When Power Knocks
1025 Words
When Power Knocks
IT took a full two minutes of suffocating silence before reality finally settled into the room.
Two whole minutes of nobody breathing properly, of eyes blinking too fast or not at all, of minds scrambling to make sense of the impossible sight standing in their doorway. Then, almost as if a silent alarm had gone off, chairs scraped loudly against the tiled floor as everyone jumped to their feet at once. The sudden movement filled the office with sharp, squeaky sounds, but none of it seemed to matter.
He didn’t even spare them a glance.
Eamon stood tall and immovable, his presence alone bending the atmosphere of the room. His gaze was fixed, undeniably and unmistakably, on Elena.
On the woman who had occupied his thoughts for three restless nights.
Elena, on the other hand, was still seated.
Shock had glued her to the chair, her fingers resting uselessly on the keyboard, her mind blank. The power in his stare made it impossible to move, impossible to think. It wasn’t until he began walking toward her, slow and deliberate, that the others awkwardly began lowering themselves back into their seats.
That movement snapped her out of it.
Elena scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking her chair backward as she stood. Her heart raced violently in her chest.
“Um… Mr… Mr. Eamon?” she stuttered, her voice barely steady as she avoided his gaze.
He stopped directly in front of her desk.
“Is this where the financial director’s office is located?” His deep baritone echoed through the room, calm yet commanding.
Her eyes flickered, confusion washing over her face.
“Fi… financial director?” she repeated weakly, her brain desperately searching for how that title had anything to do with her.
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “The financial director. Have you suddenly forgotten your promotion last Friday?”
Oh!
Her breath caught. Friday.
The club, the chaos, the betrayal, the kiss… the promotion.
Oh God! She had completely forgotten.
A murmur rippled through the office, barely audible, but present. Elena swallowed hard and shook her head.
“Mr. Eamon, I can’t,” she said firmly, lifting her chin and finally meeting his eyes.
His brows furrowed, a faint crease appearing between them.
“You can’t what?” he asked. “Sit in the office?”
A soft, almost nervous chuckle escaped her.
“I can’t do the job,” she clarified. “That is what I meant. I have no idea what a financial director does, so I can’t.”
Silence followed.
He studied her intently, as though peeling back layers no one else could see.
“You didn’t ask,” he said calmly. “You didn’t inquire. How do you expect to know?”
Elena glanced around instinctively. Her colleagues were pretending to work, but their ears were stretched wide, their attention glued to every word. Even the air felt like it was listening.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Eamon,” she said quietly. “I’m contented here.”
That was the truth. Or at least, the safest version of it.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
He simply stared at her, this woman who resisted him so effortlessly, who stood her ground in front of power without shaking, who had somehow found her way into the most guarded part of his existence without even trying.
He deeply sighed.
“You left the house without even a ‘good morning’,” he said softly. “Was that it, Elena?”
The words landed like a bomb.
Martha gasped.
Elena heard it. Clear as day.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
“I’m sorry again, Mr. Eamon,” she said quickly, her voice lower now. “I just didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”
His lips twitched, not quite a smile.
“We both know that is a lie,” he said calmly. Then, louder, “Come to my office. Immediately.”
And just like that, he turned and walked away, giving no further explanation and no backward glance.
He exited with the same elegance he had entered with, his aura lingering long after he was gone.
The moment the door closed, the room seemed to exhale. Sound and movement returned, life resumed.
Elena sank slowly back into her chair, her legs suddenly weak. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs.
What… was all this?
She lifted her gaze hesitantly. Only Martha was staring directly at her, eyes wide with shock and something dangerously close to envy. The moment their eyes met, Martha looked away, pretending to shuffle papers, but it was too late. Elena had seen it.
She was still seated, trying to gather her thoughts, when the door burst open again.
Clinton this time.
He stormed in like a wounded animal, rage radiating off him in waves. A stack of files was clutched tightly in his hands. Without a word, he marched straight to Elena’s desk and slammed them down with a loud bang.
The sound echoed.
Elena didn’t flinch. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even look up at him. Her eyes remained fixed on the files… on her desk.
Clinton stood there, breathing heavily, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing with fury. He said nothing, but the hatred in his stare spoke volumes. For several long seconds, he simply glared at her, as if daring her to react, but she didn’t.
With a frustrated growl, he spun on his heel and stormed out of the office.
Elena released a slow breath, not of relief, but of sheer exhaustion. She glanced at her wristwatch.
Time.
She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor, and stood. Without another word, she looked down at her desk and walked out of the office, her back straight despite the weight pressing down on her chest.
The door closed behind her.
The moment she was gone, Martha’s composure shattered.
She clenched her teeth, her manicured nails digging into her palms as anger flared across her face.
“How the hell is she doing this?” she snapped, her voice low and bitter, asking no one in particular.
- Writer
