5.THE SOUND OF SILENCE

ARDEN

I hadn’t slept.

It wasn’t just Rhett’s voice echoing in my head—or the way his presence seemed to stir something restless in me—but the look in his eyes when he left the gallery yesterday. Like he still carried the weight of us, tucked beneath that calm, curated confidence.

But the truth was, I didn’t know who Rhett Maddox was anymore. And maybe I didn’t want to find out.

I stood in the gallery’s main hall, clipboard in hand, watching sunlight stretch across the hardwood floors. It was calm in here—too calm. The kind that gives your thoughts too much room to wander.

Behind me, the front door creaked open.

“Arden?”

I turned, half-expecting Rhett, which was ridiculous. But instead, it was Ava—my best friend, and the only person in this world who knew the real version of me, scars and all. She carried two iced coffees and wore her usual oversized sunglasses like armor.

“You look like hell,” she said, handing me a cup.

“Thanks. It’s the new stress-chic aesthetic.”

She snorted and leaned against the nearest pedestal. “Let me guess. Tall, broody, and formerly yours?”

“He showed up again. At the gallery. With auction paperwork.”

Her brows arched. “So he's playing helpful now.”

“It’s a game,” I muttered. “It always was with Rhett. Charm and timing. He shows up just enough to make you question if you were ever right to hate him.”

Ava sipped her drink slowly. “Is that what you’re doing now? Hating him?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

She softened. “Arden… it’s okay if part of you still loves him. That doesn’t make you weak.”

“It makes me stupid,” I said, more bitterly than intended.

“No. It makes you human.”

I stared down at my coffee, the ice clinking softly against the plastic. “He left when everything fell apart. I begged him to stay. I needed him to just… not give up.”

“And he did?”

I nodded.

She reached over and touched my hand. “Then he needs to earn the right to even speak your name. Don’t let him rewrite the story just because he walked back in.”

I smiled faintly, but the ache in my chest didn’t ease.

We worked in companionable silence for the next hour. Ava helped me rearrange the wall display for the local artist showcase, and it felt good—doing something tangible, something that had nothing to do with Rhett or the past.

Until, of course, the past found a way to slip in again.

Later that afternoon, while I was reorganizing the donor spreadsheet, my phone buzzed. I ignored it the first time. And the second. But by the third, I checked the screen.

Rhett Maddox.

Voicemail.

Curiosity won. I listened.

“Arden… I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, and I don’t blame you. But there’s something I need to tell you—something I should’ve said two years ago. I never meant to leave you like that. I wish I could take it back. Call me if you want the truth. If not… I’ll stop trying.”

I stared at the screen long after the message ended, fingers cold around my phone. I didn’t want to want the truth. I didn’t want anything from him.

But I wanted closure. Desperately.

I hit delete.

A knock on the door startled me.

It wasn’t Rhett.

This time, it was Carter—the lead event coordinator from our sponsor team and someone I actually liked working with. Blonde, polished, and always ten steps ahead, Carter looked surprised to see me alone.

“Did I come at a bad time?” Carter asked

“Is there ever a good time?” I said, forcing a smile. “Come in.”

He stepped inside, setting a folder on the front counter. “Here’s the final guest list from the Bradshaw table. They added three VIPs.” He said handing me a distraction I can focus on.

I skimmed it quickly. “Noted. Anyone we should worry about seating?”

Carter grinned. “Just one minor diva. But I’ve tamed worse.”

I laughed. “You make it look easy.”

He tilted his head. “You okay, Arden?”

I hesitated. “Honestly? I’m not sure.”

“I heard Rhett’s involved.”

Of course he had.

“It’s temporary,” I said quickly. “He’s only assisting with the music partnership.”

“Still… that man has a reputation for stirring up everything in his wake. Be careful. Especially if you’re still healing.”

His concern was genuine, and I appreciated it. But it also made me feel exposed.

“I can handle Rhett,” I said, more to myself than to him.

He nodded. “I don’t doubt that.”

After he left, I stood at the gallery’s front window and watched the afternoon light dance through the glass. It was quiet again. Too quiet.

I hated how Rhett’s presence lingered in the air—how even in his absence, he managed to take up space. In my thoughts. In my routines. In the questions I’d buried.

Why now?

Why me?

And most of all—what truth was he holding onto that he hadn’t shared before?

I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer. But I was beginning to wonder if I could move on without it.

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