Chapter Two – Unspoken
1319 Words
Smith Johnson had built an empire with Bey.
But he had never built the courage to tell her he loved her.
The office lights were dim now, the city skyline glittering beyond the glass walls of Spark Wave Advertising. It was past 9 p.m., but late nights were their norm. Deadlines did not respect daylight.
Bey sat cross-legged on the couch in her office, heels abandoned somewhere near the printer, laughing at something on her phone.
Smith tried not to notice how soft her laugh had become lately.
“Who’s funny?” he asked, leaning against the door frame.
She looked up, her eyes bright. “Remember the guy I told you about? The one from the seminar?”
Something inside his chest tightened.
He kept his tone easy. “The human bulldozer?”
She threw a pen at him. “It was an accident!”
“So, Bulldozer has a name?”
“Michael.”
The way she said it was light. Casual.
But Smith had known her since she was thirteen. He could read the shift in her voice like a familiar melody.
“Oh,” he replied, walking in. “And what does Michael do?”
She shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure.”
That made him pause.
“You don’t know?”
“He’s private,” she said thoughtfully. “Not in a suspicious way. Just intentional.”
Smith sat down opposite her, studying her expression.
Private men had layers. Layers meant secrets. Secrets meant trouble.
“Bey,” he began carefully, “you don’t find it strange? No LinkedIn flexing? No career bragging?”
She smirked. “Not everyone introduces themselves with their résumé, Smith.”
“True. But most people don’t avoid the question entirely.”
She tilted her head. “Why are you interrogating him? I thought you said I needed to meet someone interesting.”
He forced a chuckle. “I did. I just didn’t expect it to happen this fast.”
Silence lingered.
She went back to her phone.
And smiled again.
That smile.
Smith had worked for it for years.
Stayed up all night helping her edit proposals. Defended her when clients underestimated her. Believed in her before investors did.
And now a stranger with steady eyes and a mysterious job had it in a week.
He hated himself for the bitterness creeping into his thoughts.
“You like him,” he said quietly.
She didn’t deny it.
“I like talking to him,” she corrected. “It’s easy.”
Easy.
The word echoed louder than it should have.
Nothing about loving Bey had ever been easy for Smith.
It had been patient.
It had been silent.
It had been disciplined.
He nodded. “Just be careful.”
She looked up at him then, really looked.
“You don’t trust him?”
He hesitated.
The truth wasn’t about Michael.
It was about losing her.
“I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t make their intentions clear,” he finally said.
Her expression softened. “You’ve always been protective.”
If only you knew why.
Later that night, after she left, Smith remained in the office alone.
The cleaning staff moved quietly in the hallway. The city hummed below.
He stared at the framed photo on his desk.
Two teenagers in oversized graduation gowns, grinning as the world belonged to them.
Bey’s arm was slung around his shoulder.
He remembered that day vividly.
She had whispered, “One day we’ll run the biggest agency in this city.”
He had replied, “As long as I’m running it with you.”
He hadn’t added the rest.
As long as I’m running life with you.
His phone buzzed.
A notification from social media.
Someone had tagged Spark Wave in a seminar post.
He clicked.
There she was.
Standing beside a tall man in a candid background shot.
Michael.
Even in a blurry frame, the man carried something composed. Controlled. Confident without arrogance.
Smith zoomed in.
There was familiarity in the way Michael leaned slightly toward Bey.
As if he were already drawn in.
Smith exhaled sharply.
For years, he had convinced himself there was time.
Time to build the company first. Time to stabilize finances. Time to be worthy enough,’’
But love didn’t wait for strategic planning.
And now, time felt like a luxury he no longer had.
Across the city, Michael sat in his penthouse apartment overlooking the Atlantic.
His jacket was off. Tie discarded. Phone in hand.
Bey’s name glowed on his screen.
He replayed her voice note again.
“You were right about the branding angle. I might steal your idea. Don’t sue me.”
He smiled.
It had been a long time since someone spoke to him without calculation.
No flattery.
No subtle probing about investments.
Just conversation.
His assistant knocked lightly on the open study door.
“Sir, the board wants confirmation for tomorrow’s strategy session.”
Michael nodded absently.
“Also,” the assistant added cautiously, “your mother called. She mentioned something about the media catching images from the seminar.”
Michael’s expression changed.
“What images?”
“Nothing serious. Just speculation about your attendance.”
Speculation.
He hated that word.
The media watched him like a hawk. Any unfamiliar woman near him became headline material.
He thought of Bey.
Unfiltered. Unprepared for scrutiny.
He ran a hand through his hair.
This was why he avoided real connection.
Because the moment someone entered his orbit, they inherited his storms.
“Make sure nothing links her name,” he said firmly.
“Yes, sir.”
When the door closed, Michael leaned back in his chair.
He hadn’t told her.
Not about the billions.
Not about the companies.
Not about the empire that bore his signature.
He told himself it was to protect her.
But if he was honest,
It was also to protect himself.
If she didn’t know, she couldn’t change.
And if she couldn’t change, maybe this time
It would be real.
The next evening, Bey and Smith stayed late preparing for another pitch.
Rain tapped against the windows.
The office felt smaller somehow.
Closer.
Bey stretched and groaned. “Remind me why we didn’t become dentists.”
Smith laughed. “Because you’d redesign the clinic branding and fire the manager.”
She grinned.
Then her phone buzzed.
Michael.
Her face softened again.
Smith noticed.
Every. Single. Time.
“Go on,” he said, forcing lightness. “Take it.”
She stepped toward the window to answer.
He couldn’t hear the words.
But he saw her smile.
Saw her laugh.
Saw the way her shoulders relaxed.
He closed his laptop slowly.
For years, he had been the one who made her shoulders relax.
Now someone else was stepping into that space.
When she hung up, she turned to him.
“He wants to grab dinner tomorrow.”
Smith swallowed.
“That’s great.”
She hesitated. “You don’t sound excited.”
“I am.”
She walked closer. “Smith, you know you’re my person, right?”
The words pierced deeper than she intended.
Your person.
Friend.
Partner.
But never lover.
He forced a smile. “Always.”
The rain grew heavier.
Thunder cracked.
And in that charged silence, Smith almost did it.
Almost told her that loving her had been the quiet background music of his entire life.
But fear wrapped around his throat again.
If he spoke, everything would change.
If he stayed silent, he might lose her anyway.
Unspoken love was safe.
Spoken love was a gamble.
And Smith Johnson had built his life on calculated risks.
Except when it came to her.
He watched her gather her things, unaware of the war inside him.
And for the first time in years
He felt like he was running out of time.
Because somewhere in the city, a billionaire was choosing courage over fear.
And Smith?
He was still choosing silence.
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