Chapter 16

Zayden’s POV

The next morning, the office felt colder than usual.

Or maybe it was just her.

Rielle sat at her desk, posture straight, eyes glued to the computer screen. Normally, she’d greet me with that small, unguarded smile — the one that always softened the start of my day. But this time, she didn’t even look up when I walked in.

“Morning,” I said, setting my briefcase down.

“Good morning, sir,” she replied, voice polite. Distant.

Sir.

That was new. Or maybe it wasn’t — maybe I’d just gotten too used to hearing my name in her softer tone, the one that felt less like formality and more like something else.

I stood there for a moment, waiting for her to say something else, but she didn’t. Just kept typing, fingers moving quickly, like the keys were an escape.

“Rielle,” I said finally.

She paused, but didn’t look up. “Yes?”

“About yesterday—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she cut in quietly. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Mr. Wolfe.”

Mr. Wolfe.

The title landed heavier than it should have.

She finally looked up then — her expression calm, collected, perfectly professional. But her eyes… they told another story. There was a faint redness there, the kind that comes from trying not to cry.

I opened my mouth to respond, but she’d already turned back to her screen, ending the conversation without another word.

I wanted to explain. To tell her I hadn’t meant to forget her.

Because I hadn’t.

Truth was, the moment I’d stepped into the study, things spiraled. My father called in mid-meeting, furious about a press leak; Linda was pushing documents under my nose; then the lawyer joined the call, and suddenly, I was knee-deep in hours of strategy discussions that refused to end.

By the time it did, the house was quiet. Too quiet.

And when I checked the kitchen, she was gone.

Her mug still sat on the counter, the coffee long gone cold.

I’d stood there for a long time, just staring at it — wondering how something so simple could make me feel like I’d broken something I didn’t even realize mattered that much until it was too late.

Now, seeing her here, sitting an arm’s length away but feeling miles apart, that same guilt gnawed at me.

I wanted to tell her that I thought about her all night. That I’d typed a dozen messages and deleted every single one. That the reason I didn’t call wasn’t because she didn’t matter — it was because I didn’t know how to fix what I’d done.

But she didn’t give me the chance.

So I just stood there in silence, watching her pretend I wasn’t there, wondering how something that had felt so warm just yesterday could suddenly feel like winter.

The rest of the morning dragged.

Meetings, calls, deadlines — all of it blurred into background noise because my mind kept circling back to one thing: the way Rielle wouldn’t even look at me.

Every time I passed her desk, she was busy — typing, writing, sorting through files — and every time I stopped to say something, she’d answer in short, precise sentences that left no room for conversation.

By noon, I’d had enough.

When I saw her heading toward the records room, I followed. She was pulling a stack of documents from the shelf when I stepped in.

“Rielle,” I said quietly.

She froze. Just for a second — then straightened without turning around. “Yes, Mr. Wolfe?”

That damn Mr. Wolfe again.

I closed the door behind me, letting out a slow breath. “Can you drop the formalities for once?”

Her shoulders tensed. “I don’t think that’s appropriate. We’re at work.”

I took a few steps closer. “We’ve been at work for months, and you’ve never talked to me like I’m a stranger. Until now.”

Finally, she turned, her expression calm but her voice tight. “Because that’s what I should’ve been from the start — a stranger who just works for you.”

That stung more than I wanted to admit.

“Rielle—”

She shook her head, setting the files down carefully. “You said you’d be right back, Zayden. I waited. For hours.”

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t look away. “Do you know how that felt? Sitting there like an idiot while you were with her?”

I wanted to reach out, to make her understand, but I knew any wrong word could shatter what little patience she had left.

“I didn’t forget you,” I said finally, the words coming out rough. “I swear I didn’t. Things got complicated. My father called, lawyers joined in—it spiraled into something I couldn’t step away from.”

She let out a small, humorless laugh. “You always have a reason.”

“Because it’s the truth,” I said, stepping closer. “I didn’t walk away because I wanted to. I couldn’t.”

She stared at me, her eyes glimmering with that mix of anger and hurt that made my chest tighten. “And I couldn’t sit there forever waiting for you to remember me.”

That silenced me.

I hadn’t realized how deep it had cut her — that small, unintentional neglect that now felt monumental.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “For making you feel that way.”

For a moment, she just stood there — no words, no movement. Then she turned back to the shelf, voice steady but low. “You should go, Mr. Wolfe. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“Rielle—”

“Please,” she said softly, not looking at me. “Don’t make this harder.”

I hesitated, wanting to say something that would make her look at me again — but there was nothing left to say. Not right now.

So I nodded slowly and left the room.

But the sound of her voice — quiet, tired, breaking just at the edges — followed me long after the door closed.