Chapter 26: Silence Is Golden

The clock on the oven blinked 22:47.

A soft amber glow from the kitchen’s under-cabinet lights spilled across the tile floor, illuminating scattered shadows and the half-empty bottle of red wine resting beside a chipped mug.

Katherine sat barefoot on the countertop, knees pulled close, swirling her glass slowly, absentmindedly. Her eyeliner was smudged, mascara long gone. She hadn’t bothered to wash her face. Or change. Or think.

The vibrant, chaotic energy that usually danced through her apartment had vanished. No music. No candlelight. No fairy lights. No sticky notes. Only silence.

And his cologne.

Still clinging faintly to the inside of the oversized blazer she hadn’t taken off — his blazer. The scent made her stomach knot and her throat tighten.

📱 Sebastian Mason is calling…

She let it ring out. Again.

📱 Sebastian Mason is calling…

Decline.

📱 1 New Message: Sebastian

“Katherine. Please. Just talk to me.”

📱 Another one:

“I didn’t mean it like that. She ambushed me. You know she did.”

Her lips pressed together. Her fingers trembled slightly as she placed the phone screen-down.

She took another sip. Bitter. Perfect.

The echo of Miss Brown, keep it down still burned in her ears — not from the words themselves, but from the way she smiled when he said it.

Like some victory. Like some twisted crown.

And Katherine — Katherine had wanted to scream. But instead, she had walked away with her heart breaking and her heels silent.

📱 Buzz.

“Come back to the office. Or let me come to you. I just… need to see you.”

Her glass shook this time.

No. No. No.

She slid off the counter, walked barefoot toward the window, pulling back the sheer curtain. The city was still alive. Cars blinked below.

But she… wasn’t part of it right now.

Another message.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

Wanna bet? she thought bitterly.

And yet… she didn’t block him. She didn’t delete the thread.

She just… stared. At nothing. At everything.

---

The knock was quiet at first.

Then came another. Firmer. More desperate.

Katherine sat in the soft glow of her kitchen's under-cabinet lighting, twenty-seven floors above the sleeping city, in her apartment on the 47th floor — six levels below the penthouse where he lived. Her bare feet curled beneath her on the stool, a half-finished glass of wine in hand. The bottle beside her was nearly empty. Her phone had been buzzing like a dying heartbeat. Every fifteen minutes. Sebastian.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Out in the hallway, the knock came again. And then his voice — muffled, low, restrained.

“Kate… open the door. Please.”

She didn’t move.

“I know I screwed up,” he went on. “But you know me. You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

Still nothing.

“Just open the door. One minute. That’s all I’m asking.”

Inside, Katherine finally moved — her fingers brushed against the phone, checking it without unlocking. Ten missed calls. Four messages. One voice note. She didn’t play it.

And then — the final blow.

“Go home, Mason,” she muttered hoarsely, raising her voice just enough to be heard through the thick wood of the door.

Silence. A pause.

“You’re drunk,” he finally said, more gently. “Please don’t wake up tomorrow hating yourself for not listening.”

“Oh, I don’t hate myself, Sebastian,” she replied, bitter and quiet. “I just hate you. Now go. Sleep. On your perfect sheets in your perfect penthouse with your perfect painting.”

He didn't answer.

But she heard him exhale slowly. Then footsteps. Then nothing.

She twisted the lock an extra notch shut.

---

Tuesday, 7:14 AM – Apartment 4703

The first thing Katherine felt was her dry tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Then the taste of stale wine and a faint memory of rage.

She groaned.

She was curled up on her living room sofa in the same oversized T-shirt she must’ve thrown on sometime after midnight. One leg was tangled in the throw blanket, the other half-hanging off the side. Her phone was somewhere on the floor beneath an empty wine bottle.

She pushed herself upright with a wince.

Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her 47th-floor apartment. Not blinding — just accusing.

She checked the phone. 7:14 AM. One more missed call. Sebastian.

Katherine closed her eyes.

"Ugh… fuck," she whispered.

And made her way to the bathroom, head pounding with every step, the silence of the empty apartment heavier than ever.

---

The cold water felt like penance. Sharp, unforgiving, and exactly what she needed.

Katherine leaned over the bathroom sink, letting the final droplets run down her temples and along her jawline before patting her skin dry with a towel. Her eyes were puffy. Her head — still heavy and pounding. But at least she looked… human again.

She dragged a brush through her hair, pulling it back into a low, sleek bun. No messy waves today. No rebellious strands. Just control.

Her make-up was minimal but sharp. Concealer, foundation, tight-lined eyes, nude lips. No glitter. No chaos.

And then came the clothes.

She stood in front of her wardrobe longer than usual, letting her hand hover over a rack of bold patterns, vibrant prints, and glittering accessories. Her usual self. But today, she reached for the gray. A strict, tailored pantsuit in slate-grey wool, with a high-collared blouse underneath. No earrings. No necklaces. No color at all.

It was like dressing up in absence.

In the kitchen, she swallowed two painkillers and chased them with half a bottle of cold water. No breakfast. Just silence.

---

By the time she arrived at the office, the morning rush was already in full swing. Katherine moved through the building like a ghost in stilettos — tall, composed, and silent. No bright laugh. No chirpy greeting. Just the soft click of her heels echoing in the hallway.

She passed a group of interns. One of them looked up, did a double-take, and whispered something to another. But no one said anything aloud.

Not until she walked into the creative department.

Not until she sat down at her desk.

Only then did the shift in the room become palpable — the quiet that fell, the eyes that glanced up from monitors and coffee cups. Everyone noticed.

