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 5
Amaya woke up before her alarm again.
But this time, it wasn't the usual unease pulling her from sleep. It was rather anticipation. She laid still. Just for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and letting reality settle in.
You got the job. At Blooms Global. Her mind told her. But the words still felt foreign.
Instictively, she let out a slow breath. Then pushed herself out of bed. "No overthinking," she muttered. "Just get through the day."
Her mornings were that simple, but intentional. Shower, then get dressed. But this time, she took extra care. She choose her outfits, three times before settling on something clean.
A professional soft cream blouse tucked into a fitted black skirt, paired with low heels. It was nothing flashy, just... presentable.
She stood in front of the mirror for a second longer than usual. "You'll be fine." She told herself but didn't fully believe it. But she grabbed her bag anyway.
.
.
.
Today, the bus ride felt different. Not because of any major changes she had had. But in the subtle ways. Like how she stood a little straighter.
And how she paid closer attention to the people around her. First, it was a man arguing loudly on the phone. Then, a woman fixing her makeup in the reflection of the window.
A student half-asleep, head bobbing with every turn. Life was moving on as always. But today, felt different.
After about Thirty minutes, she finally alighted at Blooms Global. It was still massive and powerful But the building didn't feel as intimidating as yesterday. Because she felt a sense of belonging. At least... on paper.
"First day?" the receptionist asked with a polite smile as Aria approached.
"Yes." Amaya said.
"Welcome. HR is expecting you. 12th floor."
"Thank you." She answered, and strolled off.
Orientation wasn't as scary as she expected.
There were five of them in total. The new hires sat around a sleek table while an HR manager walked them through company policies, expectations, schedules.
Amaya listened carefully, jotting down notes in a small notebook she had brought. Details helped her feel in control. On her list were;
Names, Departments and Procedures.
Beside her, sat a curly girl. She leaned over slightly. "First corporate job?"
Amaya glanced at her. "Is it that obvious?"
The girl grinned. "A little. I'm Maya."
"Amaya."
"Relax," Maya whispered. "Everyone looks like they're about to pass out on their first day."
Amaya huffed a small laugh. That... actually helped.
By midday, Amaya was assigned her department. Administrative support. Mid-level management.
It was not directly important. And neither was it directly invisible. It was just between a balance she could work with.
"This is your station," the supervisor said, gesturing to a neat desk with a computer, phone, and a small stack of files.
Amaya nodded. "Thank you."
"Just observe for today. And et familiar." He instructed.
"I will." She said, and he was gone.
The office floor was alive in a quiet, controlled way. Phones rang softly in the background. While keyboards clicked. Low conversations drifted between desks.
Aria sat down, taking it all in. This was different from the convenience store. Everything here had structure and precision. Even the way people moved felt... calculated.
She turned on her computer, logging in with the credentials she had been given. Emails, Schedules and Documents. It was a lot, but manageable. She could do this.
"Hey." A voice came in.
Amaya looked up. Maya stood beside her, holding two cups of coffee.
"Peace offering," she said, handing one over.
Amaya smiled. "You're a lifesaver."
"I know, right?."
They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment.
Then Maya leaned slightly closer. "Word of advice?"
Amaya glanced at her. "Yeah?"
"Keep your head down. Do your work. Don't get noticed by the wrong people."
Amaya blinked. "Wrong people?"
Maya shrugged. "It's a big company. Not everyone here is... nice."
Something about the way she said it made Amaya pause. But before she could ask more, a voice cut through the air.
"Ms. Bennett."
Amaya stiffened. She knew that voice before she even turned. Slowly, she looked up. And there he was. The man from the convenience store.
He was standing right in front of her desk. Dressed in a sharp suit, composed.
Her stomach dropped. "...You work here?" she asked before she could stop herself.
A faint smile touched his lips. "Of course."
Her pulse quickened. Maya glanced between them, confused. "You two know each other?"
"No," Amaya quickly said.
"At least," the man smoothly added. "not formally." His gaze locked onto Amaya's. Sharp, knowing and unsettling.
"I'm Daniel Reed," he said. Senior operations manager." The title landed heavily. He wasn't just any employee. He was someone with power.
Amaya forced herself to stand. "Aria Bennett."
"I know." The words came out soft. But it sent a chill down her spine. A brief silence swept between them. Then, a pleasant and controlled smile spread through Daniel's face. "Welcome to Blooms Global."
And just like that, he walked away. Maya immediately leaned closer. "Okay... what was that?"
Amaya slowly sat down. "I have no idea." But that wasn't entirely true. Because deep down, she knew. That man wasn't normal. He had something fishy about him.
~~~
High above them, behind the glass walls. Lucien Blues watched. His gaze fixed on the floor below. On one particular desk, and iinteraction.
His expression didn't change. But slightly, his eyes darkened. "Daniel Reed," he quietly muttered.
His assistant stepped forward. "Yes, sir?"
"Keep an eye on him." He paused, "Discreetly."
"...Understood sir."
With the instructions given, Lucien's gaze shifted back to Amaya. She looked small from this height. Unaware of his prescence. Yet, she was the center of something he couldn't ignore.
Something feels wrong ahout her. He could feel that. And he intended to find out whatever it was.
Back at Amaya's desk, she tried to focus on her screen. The emails, schdules and tasks at hand.
But her fingers paused over the keyboard. Her mind replaying one thing.
You shouldn't have.
She swallowed, subtly glancing across the office like she was being watched. Obviously, Daniel was gone. But the feeling he left behind wasn't.
For the first time since she got the job, Amaya clearly realized something. She needs to keep her guards up for whatever challenge it was.
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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.