Fragments Beneath His Silence
Two years ago, Amaya Bennett witnessed a murder.
A powerful man was killed in cold blood, right in front of her. She should have died that night too.
Instead, she woke up in a hospital with no memory of what happened. No faces, no names and no clues. Just fragments, blurred images that slip through her fingers every time she tries to hold on.
Now, Amaya lives a quiet life, piecing herself back together. She works part-time, avoids trouble, and stays invisible. Until she lands a job at Twilight Global.
A company owned by Jake Anderson, the cold and untouchable CEO whose father was murdered the same night Aria lost her memory. Jake spent years searching for the only witness. But she vanished without any trace. Or so he thought.
But somehow, they cross path again, working under his roof, completely unaware of the truth she carries.
The killer is still out there.
And when Amaya starts getting flashes of blood, a voice, a ring glinting under the dim light, the hunt begins again.
But this time, she's not alone. Because even before he realizes who she is... Jake has already started protecting her. In the most relentless and dangerous way.
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Chapter 3
Sleep came but Amaya couldn't get any proper rest. She had woken up three times during the night. Each with the same lingering unease sitting heavy in her chest. There were no clear dreams, just fragments of emotion she couldn't explain.
By morning, she gave up trying. The alarm hadn't even gone off yet when she sat up, rubbing her face tiredly. "Great," she muttered. "Another long day."
Just then, the phone buzzed. Amaya blinked, immediately reaching out for it. And there it sat, an email notification. She slightly frowned, unlocking the screen. But then, froze.
Subject: Interview Invitation – Blooms Global
Her heart skipped. She had totally forgotten about the email she skeptically sent.
"What...?" She jerked up as she sat straighter, quickly opening it.
Dear Ms. Bennett,
We are pleased to invite you for an interview for the Administrative Assistant position at Blooms Global...
"Sh*t..." Amaya stared at the screen like it might disappear."They actually replied...?" A nervous laugh slipped out.
That wasn't supposed to happen. She had applied on an impulse. No expectations, no hope.Her stomach twisted, paying attention to the details.
The interview was scheduled at 11:30 AM. "Today?!" she groaned, scrambling out of bed.
Swiftly, she carried out her basic routine and hurried out. By 10:45 AM, Amaya stood across the street from the company's Headquarters. A sudden regret taking roots with her thoughts.
The building towered above the city in its intimidating perfection. People moved in and out with purpose, dressed in sharp suits and confidence she definitely did not have.
Amaya looked down at herself. She appeared decent in her Simple blouse, coupled with a Black skirt and a Low heels. But that was just not... it.
"Too late now," she whispered. It's not like she could easily go back and change. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the street.
What made the whole experience overwhelming was, was even more overwhelming, was the lobby. It's marble floors, high ceilings and clean lines everything screamed power.
Amaya hesitated just as she passed the entrance, unsure where to go.
"Interview?" a voice asked. She turned to see a receptionist smiling politely behind a sleek desk.
"Oh-yes. Um, Amaya Bennett." The woman typed quickly, then nodded. "You're expected. Take the elevator to the 18th floor."
"Thank you." She said.
Amaya walked toward the elevators, her steps a little too careful. As her reflection followed her in the mirrored walls, nervous.
The elevator's door slid open, she stepped and pressed 18. It instantly set into motion. The ride somehow felt longer than it should be as she waited in anticipation.
She was so anxious that, every ding at each floor made her chest tighten a little more. By the time the doors finally opened at her destination, her palms were slightly damp.
"Okay," she whispered. "You've got this." Those words felt empty but she tried to positive as she stepped.
The waiting area was already occupied when she got there. Three other candidates were already seated in a neat row of chairs, all dressed impeccably.
One woman glanced up at Amaya, then back down at her phone. Amaya swallowed and took the last empty seat. Her hands folded neatly in her lap.
As she waited, she just kept watching and observing. A habit she didn't realize she had. The room was quiet until the elevator doors behind them clicked open again.
A firm and measured footsteps immediately followed. Amaya felt it even before she saw him.
The subtle shift in the room was real. One by one, the other candidates straightened. The tension sharpened.
Amaya slightly frowned as she turned, at that moment, everything... slowed. Dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, he walked past without looking. His tall figure and heavy prescence, spark command and control.
Like the entire space belonged to him without question. Lucien Blues. Amaya had no idea who he was yet. But something inside her reacted anyway. A strange pull umfamiliar and unsettling pull. Her breath caught.
For just a second, he paused. Just enough for his gaze to slightly shift almost in her direction.
Amaya's fingers instinctively tightened in her lap.
