The edge of a blade, they say, is quietest just before it strikes.
The silence in the office was never real. Beneath the clicking of keyboards and the drone of humming lights, there was always a rhythm and a pulse. Today, it was off-beat.
Elena felt it before she saw it. That shift in the atmosphere, like the second before a storm breaks. Her back was to the door, eyes fixed on her half-finished report, but her spine knew.
There was the sound of a familiar footstep from the hallway. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Heavy with purpose.
She turned slowly.
Ethan.
In his tailored coat and moral outrage, he was out of place among spreadsheets and sterile air. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His eyes did all the talking, sharp, storm-colored, and burning with questions that had already answered themselves.
"Elena."
Her name cracked the air.
He didn't wait for an invitation, nor did he ask if he could sit like he always does when he is trying to be formal.
By the time she stood, gazes were already fixed at them across all angles of the office. She walked toward him like a girl walking to the gallows. Not because she feared him, but because she knew what was coming.
They slipped into the corridor. The office was too public, and she didn't want to give the wide ears anything to feed on.
She pushed open the break room door. The kettle clicked somewhere in the distance, as unaware as it was irrelevant.
Ethan turned. "Tell me this isn't real."
She didn't answer.
"Elena." His voice was softer now, but it wasn't gentle.
"This man—you barely know him."
Her lips parted. Nothing came.
"You think marrying him will fix what's broken?" His words were ice cutting through her. "You think handing them your life on a silver platter will finally make you enough for them?"
Still, nothing.
He stepped closer. "Is that what this is?"
"No." The word stumbled out like a lie.
"Then what? Tell me why you're selling yourself to a man with a bank account and no soul."
She flinched.
Ethan saw it.
"Elena, you're not a price tag. You're not a bargain. You're not a signature on a contract."
"I know," she whispered.
"Then act like it!"
And just like that, the dam cracked.
"I'm tired!" Her voice was sudden, raw. "I'm tired, Ethan! Of waiting to be seen. To be heard. Every time I've screamed, it's been inside a vacuum."
Her hands trembled. "You were the son. The heir. The dream. I was the shadow, even though I'm the older one, I'm… the spare."
Ethan's breath hitched.
Her eyes welled but didn't spill. "You want the truth? This isn't about Adrian. Or the money. Or the name. It's about silence. It's about growing up with ghosts who pretended to be parents."
And still—he looked at her like she was breaking in real time.
Elena shook her head. "Don't try to rescue me, Ethan. You're too late."
The door opened.
Both froze.
Adrian stood at the threshold like fate itself had stepped into the room. Hands in his pockets and eyes unreadable. And for a moment, silence dared to breathe between the three of them.
He didn't ask what was going on.
He didn't have to.
Of course, he heard the part Elena's voice was atop.
His gaze moved from Ethan to Elena and back again.
Then he turned and walked away.
Not a word.
Not a flicker.
But something tightened in his shoulders. Something very sharp.
—
Maggie had been waiting. She stood by the tall windows in Adrian's office, sipping tea with the casual elegance of a woman who knew everything before it was spoken.
Adrian walked in without announcement.
"You saw him," she said, not bothering to look.
"I did."
She turned now; watching him remove his suit jacket like it offended him.
"Let me guess—older brother, protective streak, strong jawline, childhood hero?"
Younger. He thought but didn't mention it. It's not like it mattered.
Adrian didn't answer.
Maggie chuckled. "I swear you attract soap opera scripts without trying."
Adrian moved to the bar cart and poured himself a drink. Straight. No ice.
"She's slipping," Maggie said, setting her teacup down.
"You know that, right?"
"She's still here."
"For now."
Adrian turned, finally meeting her eyes.
"She's angry," he said. "At them. At herself. At the deal. But mostly at me."
Maggie smirked. "Then you're in the perfect position."
He frowned. "To do what?"
"To make her stay."
Adrian took a sip, the liquid stinging his throat. "She's not a prisoner."
"No," Maggie agreed, stepping closer. "But she is a wildcard. And your competitors aren't waiting for her to fall in love before they make their next move."
Adrian's jaw ticked.
"You want this merger? This expansion? This empire you've bled for? Then you better put a leash on your feelings and handle your fiancée before she becomes a liability."
He said nothing.
Maggie leaned closer. "Because if you don't—someone else will."
Downstairs, Elena sat in the back of the building, alone. The day had drained her bones. Her skin felt too tight.
Her mind was too loud.
Ethan's voice haunted her ears.
Adrian's silence haunted her soul.
Her phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
No. A threat.
"You think Sinclair's your messiah? You're into a bigger pit of hell!."
Elena's blood ran cold.
Who could be threatening her? Who else knows aside from her family and Adrian's?
She read it again. And again.
Then slowly… she looked up.
Someone could be watching or hearing them all along.
She could feel it.
And just like that, the game changed. Her heart palpitated.