup.
No titles.
No curated smile.
Just her.
Just Alissa.
"Who are you if no one’s looking?" she whispered to the empty room.
The mirror offered no answer.
But her phone did.
It buzzed once.
A text from an unknown number.
“You dropped this.”
Attached was a photo.
Her necklace. Sitting on a coffee table next to a cup of tea.
And in the background… the faint outline of Asher’s suit.
She dropped the phone.
Her heart dropped next.
He knew.
He didn’t just suspect.
He knew.
And the worst part?
She didn’t feel fear.
She felt hope.
---
---
- Writer