And justblike that, he strolled off. Disappearing down the hallway.
The moment broke, and the hallway broke into ruckus. "...That's him," one of the candidates whispered.
"The CEO."
Aria blinked. "CEO?" The words sounded in her mind as her chest tightened slightly.
"That's... Lucien Blues?"
The name settled in her mind. Heavy, important and strangely familiar.
~~~~
Lucien on the other hand, didn't slow down until he reached his office.The moment the door shut, the silence returned. Just the way he liked it. But then, something lingered.
An unwanted and unexplained feeling. He slightly loosened his cuff, his expression unchanged. Yet his mind- clouldn't move on from that face. Though it was a brief and fleeting moment.
His jaw tightened. "Who was that?" he suddenly asked.
His assistant looked up. "Sir?" He muttered, obviously confused.
"The girl in the waiting area." He explained. There was a subtle silence.
"I'll check." He answered.
Lucien said nothing as moved toward the window. The city stretched endlessly below as he gazed outside. But his focus wasn't there.It was... elsewhere. Something about her, didn't sit right with him.
Back in the waiting, Amaya snapped out of her thoughts the moment her name called. "Yes."She muttered.
"Please come with me."
Amaya jerked up, smoothing her skirt before following the interviewer down the hall. Her heart was racing . But not just from nerves.
That man- Lucien .Why did it feel like she had just walked past something important?
The interview room was simple as they stepped in. A clean and professional setting.
She sat across from two managers, answering questions, and trying her best to stay composed.
"Tell us about your previous experience."
"Why Blooms Global?"
"What are your strengths?"
They were all normal questions.Which Amaya answered honestly and carefully. Slowly, she relaxed. Just a little untile a sharp pain hit her head.
It came suddenly but intense. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her chair.
"Ms. Bennett?" one interviewer asked.
"I-I'm fine," she quickly mumbled. But she wasn't.
Flashes of something unclear blurred her vision.
A room. Then..., Darkness.
A man standing. Then...
Another man- Falling. Then...
Blood-
Amaya sucked in a breath. And just like that, it was gone.
"...Would you like some water?" the interviewer asked. The words felt distant at first, then it suddenly became clearer.
"Yes. Thank you." She answered. Within a minutes, a bottle of water was rushed over. Her hands trembled slightly as she took the glass.
"Sorry. I just... didn't sleep well."
They nodded politely. But she could feel the something shift in the air. And somewhere behind the glass wall, Lucien watched.
His expression unreadable.But his eyes was
Sharp, focused, and locked on her.
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9.3
Jessie's biological parents brought her back from a Rust Belt wasteland just to force her into marrying a paralyzed heir to save their bankrupt empire.
Three years later, when the global doomsday apocalypse hit, her own family shoved her into a swarm of infected corpses.
As she was being torn apart by mutated hounds, she was stunned by what she saw.
Her fake sister, Harley, was clutching the antique silver necklace she had stolen from Jessie—an heirloom that secretly contained a magical spatial dimension.
When the infected swarmed them, her biological mother didn't even look back.
"Jessie is just white trash, she is perfectly suited to buy us time to run!"
Harley used Jessie's stolen necklace to live in absolute safety and luxury, while Jessie's windpipe was ripped out in the rotting wasteland.
Until she died, Jessie didn't understand. She was their true flesh and blood.
Why did her parents hate her so much? Why was she sacrificed so easily while the fake daughter got everything?
Opening her eyes again, the blinding glare of a crystal chandelier stabbed into her retinas.
She was back in the Manhattan penthouse on the exact day they sold her off.
This time, Jessie calmly signed the marriage contract, demanded a one hundred million dollar buyout, and walked out to prepare for the apocalypse.
7.6
Jocelyn Yang lived in the grand Turner Mansion, not as a guest, but as a prisoner. Ever since her father's death, the ruthless billionaire Elam Turner forced her to atone for sins her father never committed.
On her nineteenth birthday, a male classmate secretly sent her a diamond necklace. Elam, who had flown back from London overnight, flew into a psychotic, jealous rage at the sight of another man's gift.
He mercilessly crushed the delicate necklace into the marble floor with his custom leather shoe.
"Did you forget what you are?" Elam hissed, dragging her into a pitch-black storage room. "You take gifts from other men behind my back?"
He pinned her to the dusty floorboards and violently assaulted her. The next morning, a wire transfer of $500,000 hit her bank account. He had humiliated her, broken her spirit, and was now casually trying to buy her silence. Later, when a broken bike left her walking miles through a freezing rainstorm, he just shoved scalding tea into her bleeding hands.