Gone were the rainbow Post-its and glitter pens, the neon water bottle with cartoon eyes, the mug that said Get Sht Done (With Glitter)*. Even her chair looked too normal now. She’d stripped it of the fuzzy lavender throw.

She sat down slowly, straight-backed, placing her still-half-full bottle of water on the edge of the desk like a barrier.

Someone, somewhere near the back, whispered:

“Is that… Katherine?”

And still she said nothing.

---

The morning meeting began like any other.

Chairs scraped softly against the conference room floor. Laptops opened. Coffee cups in hand. Jokes and yawns shared in hushed tones around the long glass table.

But when Katherine Brown walked in, the air changed.

Again.

She wore that same ghost of a suit — grey, sharp, perfectly pressed. Her blouse buttoned up to her neck. Hair tightly slicked back. No earrings. No smile. Just a folder in her hand and eyes that didn’t flicker toward anyone in the room, least of all him.

Sebastian Mason was already seated at the head of the table.

He’d seen her earlier, briefly, through the glass wall of the creative department — and it had shaken something inside him. But now, up close, under the sterile buzz of fluorescent light, her transformation looked even more brutal.

She was all business.

And none of her.

“Let’s begin,” he said, a bit too quickly. His voice cracked on the second word — just enough for a few heads to turn.

He cleared his throat, tugging slightly at the collar of his shirt. “Miss Brown, would you please start us off with the campaign metrics?”

A pause.

Katherine nodded, rose from her seat with mechanical grace, and moved to the front of the room.

No tablet. No colorful slideshow. No quirky animation or sly pun. Just a printed document, which she laid down in front of her.

“The figures for the current campaign indicate a 12.8% increase in engagement across targeted demographics,” she began, her tone low, even, and cold as stone. “Conversion rates have improved in two out of five test groups. The projections for Q3 remain stable.”

She flipped a page.

A quiet descended over the room, the kind that usually followed only after a particularly devastating financial report.

But this wasn't devastation.

It was... sterility.

Her voice lacked its usual bounce. Her words cut like glass.

No playful inflection. No sarcastic asides. No colorful diagrams or exclamations. Just numbers. Just data. Just facts.

And Sebastian was watching her like a man trying to recognize a ghost.

By the time she finished, there was a moment of silence.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Tried a second time.

“Well — ” he began. Then stopped.

He never stumbled.

“Katherine,” he tried again, softer this time, “thank you for the report. It's, uh… thorough.”

She met his gaze for one second. A second too long.

Then nodded curtly and walked back to her seat.

He couldn't take it.

As the meeting moved on, as slides appeared and other voices filled the room, Sebastian barely registered any of it. His thoughts had narrowed into a tunnel — and at the end of that tunnel stood a woman in a grey suit, who used to laugh with color on her cheeks and glitter in her hair.

He wanted to scream.

Or leave.

Or —

He stood suddenly. Too suddenly.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, his voice tight.

Everyone paused, startled.

And Katherine?

She didn’t even blink.

---

The conference room watched in stunned silence as Sebastian Mason — the man who once dismissed breaks as “corporate procrastination” — rose to his feet like a storm just before the crack.

“Let’s take five,” he said sharply, his jaw clenched.

He didn’t wait for agreement.

Didn’t glance at the confused board members.

He just moved — fast, decisive — to the door, and then turned over his shoulder.

“Miss Brown. With me.”

Katherine didn’t hesitate.

She stood without a word, collected her papers, and followed him out. Her heels clicked crisply on the polished floor as every eye in the room followed her like she was walking toward a verdict.

The door to his office slammed shut behind them.

The silence inside was dense. Heated.

Sebastian stood with his back to her for a second.

Just a second.

Then he turned.

And exploded.

“What the hell is this?” he snapped, motioning wildly at her outfit. “What is this look? What happened to your chaos? Where the fuck is your color?”

Katherine didn't flinch.

“You wanted me to keep it down,” she said simply, setting her folder on the glass desk. “So I did.”

He froze.

The sentence hit him like a bat to the ribs.

Straightforward. Lethal.

“You —” he started, then broke off.

His hands went to his hair, dragging through it like he might find sanity in the strands.

“This isn’t what I meant. Jesus, Katherine.”

She folded her arms. Calm. Quiet.

Untouchable.

“Then maybe next time,” she said, her voice flat, “don’t tell a woman to shrink herself in front of someone who already tried to erase her.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

And something cracked.

It wasn't just guilt or regret.

It was everything.

All the restraint. All the carefully curated self-control. The walls. The armor. The titles. The power.

Gone.

He stepped forward.

Then dropped to his knees.

Katherine blinked.

“Sebastian —?”

But he was already there — at her legs, his arms wrapping around her calves like a drowning man clutching the shore. His head bowed, forehead resting just above her knees, his voice raw:

“I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry.”

She stood frozen. Stunned.

This wasn’t control.

This wasn’t the sharp-tongued CEO.

This was a man who had ruined something… and knew it.

“Please,” he whispered, still holding her, “please look at me. See me, Katherine. Not the version I showed you at that fucking table. Not the cold one. Not the idiot who stood there while she tore you down.”

She didn’t move.

“I can’t do this without your fire. I don’t want to.”

His grip trembled.

“I’ve built empires,” he said. “But I’ve never built anything alive until you.”

Katherine’s breath caught.

And for a second — just a second — she thought her knees might give out.

He looked up.

And in his eyes… ruin.

But also hope.

Real. Fragile. Unfiltered.

She didn’t answer. Not yet.

Her fingers just found his hair — gently — and she breathed in like a storm was finally breaking inside her chest.