Chapter 10
1100 Words
Stephen stepped out of the jewelry shop to take a call from the company—another update about the building structures and future plans for Kingsley Corporation. His voice was calm and professional, but his mind kept drifting back to Hope, waiting inside the store.
When the call finally ended, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned to head back inside. Even from a distance, he could hear voices—sharp, mocking voices that made his jaw tighten. He moved closer, his steps quickening as he caught the tail end of their cruel words.
“…Stephen would never waste money on you,” one of them was saying, her voice dripping with contempt.
He saw Hope’s face then—the way her bright expression faded, how the small sparkle in her eyes disappeared. She tried to step away from them, tried to avoid their barbed words, but they wouldn’t let her go.
“Running away already? Don’t tell me you’re too embarrassed to be seen here,” the other woman taunted, her lips curling in a cold smile.
Stephen didn’t even glance at them. His eyes were locked on Hope, her shoulders drawn in, her hands clutched tightly in front of her as if she were trying to make herself smaller. In that moment, something in him hardened—a protective fury he’d never quite understood before.
He walked up to her without a word, ignoring the two women entirely. His hand found Hope’s and he pulled her close, as if to shield her from their laughter.
“Take what you like,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “Anything you want.”
Hope looked up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering. She hesitated, then nodded, her voice so soft he almost didn’t hear her. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”
They left the jewelry store a few minutes later, Hope clutching a small box in her hand—a simple necklace with a delicate pearl pendant. Stephen noticed how she kept glancing down at it, her fingers tracing the smooth curve of the pearl.
“Is that all you wanted?” he asked, his tone gentle.
She looked up at him, a small, grateful smile on her lips. “Yes. Thank you.”
He nodded, and for a moment there was silence between them—comfortable, almost tender. But then he noticed how quiet she’d grown again, her shoulders drooping a little as they walked. He could tell she was trying to hide it, but the encounter had shaken her.
Without thinking, he took her hand again and led her down the bustling corridor of the mall. They stopped in front of an ice cream shop, the bright lights and sweet smell filling the air.
“Come on,” he said, guiding her inside.
They stepped up to the counter, and Stephen ordered a cone of cookies and cream for himself. He turned to Hope, his eyebrow raised. “What about you?”
“Avocado,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his for just a second before flicking away.
He blinked, surprised. “Avocado?” he repeated, a small smile tugging at his lips. Most girls he knew ordered chocolate or strawberry, maybe vanilla—never avocado.
She nodded, her lips curling in a small smile. “It’s my favorite.”
He didn’t comment, just placed the order and paid, then led her to a small table by the window. They sat together, the sun streaming in and painting their faces in warm light.
For a few minutes, they ate in silence, the soft clink of spoons against the paper cups the only sound between them. Stephen watched her as she savored each bite of her avocado ice cream, her expression thoughtful but calm.
Then he spoke, his voice low. “Don’t mind them, Hope,” he said, his tone firm but gentle.
She looked up at him, her spoon pausing. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and he thought maybe she wouldn’t. But then she smiled, a small, sad smile that made his chest ache.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I’m used to it.”
Something in him went still at her words. She said them so simply, as if it was normal—like it didn’t even matter anymore. But he could see it in her eyes, in the slight tremble of her fingers as she lifted the spoon to her lips. It did matter. It had always mattered.
Stephen set his spoon down and reached across the table, his hand closing around hers. Her skin was soft and cool against his, her fingers curling slightly at his touch.
“I’m sorry, Hope,” he said, his voice low and rough.
She looked at him, her eyes wide. “It’s not your fault,” she said softly, her voice gentle and sweet. “You don’t have to say sorry.”
But he did. Because seeing her like this—seeing how she’d grown used to being treated like she was nothing—it twisted something deep inside him. She shouldn’t have to get used to it. She shouldn’t have to endure it at all.
He studied her for a long moment, the way the afternoon light caught the soft curve of her cheek, the way her eyes held so much quiet strength even now. And in that moment, he saw it clearly—how kind she was, how forgiving. How she always tried to smile, even when the world tried to break her.
He didn’t say anything else. He just held her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. And in that small, simple touch, he tried to tell her everything he couldn’t put into words—that she mattered, that he saw her, and that he was sorry for every moment she’d ever felt small.
They sat there for a while longer, the ice cream slowly melting in their cups. Outside, the world bustled on—cars rushing by, people hurrying past, laughter and music drifting from the shops. But in that small corner by the window, it felt like time had slowed just for them.
When they finally stood to leave, Hope slipped her hand into his without a word. He squeezed her fingers lightly, then led her out of the shop and back into the warm afternoon sun.
As they walked, he glanced down at her and thought of that pearl pendant glinting softly at her throat—a small, fragile thing, but beautiful all the same.
Just like her.
- Writer