"Look at you," he sneered. "You look like a stray dog ruining my floors."
Jocelyn curled up in the cold, her lips bleeding and her heart shattered. She couldn't understand his terrifying obsession. If he hated her so much, why did he refuse to let her go? Why did he look at her with such manic hunger while systematically destroying her life?
Staring at the massive sum of hush money on her phone, a desperate spark of vengeance flared in her chest. Jocelyn wired every single cent back to Elam's account. She picked up her charcoal pencil, vowing to win the upcoming art competition and buy her escape from this monster forever.
9.5
Elsie was the Sutton family's perfect puppet, a sickly heiress locked away in a pristine manor and treated like fragile porcelain. Her only purpose was to be a pawn in her mother's corporate games.
Without warning, her mother ordered her to marry Duke Blake, a ruthless, cold-blooded billionaire known for destroying his rivals. Worse, her mother immediately handed over total control of Elsie's life to him, declaring she couldn't even step outside the gates without his explicit permission.
Desperate, Elsie met him and asked if she would be expected to perform wifely duties, praying for a marriage in name only.
"I have a very high sex drive."
He stated it bluntly, shattering her illusions. Yet, when he drove her into the city days later, a sudden swerve sent her tumbling directly into his lap. Instead of the desire he claimed to possess, his body went completely rigid. He violently shoved her away, slamming her hard against the passenger seat. His face was pale, his knuckles white, and he stared straight ahead with a look of absolute, terrifying revulsion.
Humiliation and sharp pain coiled in her chest. She couldn't understand. Why did he demand absolute control over her and boast about his desires, only to treat her accidental touch like a repulsive disease? Why did this all-powerful man secretly smell of hospital antiseptics? What exactly was the Sutton family forcing her to marry?
But she was no longer willing to be a lamb led to the slaughter. Thinking of the provocative black lace hidden behind her wardrobe's false wall, Elsie smiled coldly. She was going to find the fatal flaw in this ruthless billionaire's code, and use it to completely shatter her cage.
9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.
7.7
Alondra spent three hours making soup for her husband, only to find him at the hospital tenderly holding another woman's hand.
"I'm four weeks pregnant, Gerard," the woman said softly.
Gerard coldly handed Alondra a divorce agreement, claiming their three-year marriage was just a placeholder because this woman had once saved his life.
Heartbroken, Alondra fled in her car, only to realize her brakes had been completely disabled.
She spun out of control and crashed head-on into a massive delivery truck.
As she lay trapped in the mangled wreckage with her ribs crushed and blood filling her mouth, Gerard's black Maybach pulled up to the curb.
He stared at her dying body through the window with a completely blank expression.
He didn't call an ambulance or even open his door.
He simply rolled up his tinted window and drove away into the rain.
A raw, suffocating hatred burned in her chest, hotter than the pain in her shattered bones.
She couldn't understand how the man she had loved and served so devotedly could just coldly watch her die like a piece of trash.
Opening her eyes again, Alondra gasped for air.
She had returned to the exact morning two years ago, right before she was supposed to deliver that pathetic soup.
When Gerard walked in and threatened her with divorce, she didn't cry or beg.
"I agree. Let's divorce," she said calmly, packing her bags to reclaim her true identity as a billionaire heiress.
7.9
I woke up in a burning warehouse, twelve years after my supposed death. My body had been reset to its physical prime, the deep burn scar on my wrist completely gone.
Through the smoke, my eldest son, Kennard, rushed blindly into the flames. He was screaming the name of the very woman who had orchestrated this trap—Brittnie.
When I tackled him out of the way of a falling steel beam, he didn't recognize my youthful face. Instead, he pinned me to the concrete and nearly crushed my windpipe.
"How much did she pay you to carve up your face to look like a dead woman?"
He hissed the words at me, treating me like a sick corporate spy. For a decade, a bizarre narrative "script" had brainwashed my son, forcing him into pathetic devotion to Brittnie. She had drained his wealth, turned my daughter against him, and hollowed out our family empire.
Whenever Kennard tried to resist her, the mind control punished him with agonizing migraines, driving him to smash his own hands against the wall just to cope with the pain.
Hearing him quietly sobbing outside my locked door, my heart shattered. How could this invisible force torture my brilliant son and turn my family into puppets for a D-list actress?
I dragged him to the hospital for a DNA test.
When the results confirmed my maternity at 99.999%, the cold billionaire collapsed to the floor, weeping in my arms like a lost child.
I wiped his tears and smiled ruthlessly. It was time to take back my empire and burn Brittnie's life to the ground.