Caught In The Quiet

The day dragged on at an agonizingly slow pace. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to get anything right. My mind was elsewhere, and my work showed it. I was convinced I’d end the day with the scolding of a lifetime from Lucian, but somehow, miraculously, it never came.

He was busier than usual, which may have been my saving grace. Still, I could feel the shift in the room every time I slipped up. Melissa and Steven had to gently correct me more than once during the meeting, especially when I fumbled the client’s name. I could barely look up, dreading the inevitable moment when Lucian would publicly call me out for being so off my game.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t say a word.

He just stared.

Leaning back in his chair, one fist resting lightly against his mouth, his eyes locked onto the screen as we reviewed the final draft of the presentation. Every time he pointed out an error, of which there were many, he followed it with a hard, unreadable look in my direction. Not quite a glare… but not indifferent either. Focused. Sharp. Silent.

He didn’t look amused. Far from it. But he didn’t humiliate me, didn’t raise his voice or question me in front of the others. And somehow, that quiet disappointment… those long, pointed stares, felt worse than any reprimand.

After the meeting wrapped up, Lucian listed everything that needed to be fixed. His tone was clipped and efficient, until he let out a long breath and rose from his chair.

“I’m pushing this presentation back by a day,” he said flatly.

I blinked, stunned. And judging by the subtle shift in the room, I wasn’t the only one caught off guard. Lucian Whitmore, king of deadlines and precision, never rescheduled anything. Ever. For him to delay something, especially this close to final review, was unheard of.

A quiet wave of surprise, and maybe even relief, washed over the team.

“Make sure it’s flawless by tomorrow,” he added, eyes settling on me. “You’ll know when to reschedule the meeting. Check my calendar. I’m counting on you.”

And just like that, he turned to leave. A few people murmured a polite goodbye, to which he responded with a curt nod. But just before stepping out, he glanced back… briefly, intentionally, and his gaze landed on me.

It lingered.

And then he was gone.

Today, he gave me that same look, the one he gave me four years ago at Noah’s wedding. The day he pulled me aside and told me to stay away from his newly married brother. That was the moment I realized someone had seen through me, had caught on to what I’d tried so hard to bury. My feelings for Noah were out.

For days, even weeks afterward, I lived in quiet dread. I was certain Lucian would tell someone, expose me, humiliate me, either in front of others or in private. I braced myself for the ridicule, for the scorn I was sure would follow. I imagined him telling me that I didn’t deserve Noah. That Noah was too good for me, too far out of my reach. But the confrontation never came.

He never laughed at me. Never bring it up again. He didn’t even look at me differently. He just… moved on. And for that, I was quietly, deeply grateful.

But maybe he knew. Maybe, he still knows. Maybe, he knows that I’m aware Noah is back. Maybe he knows that I know about Noah’s divorce. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why he didn’t come down hard on me today. Maybe, it was a pity. But then again, Lucian Whitmore doesn’t pity anyone. He doesn’t cut people slack. He doesn’t care enough to.

By the end of the day, I didn’t bother leaving on time. It didn’t matter that it was my birthday; there was no one waiting to celebrate it with me. My parents had sent me their usual warm messages, wishing me a happy birthday and asking me to let them know when I got home so they could call. But I didn’t have the heart to tell them about Noah and Vivienne… about the divorce… about the quiet storm unraveling inside me. So, I lied. I told them I was working late, that I’d call when I could.

For the past three years, even from across the ocean, Noah and Viv never forgot my birthday. There were always flowers, a card, a small gift, some thoughtful gesture that said they remembered me. But this year, there was nothing. Just silence.

And I would have been hurt by that silence, if I didn’t already know the reason behind it.

The news of their divorce had shaken me to my core. Yes, I’d harbored feelings for Noah. But never, not once, did I wish for something like this. I never wanted their love to fall apart. They had always seemed so solid, so beautiful together. To think they’d fallen out of love… it didn’t make sense. It felt wrong, unreal.

And yet, somewhere in the guilt-laced corners of my mind, I couldn’t forget the younger version of myself, the girl who had secretly hoped they wouldn’t go through with the wedding. Who had wished, silently and selfishly, that they’d break off the engagement.

But I never thought that wish would come true. And certainly not like this.

Most of the office had emptied out by the time I finally sat down to work on the presentation. I knew I could always finish it tomorrow, but I didn’t want to dump extra work on the team when it was my fault to begin with, my own absentmindedness that had derailed things. Besides, more than anything, I needed a distraction.

God knows how badly I was itching to open my browser and search for every detail about Noah and Vivienne, what really happened between them. They had always seemed so in love. So untouchable. How does a love like that just… vanish? Did they fall out of love? Did someone cheat? Did life wear them down until they broke?

The questions spun around in my head like a storm I couldn’t shut out. I kept telling myself to focus on work, to bury the curiosity and pain somewhere deep, but concentrating was impossible. I was too exhausted, too emotionally frayed. After staring blankly at my laptop for far too long, I finally accepted it: I wasn’t getting anything done tonight.

