chapter nine: Splinters
845 Words
The apartment was too quiet after the storm.
Mira stood frozen in place, her hands clenched at her sides, heart still racing from the confrontation. Charles hadn’t kicked her out—but he might as well have. The emotional distance between them now felt like an entire continent.
She watched his silhouette by the window for one more second. Then turned and left.
The next morning, Charles didn’t speak to her.
Not at breakfast. Not in the car to the office. Not during the board meeting where she usually sat beside him.
She was now two chairs away.
His voice, when directed at her, was clipped. Polite. Distant.
Professional.
Which somehow hurt more than anger would have.
She’d known this would happen eventually—when her cover cracked, when her editor pushed too hard, when the story started to bleed into something real—but she hadn’t been prepared for the sheer emptiness of losing his trust.
---
✦ Mira’s POV: The Backlash
Back at her apartment that night, Mira opened her inbox.
New message: J.K.
> “Running out of time. Give me something or this story gets reassigned. You don’t want to waste months for nothing.”
Her fingers hovered over the keys.
Then slowly, she typed:
> “The story’s bigger than we thought. It’s not just corporate corruption. There’s something else—someone’s manipulating the inside. I need more time.”
She stared at the message.
Did she believe that? That she was still after corruption? Or was this just an excuse to stay in Charles’s world a little longer?
Maybe it was both.
---
✦ Charles’s
Charles didn’t sleep.
Not that night. Not the next.
He reread the old messages. Checked Mira’s background again—too clean. Too convenient. A glossy résumé that fit too well. Who vetted her?
Then he remembered something Sinclair once said before walking away from Remington & Co.:
> “You always believe the best in people, Charles. That’s why you’re the perfect puppet.”
The insult didn’t sting then.
Now it echoed.
Was he being played again? First Sinclair, now Mira?
But the worst part wasn’t the lie.
It was how much of it he wanted to be real.
The next week passed in slow, careful detachment.
Charles didn’t fire her. Mira didn’t leave.
They existed like twin planets in the same orbit—close, but never touching.
Until Friday night.
A black-tie fundraiser. Hosted by Remington & Co. A mandatory appearance.
Mira arrived in a sleek silver dress. Her eyes searched for Charles, but he was already surrounded by board members and political donors.
She didn’t belong there anymore. But she still smiled, still played the role—like nothing had changed.
But Charles noticed.
Noticed the tremble in her hands when she accepted a flute of champagne. Noticed how she avoided his eyes when he passed her.
He didn’t say a word.
Until she stepped out onto the balcony to get some air.
He followed.
The Manhattan skyline glittered in the distance. Mira gripped the railing like a lifeline.
Charles stood behind her.
“You’re still here,” he said.
She turned. “You didn’t ask me to leave.”
“I thought about it.”
She nodded. “Then why didn’t you?”
He stepped closer, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the tension coil between them.
“Because I’m still trying to figure out what hurts more,” he said quietly. “That you lied. Or that I believed every damn word you said.”
Mira’s eyes shone in the moonlight. “I didn’t lie about everything.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
She hesitated. Then, “I was sent to investigate you. Remington & Co. Your empire. Your practices. But the story I found wasn’t about you being the villain. It was about the people around you.”
Charles stiffened. “Who?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have proof. Yet.”
He studied her. “And if I asked you to stop digging?”
“I’d consider it.”
He raised a brow. “Just consider?”
“I never said I stopped caring about the truth, Charles. I just care about you, too.”
The silence stretched.
Then he stepped back, breaking eye contact.
“We’re past the point where either of us can walk away clean, Mira.”
She swallowed. “Then don’t walk away.”
---
Later that night, Charles sat alone in his office. He picked up his phone and made a call.
“Get me everything you can on internal transfers over the last year. Especially linked to Sinclair or any of the board.”
Pause.
“And keep it quiet. No leaks.”
He hung up, jaw tight.
He still didn’t know if he could trust Mira.
But something inside him—the last flicker of hope—refused to believe she was the real threat.
The real enemy was still hiding in plain sight.
And Charles Remington wasn’t about to get burned again.
- Writer
