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 4
Instead of feeling confident or hopeful, Amaya stepped out of the building rather feeling... lighter. A relief of it all finally being over.
The glass doors of Blooms Global slid shut with a soft hiss behind her, cutting off the polished silence of the corporate world as she returned to the familiar chaos of the street.
The afternoon air brushed over her; as noises from cars, voices and heat rising from the pavement welcomed her to the real life. She exhaled slowly, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
"Well," she murmured, "at least I didn't completely embarrass myself." That, alone counted for something.
Her stomach growled in reminder. "Right." She muttered. She hadn't gotten anything down there since morning.
Fortunately across the street, a small food stall was set up. It was nothing fancy. Just a man grilling skewers while chatting loudly with customers. The warm, spicy and comforting smell immediately hit her
Amaya hesitated for a second, before crossing over. "Two, please," she said, holding up her fingers.
The vendor grinned. "Good choice."
She leaned against the side of the stall while waiting, watching while different caliber of people pass by. Office workers on lunch breaks laughing in small groups. Someone arguing over the phone. And a couple sharing drinks.
Just the normal and grounded life she needed. "Here you go," the vendor said, cutting through her distruction as he handed her the skewers.
"Thanks." She said, took a bite and nearly sighed. "Okay... worth it." She muffled with her mouth half full.
The vendor chuckled. "First time here?"
"Yeah." She nodded, enjoying her little satisfaction.
"Then you'll be back."
Amaya faintly smiled faintly. "Maybe."
She stayed a little longer than necessary, slowly eating and allowing her nerves settle. In the moment, her phone buzzed. Quickly, she wiped fingers and checked it.
Surprisingly, it was from an unknown number again. Her brows furrowed, this was somehow, becoming rampant. For a moment, she considered ignoring it. But then, something, maybe the subtle urge made her answer.
"...Hello?" She uttered, but was met with silence. Then, a click. And just like that, the call ended.
Amaya stared at the screen. "...Weird." She mumbled. And that made a small chill crept up her spine. But she shook it off. "Probably nothing."
Yet, that didn't stop her from blocking the number. Just in case.
By the time she got back to the convenience store, the afternoon rush had started. "Hey, you're late," her coworker called.
"Interview," Amaya replied, tying her apron quickly.
"Oh? Fancy."
"Not really." She slipped into routine again. Registering, restocking, and small talks with customers.
Steadily, time passed with it's normal activities.
Untile the door chimed, at an odd hour when the the door tag clearly read...CLOSED .
Intuitively, Amaya looked up. But then, froze. It was him.The man from yesterday. But this time, there was no pretence in his eyes, neither a smile.
Amaya watched as she walked straight to the counter. Her pulse spiked. "...Coffee?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"No." His gaze held hers. Direct and intense. "You applied to Blooms Global," he uttered. But that sound like a question.
Amaya's stomach dropped. "How do you?"
Slightly, he leaned in. And lowered his voice, only to Amaya's hearing. "You shouldn't have."
Her breath caught. "What?" She stared at him.
But he quickly straightened, just as if nothing had happened. And reached for a bottle of water instead. Paid, and then left. Just like that.
Aria stood there, frozen. Her coworker frowned. "You know him?"
"No." Her voice came out too tight and fast. Because that...that wasn't something normal.
~~~~~
Across the city
Lucien Blues had already read the reports, seen the candidates and analyzed the data. He didn't need interviews to make his decisions.
And yet, "Her," he said, sliding the file forward.
His assistant blinked. "Sir?"
"Amaya Bennett. Hire her." There was a brief pause as his assistant glanced at her profile.
"But she's not the strongest candidate."
"I didn't ask for the strongest." His tone didn't rise, and neither did it sharpened. But it ended the discussion anyway.
"...Understood."
Lucien leaned back slightly, with a distant gaze.
There was something about her. Something he was finding hard to ignore or trust. And until he figures out what it was, he wanted her close.
.
.
.
The evening slowly drift on. Amaya was halfway through organizing a shelf, when her phone buzzed again. And this time, it was an email.
She hesitated briefly before opening it. A few seconds after, her eyes widened.
"...No way." She muttered.
Her coworker glanced over. "What?"
"I-I got it."
"The job?" She asked.
Amaya slowly nodded, still staring at the screen. "They... hired me." Just like that. No second interview. No delay.
Her coworker let out a low whistle. "Damn. You're moving up."
Amaya softly laughed. But deep down, something about it didn't feel normal or earned.
It felt...Fast. Too fast.
After the long hours, she finally retired to bed. But the whole job thing kept hunting her. She sat on her bed, staring at the email again.
Offer letter. The start date. Everything was well documented. It was official. Like real. Her life was changing. Just like that.
But instead of the usual excitement, a strange unease settled in her chest. Remembering what the man had said.
"You shouldn't have." Those words felt funnily scary.
Amaya slowly lay back staring at the ceiling. "Why...?" She didn't know. But something told her that job...wasn't an opportunity. It was a door. And once she stepped through, there would be no going back.
But she was ready for the challenge.
Back in a dark office, the man loosened his tie, staring at a screen. A CCTV footage to the convenience store. It was paused and zoomed in on her face. Her features clear.
His lips slightlt curled. "Unlucky," he murmured.
For her. Because this time, he wouldn't let her walk away just like those passed years.
.
.
Somewhere in the city..
Lucie stood by his window. Unaware that the girl he had just brought into his world was the answer he had been searching for all those passed years.
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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.