The Beginning Of Cracks

‎Nevermind

‎

‎The way he said it—“Never mind”—wasn’t casual.

‎It was low, controlled, like a door quietly closing in my face. It sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

‎

‎“Oh… okay, sir,” I answered, forcing my voice to stay level even though my stomach was doing flips. “Is there anything else I need to take note of?”

‎

‎Jayden leaned back in his chair with the kind of confidence that came from knowing people would always listen. His fingers formed a steeple beneath his chin, his eyes unreadable. “I have a meeting with a potential client tomorrow morning. I want you there—to take notes and… observe.”

‎

‎The way he said “observe” made it sound like more than just secretarial work.

‎

‎Excitement surged through me. This was my chance. A real opportunity to prove myself in front of him—and the company.

‎

‎But just as I turned to leave, his voice cut through the air again, sharp as glass.

‎“Ms. Sanders.”

‎

‎I froze mid-step. “Yes?”

‎

‎His gaze locked onto mine. There was no warmth in it, only authority. “Don’t be late.”

‎

‎My throat went dry. “What time, sir?”

‎

‎“Nine a.m. sharp. Be here earlier to set up,” he replied, his tone making it clear that failure was not an option.

‎

‎“I will, sir,” I said, injecting as much confidence into my voice as I could muster. But as I walked out of his office, my heart was thundering. There was something about him—about Jayden—that knocked the air right out of my lungs.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎The next morning, I arrived earlier than usual. The office was still waking up—the hum of the coffee machine, the faint tapping of keyboards, the occasional “good morning” echoing through the halls.

‎

‎I dropped my bag at my desk, smoothed my dress, and walked to his office door.

‎

‎Knock. Knock.

‎

‎“Come in,” he called.

‎

‎The moment I pushed the door open, the air shifted.

‎

‎Jayden sat behind his massive oak desk like he owned the world. A coffee cup rested in his hand, his other hand flipping through crisp documents. The morning light poured through the window, highlighting the sharp edges of his face—his perfectly styled dark hair, the clean white shirt tucked into his trousers, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked like discipline personified.

‎

‎“You’re here,” he said without looking up, his tone stating a fact rather than welcoming me.

‎

‎“I am, sir.”

‎

‎He finally glanced at me, eyes steady. “Take these files to the conference room. Arrange them properly. We’re expecting three people.”

‎

‎No “Good morning.” No “How was your night?” Just commands. I couldn’t help but wonder if he greeted his clients with the same glacial tone or if he saved his sharp edges just for me.

‎

‎“Yes, sir,” I replied, taking the files carefully. They were thick—strategic proposals, financial breakdowns, projections. Important.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎The client arriving that morning wasn’t just any client. As we waited in the conference room, Jayden briefed me in a low, even voice.

‎

‎“These are the key points,” he said, pointing at sections of the proposal. His words flowed effortlessly, confident and precise. I found myself straightening up, nodding along, absorbing every detail.

‎

‎It was hard not to be affected by his presence. The way he commanded attention without raising his voice… it was infuriating and magnetic all at once.

‎

‎Just as the meeting was about to start, my phone buzzed.

‎

‎Andrew: We need to talk. I’m tired of this.

‎

‎The words punched the air out of me. My stomach knotted. Another argument brewing. Another night that promised slammed doors and raised voices.

‎

‎Not now.

‎

‎I shoved the phone back into my pocket, pasted on my professional face, and turned my attention back to Jayden.

‎

‎The meeting began.

‎

‎The clients came in—three of them, all sharp suits and sharper expressions. They fired off questions like rapid gunfire: strategies, projections, market challenges. Each question came with an unspoken test—Do you actually know what you’re talking about?

‎

‎Jayden, of course, passed every test. Effortlessly. His answers were clear, commanding. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t flinch. I scribbled notes as fast as my hand could move, my pen scratching furiously against the notepad. Occasionally, I stole glances at him—at the way his jaw tightened just slightly when challenged, the way his voice stayed calm even under pressure.

‎

‎He was… impressive. Annoyingly so.

‎

‎By the time the meeting ended, the clients were smiling, shaking hands. That alone said everything.

‎

‎As we exited the room, I let out a quiet sigh of relief. My fingers ached from note-taking, my brain buzzing with every detail I’d just documented.

‎

‎Then Jayden turned to me.

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‎“Next time,” he said coolly, adjusting his cufflinks, “put in more effort.”

‎

‎I stared at him. More effort?

‎

‎I’d practically become a human recorder in there. But instead of defending myself, I bit my tongue. Arguing with him would be like punching a wall—painful and pointless.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎That evening, Andrew and I met for dinner at a quiet restaurant. But the air between us was heavy. The way he pushed his food around, the way he avoided my eyes—it was all too familiar.

‎

‎“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” he said quietly, finally meeting my gaze.

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‎My chest tightened. “Do what?”

‎

‎“This. Us.” His voice cracked just slightly. “It feels like we’re just… going through the motions. I don’t even recognize us anymore.”

‎

‎I stared at him. This was the same man I’d once planned a future with, shared late-night dreams and whispered promises. But now, all I saw was distance.

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‎“Maybe… we need to take a break,” I said softly, the words trembling on my tongue. “Reassess what we want.”

‎

‎He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. And somehow, that hurt more.

‎

‎We left the restaurant with an unspoken understanding. Something between us had cracked—maybe beyond repair.

‎

‎

‎***

‎

‎The drive home blurred past me. My mind was disturbed—a storm of Andrew’s fading love, Jayden’s cold precision, and the heavy uncertainty sitting heavy in my chest.

‎

‎When I reached my doorstep, I noticed it immediately.

‎

‎A small, elegantly wrapped box sat waiting for me.

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‎No note. No name.

‎

‎I carefully picked it up, my fingers shaking as I untied the ribbon.

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‎Inside was a beautiful silver necklace, a tiny diamond pendant shining in the light.

‎I glanced around—nothing but quiet shadows.

‎

‎A gift from who?

‎