Chapter 9: Cracks
1177 Words
By the end of the week, I noticed it. Not something obvious. Not something anyone else would point out. But it was there.
In the pauses. In the looks. In the way people reacted when he walked into a room.
Ethan Blackwood controlled everything. And everyone. Except—
Me.
And that was the problem.
Because the more I held my ground—
The more attention it brought.
“You’re being watched.”
I didn’t even look up this time.
Adrian. Again.
“I’m working,” I said calmly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I stopped typing. Slowly looked up.
“Then what do you mean?”
A brief pause. Then—
“You’re different.”
I almost sighed.
“Is everyone going to keep saying that?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
Of course it wasn’t.
I leaned back slightly. “Then say something useful.”
Adrian studied me for a second. Then—
“He doesn’t ignore things he doesn’t understand.”
My chest tightened slightly.
“And?”
“And right now… that’s you.”
I held his gaze.
“And what exactly am I supposed to do about that?”
“Nothing.”
That made me pause.
“Nothing?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” he said calmly. “Because anything you do now will be seen as a reaction.”
And there it was. The problem.
I frowned slightly. “So I just… exist?”
“For now.”
I exhaled quietly.
“I don’t like that.”
“I know.”
Then he walked away.
Like he always did.
Dropping something heavy—
And leaving me to carry it.
I tried to follow that advice. I really did. Keep things neutral. Professional. Unreactive.
But it wasn’t as easy as it sounded.
Because Ethan didn’t make it easy.
“Ava.”
I closed my eyes briefly before looking up.
“Yes?”
“My office.”
Of course. Again.
I stood, ignoring the slight tension that had become all too familiar, and made my way down the hallway.
This was becoming a pattern. And I didn’t like patterns I didn’t control.
He didn’t waste time this time. The moment I stepped in—
“Close the door.”
I did. Slowly. Deliberately.
Then turned back to face him.
“What do you need?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Just watched me. Again. Like he was waiting for something.
I didn’t give it.
“Sit,” he said.
I stayed standing.
“I’d prefer to stand.”
A pause. Then—
“Sit.”
Same tone. Same control.
I held his gaze for a second longer. Then sat. Not because he told me to. Because I chose to. That mattered. Even if it was small.
“You’re adapting,” he said.
“I’ve been adapting.”
“Not like this.”
I frowned slightly. “You said that before.”
“Yes.”
“And I still don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re quieter.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re careful.”
“That’s called being professional.”
“You’re avoiding.”
That—
That made something in me snap slightly.
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
“You are.”
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m doing my job.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“Then look at me.”
I stilled.
Because I was already looking at him.
But not like that. Not fully. Not directly. Not in the way he meant.
“I am,” I said.
“No,” he said quietly. “You’re not.”
Silence. Thick. Heavy.
Then slowly—
I lifted my gaze fully to his. No hesitation. No distance. Nothing held back.
“There,” I said. “Satisfied?”
A pause. Longer this time. Something shifted in his expression. Subtle. But real.
“Better,” he said.
My chest tightened slightly. I didn’t like that. The way something as simple as eye contact felt like—more.
“Is there something work-related you called me for?” I asked.
A beat. Then—
“Yes.”
Finally.
He slid a document across the desk.
“Review this.”
I reached for it, flipping it open. The numbers—
Something was off. Not obvious. But enough.
“This doesn’t match the projections from yesterday,” I said.
“It doesn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it was changed.”
I looked up. “Without review?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a risk.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then—
“You caught it quickly,” he added.
“I’m doing my job.”
“You’re doing more than that.”
I ignored that.
“This needs to be corrected,” I said.
“It will be.”
Another pause. Then—
“You’re good under pressure.”
“I don’t panic easily.”
“I’ve noticed.”
That again. That same tone. Like everything I did was being catalogued. Measured. Stored.
I closed the file.
“Anything else?”
A beat. Then—
“Yes.”
Of course.
“You’re pulling away.”
I stared at him.
“That’s not work-related.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
“Then it’s not relevant.”
“It is to me.”
My chest tightened slightly.
“That doesn’t make it appropriate.”
“Everything here is appropriate.”
“No,” I said firmly. “It’s not.”
Silence. Heavy. Tense.
Then—
“You’re creating distance,” he said.
“I’m maintaining boundaries.”
“Same thing.”
“No,” I replied. “Not even close.”
A pause. Then—
“You think distance will protect you.”
My fingers tightened slightly on the file.
“I’m not trying to be protected.”
“You are.”
“That’s your assumption.”
“It’s my observation.”
I stood. This time, I didn’t wait.
“I’m going back to work,” I said.
“Ava.”
I stopped. Not turning yet.
“Running won’t help.”
I turned slowly.
“I’m not running.”
“You are.”
“No,” I said. “I’m choosing what matters.”
His gaze held mine. Steady. Unmoving.
“And I don’t?” he asked quietly.
That—
That caught me off guard.
Because it didn’t sound like a challenge. It sounded like something else. Something I wasn’t ready to answer.
“I didn’t say that,” I replied carefully.
“You didn’t have to.”
Silence.
Then—
I turned and walked out.
Because staying there—trying to define something I didn’t understand—was dangerous.
And as I walked back to my desk, one thought settled clearly in my mind.
This wasn’t just tension anymore.
It wasn’t just control.
It wasn’t even just resistance.
It was something breaking. Slowly. Quietly. But definitely.
And I didn’t know which one of us would crack first.
- Writer