I should just go home. Take a long shower. Call my parents like I said I would. Order something comforting for dinner. Maybe even eat it while watching reruns of Hell’s Kitchen on YouTube and pretending for a little while that none of this was happening.

I gathered my things: my long coat, my handbag, my laptop bag, and my car keys, before locking up my small office, which sat just beside Lucian’s. As I turned to leave, I noticed the light beneath his door was still glowing. No surprise there. He always stayed late.

Sometimes, he didn’t leave at all.

In the beginning, I used to wait for him. I thought it was expected of me, as his assistant, to stay until he dismissed me. But after a few weeks, he told me not to wait unless he asked. The message was clear: Don’t stay for me.

So, I stopped.

The corridor was eerily quiet as I passed his office, the kind of stillness that made every sound echo louder than it should. That’s when I heard his voice, low and taut, speaking into the phone.

“No, I asked them to be delivered today, Maya. Not tomorrow.”

His tone was tired, but what made me stop in my tracks wasn’t the frustration in his voice. It was the name. Maya.

We didn’t have a Maya in the office. At least… not that I knew of.

I might have kept walking. I should have. But there was something about the way he said her name…softer, gentler. It wasn’t a tone I’d ever heard from him. It didn’t sound like the Lucian Whitmore I knew.

I moved closer, barely making a sound. Just curious. Just… wanting to know.

He continued speaking, but not clearly. Just small fragments, “Hmm,” “I see,” “No,” “Yes.” His voice had dropped too low to make out more. I waited, hoping for another clue, something to tell me who she was. A colleague? A client? Someone… more?

God, why did I care?

But before I could reason myself out of this quiet trespass, the door swung open.

Lucian stood there, tall and unsmiling, framed in the soft yellow light of his office. He didn’t look surprised to see me…just disappointed.

Caught.

I froze, eyes wide. My mouth opened, then closed, like a fish gasping for air. Panic surged through me like a wave of heat. My cheeks burned. My stomach twisted. I was mortified.

Still holding the phone to his ear, he stared me down with an unreadable expression. Cold. Flat. Quietly furious.

“I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone, never breaking eye contact. His voice was clipped. Controlled.

He lowered the phone slowly, and for a long, breathless moment, we just… stood there.

Me, caught in the act. Him, deciding what to do about it.

I had to say something, anything, because the silence was unbearable. My skin prickled with the weight of it, of his stare. I’d been caught. Fully, humiliatingly caught.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. Just stood there, looking down at me like he was trying to decide what to do with the pathetic thing squirming in front of him.

“I… I, um…” My throat tightened. I cleared it, tried again. “I was just… I was leaving, so, just wanted to see if you… needed anything.”

A lie. A terrible one. It hung between us like smoke.

He didn’t respond. Not with words, at least. Just kept his eyes on me—cool and unreadable. But he knew. Of course he knew. The corner of his mouth twitched, not in amusement, not quite in annoyance either, just… restraint.

He wasn’t going to call me out. He didn’t need to. His gaze lingered too long, sweeping across my face slowly, almost like he was memorizing something. Or maybe just studying the way guilt rearranged itself across my features. I licked my lips, nervous. His eyes flicked down, just for a second, catching the movement before locking back on mine.

The air suddenly felt too warm.

After what felt like an eternity beneath his piercing stare, he finally gave a curt shake of his head. “No,” he said, voice flat but low.

It was my cue to leave. Flee, actually.

“Okay. Great. I’ll be leaving then,” I blurted out, too loud, too fast. I forced a shaky smile. He didn’t return it. Of course he didn’t.

I turned around quickly, trying not to trip over my own feet as I started walking. One, two, three steps, then I stopped.

I don’t know why I turned back. I just… did.

He was still standing there, in the exact same spot, watching me. As if he knew I wasn’t finished. As if he’d been waiting. I blinked slowly, trying to gather the courage I didn’t have. My chest tightened with dread and something else, something that felt a lot like pain.

“How… how is he?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

I didn’t need to say his name. He knew. And I hated myself for asking.

Hated the way my voice cracked. Hated the vulnerability I’d just handed him on a silver platter. His expression shifted, subtly, but I saw it. The flicker of surprise. Maybe even hesitation.

He hadn’t expected me to bring up Noah. I hadn’t expected it either.

After a beat, he answered. “He’s hanging in there,” he said quietly. The softness in his voice startled me more than the words. It was the same tone he’d used when he was on the phone with Maya. Warm. Gentle. Unfamiliar.

It sat oddly on him… and yet, it wasn’t unwelcome. Neither of us spoke after that. We just stood there, suspended in the silence. Finally, he exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh from somewhere deep. “Good night,” he said, and without waiting for a response, he stepped back and gently closed the door.

The click echoed louder than it should have.