The Cracked phone Lies
1358 Words
Chapter 7
At night, Lucy stared at her phone like it was an accomplice in a crime. A thin crack ran from the top right corner all the way down the center of the screen, splintering the glass like a promise that had broken clean in two.
She had deliberately dropped it twice on the bathroom tiles until the screen finally gave way. The second drop echoed sharply against the walls, making her wince. Not out of guilt… but because it sounded so final. She placed the phone carefully on her dresser, looking at it as if it were her ticket to freedom.
She needed a respectable reason to go to Davidson Industries. One her father would accept without suspicion, without that pointed, heavy look he gave her when she appeared in the building for no reason.
She wasn’t going for no reason this time. She was going because she had a cracked phone and a believable story.
Lucy slipped the damaged device into her bag and headed out. The drive to the office felt annoyingly contradictory—too fast and too slow all at once. Too fast because she still hadn’t rehearsed what she would say if she… accidentally ran into him. Too slow because her mind kept replaying the way he looked—the quiet concentration that made everything around him feel calmer.
“Stop that,” she scolded herself. “This trip is about the phone. Nothing else.”
When the car pulled up to the glass facade reflecting the morning sun, Lucy stepped out and tilted her chin up. The cool lobby air washed over her, refreshing and humiliating at the same time, because her eyes immediately swept the room before she had even taken three steps. She was scanning for him, and she hated how easily her body betrayed her.
She spotted Brian almost immediately, but forced her gaze away and walked straight toward the private elevator.
Lucy never needed an announcement. She walked into the executive suite, and Arthur Davidson looked up from his desk. Broad shoulders, calm authority, and eyes that softened only when they landed on her.
“Lucy.” He set aside his pen. “What brings you here? You didn’t call.”
“I know, Father.” She leaned in, kissed his cheek, and sank into the chair opposite him. “Something happened.”
She pulled the shattered phone from her bag and placed it on the mahogany desk. Arthur picked it up, clicking his tongue in disapproval.
“What happened to this?”
“It fell from the bathroom windowpane,” she said smoothly.
He studied her face briefly, checking for exaggeration, but Lucy kept her expression perfectly neutral. Finally, he nodded.
“You need a new phone then.”
“Yes, please.”
“Go to the Apple store downstairs and pick whatever you want,” Arthur said, reaching for his wallet. “I will come with you—I just need to finish signing these documents first.”
Lucy’s heart sank. “You don't have to come, Father. I can just—”
“I’ll come,” he said kindly but firmly. “Give me ten minutes.”
Lucy smiled, stood, and left the office. She had expected him to hand her a card, not accompany her. Refusing would only raise questions she couldn’t answer.
Returning to the lobby, she felt that unavoidable, familiar pull. Before she could redirect her steps toward the entrance, her feet carried her toward the sales counter. Brian was finishing with a customer when she stopped a polite distance away. Close enough to see him clearly; far enough to pretend she wasn’t there for him.
The customer left, and Brian straightened a display item. As if he felt her presence, he looked up.
Their eyes met. That strange, quiet shift she couldn’t explain happened again.
“Miss Davidson,” he greeted politely. “Good morning.”
“Brian.” Her voice came out softer than intended. “You’re in today.”
“I’m always in,” he said gently.
“I know.” The words slipped out too fast. A soft flicker moved behind his eyes—barely visible, but unmistakable.
“Is there something you need?” he asked.
“I’m waiting for my father,” she replied, lifting the cracked device as proof. “We’re going to the Apple Store. My phone is broken.”
He glanced at the splintered glass. “That’s a bad crack. Does it still work?”
“Barely,” she sighed. “The left side of the screen doesn't respond.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s the worst kind of damage. The phone still functions, but not fully. It makes everything harder than it should be.”
Lucy looked at him, because something about the way he said it struck deeper than it should.
“Yes,” she murmured, gazing at him. “It does.”
Then she asked, a little too softly, “If you were buying a phone… what would you choose?”
He seemed surprised, but he considered it seriously. “Something durable,” he said at last. “I’m practical. Not everyone is.”
“But what about what you want? Not what’s practical?”
The smallest shift crossed his face—like a thought he wouldn’t normally allow to show. “Those two things don’t always line up.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But which one wins?”
A long, heavy silence followed.
“Practicality,” he said, his voice firming up. “It has to.”
“That sounds lonely,” Lucy murmured.
He didn’t look away. He looked into her, and for a moment, she felt seen in a way that made her breath catch.
“Lucy…”
She froze. It was her father’s voice.
She shifted immediately, her body angling toward the entrance with a casual posture, as if she had merely been waiting near the counter and not having a charged, breath-held conversation.
Her father crossed the lobby, his gaze sweeping the area before landing briefly on Brian. Brian straightened immediately.
“Sir,” he greeted with a respectful nod.
Arthur Davidson gave him a polite, entirely unbothered acknowledgment—the kind a king gives a servant.
“Ready?” her father asked.
“Yes, Father,” she replied.
She picked up her bag without looking back. She allowed her father to guide her toward the exit, his hand heavy on her shoulder. But as they walked out, she couldn’t help wondering about what he had said.
He said he always chose practicality over what he wanted… did that mean he had just described a life I didn’t know how to step into?
The transition from the cold corporate air to the blinding glare of the afternoon sun felt like a slap. Lucy let out a quiet breath, her fingers tightening around her purse strap as her father unlocked the car.
"You're quiet today, Lucy," Arthur remarked, throwing a brief glance her way as he pulled out into traffic.
"Just thinking about the book I'm writing, Father," she lied smoothly, staring out the window at the passing city skyline.
Her heart was still beating at a frantic rhythm, the memory of Brian's intense, unyielding gaze lingering behind her eyelids. He was just a sales representative on paper, a practical man living a practical life. But every time their paths crossed, the air grew thick with unspoken promises.
Practicality wins. It has to.
The words echoed bitterly in her mind. If Brian knew the kind of dark corporate trap she was truly walking into, would he still tell her to choose the practical path? Her father was already pulling strings behind closed doors, tightening the golden handcuffs of high society around her wrists.
By the time they reached the store, the weight of her reality had settled heavily over her shoulders. She picked out a sleek, new device without much care for the color or specs. It didn't matter. The broken screen was gone, replaced by a flawless piece of glass, but the fracture inside her own life was only growing wider.
- Writer
