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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 6
The first at the company was hectic but went well anyway. Amaya faced weird encounters but stayed calm. By the second day, Amaya had settled into her routine. They were simple; Wake up, A quick breakfast, Head to the Bus station, Observe, and Work. The repeats everything again.
Though it wasn't perfect, it was enough to keep her grounded.
As usual, Amaya ushered herself into the morning. stood in her small kitchen, flipping a piece of bread in a pan. While her phone played soft music in the background. The warm and familiar smell of butter filled the space. Just the way she liked it.
Beside the counter, her notebook sat open, fillee with scribbled reminders: Reply to internal emails, learn filing system, and Ask about weekly reports.
On an impulse, she added one more. Stay out of trouble. A gentle reminder to keep her peace of mind.
Amaya paused after writing, staring at the words. "...Yeah," she muttered. But if only it were that easy.
.
.
.
In the next Thirty minutes, Amaya found herself walking through the doors of the company. But today, the office felt slightly less overwhelming.
She greeted the receptionist with a small nod as she strolled by, making her way up to her floor.
"Morning," Maya said, already at her desk asshe saw Amaya walking in.
"Morning." Amaya responded, now at her desk.
"Survived day one. That's impressive."
Amaya faintly smiled. "Barely."
Maya leaned back in her chair. "Just give it a week. I tell you, 'll start judging everyone else instead."
"I doubt that, though." Amaya said, setting her bag down as she organized her desk.
"Just wait." Maya answered, not ready to back down.
Amaya shrugged, a smile plastered on her face as she sat in her chain. Now facing her desktop as well as Maya.
Steadily, they got into work. First, organizing mails. To documents to sorting, then transferring calls. They were nothing complicated but required lots of attention.
In it all, Amaya found herself settling into it faster than she expected. It was just perfect for someone like her who liked structure. She liked knowing what comes next, as it keeps her thoughts from wandering.
Just until a voice interrupted. "Ms. Bennett."
Her shoulders instinctively tensed. She didn't need to look up to know who it was. But did anyway.
And truthfully, her intuition wasn't wrong. Daniel Reed stood beside her desk, polished and calm.
Watching her like it was his job.
"Mr. Reed," she said, keeping her tone professional.
He placed a file on her desk. "I need this delivered to the archives. Basement level."
Amaya glanced at it. "I can do that."
"Good." He nodded, but didn't leave immediately. He just stood there like he was... waiting for her to set off.
"Anything else?" she asked.
He smiled faintly. "No. That will be all." And with that, he finally walked away.
Once he was gone, Amaya slowly exhaled.Maya on the other hand, leaned over immediately. "Why does he keep coming to you?"
"I don't know," Amaya admitted, clearly confused as much as her coworker.
Maya frowned. "Just... be careful, okay? That's all I can say." Amaya nodded, but didn't ask why.
Because something told her she already knew the answer. Without hesitation, she jerked to her full length and headed for to get her assigned task done.
~~~
The basement level was colder and quieter than the rest of the building in Blooms Global. And hardly had visiting it. Especially the old staffs.
Amaya stepped out of the elevator, the soft hum of machinery echoing faintly in the distance. The rows of storage shelves lined the space. Filled with labeled boxes and old files. It was practically empty.
Her grip on the folder slightly tightened, as she carefully strolled in. Clearly on edge.
"Archives," she murmured, scanning the signs. "This way." She told herself.
Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she walked deeper inside. The air felt differently still. Like it was stagnant.
Amaya slowed as a strange feeling crept over her. Like she wasn't alone. lnstictively, she turned, but was met silence. Just the neatly arranged rows of shelves.
"...You're overthinking again," she whispered.
In that moment, found the correct section . Slightly, she crouched, pulling out a box to place the file inside. Her fingers brushed the cold metal edge of the shelf.
She slid the file in, and stood, about to leave. That's when she heard it. A faint sound from behind her. Deftly, Amaya turned but it was too late.
The heavy metal rack beside her suddenly tilted. Coming towards her in a fast speed.Her eyes widened. "Oh-!"
The world seem snap into motion as a hand quickly grabbed her arm. And pulled her back. In that instant, the rack crashed down where she had been standing just seconds before.
The loud and violent sound echoed through the entire basement. Amaya's heart slammed against her ribs as she stumbled backward, straight into someone's chest. Her breath caught.
For a second, she didn't move nor think. She just felt his firm and steady grip around her arm.
"...Watch where you stand." The voice came low and controlled.
Amaya froze, slowly turning towards him. She came face-to-face with him. And it was no other Lucien Blues. Up close, he was worse. Not too intimidating in a loud way. And niether aggressive.
Just still and sharp, like nothing escapes him.
Her breath hitched. "I-I didn't-" she started, already trying to release herself from his grip. But he didn't let her.
"You didn't check your surroundings," he cut in calmly. Not harsh or direct.
Amaya swallowed. "I was just-"
"Distracted." He concluded.
She faintly nodded. "...Yes."
His gaze held hers for a second longer, then finally released her. The loss of contact felt immediate and noticeable.
Aria stepped back slightly, steadying herself. "Thank you," she said.
But he didn't respond right away. Instead, his eyes shifted briefly to the fallen rack. Then back to her. His gaze calculative and assessing. She noticed mething unreadable flickered in his expression.
"Report this," he finally said. "And don't come down here alone again." He ordered, his tone clearly not a suggestion.
Amaya nodded. "Okay."
And that was enough to make the air between them, tight. Neither of them moved. Just the, footsteps echoed from the far end, approaching towards them.
"Sir?" Lucien's assistant called as he sighted them.
But Lucien didn't immediately look away from Amaya. And when he finally did, the moment broke.
"Handle it," he said, already turning away. And within a blink of an eye, he was gone. Just like that.
Amaya stood still, staring at the space he had just occupied. Her heart still racing from the impact of the moment, not just the accident. But something else. The one thing she couldn't explain.
Unbeknownst to her, someone stood in the silence, watching from behind a row of shelves. His expression darkened, cold and unimpressed.
"...Unfortunate," he murmured.
Because whatever happened, hadn't been an accident.
Back upstairs, Maya rushed over the moment Amaya returned. "What happened? We heard something crash!"
Amaya slowly exhaled . "A rack fell."
"Are you okay?!" Maya snapped.
"I'm fine."
"Thank God." She added.
But that wasn't all. Amaya had the urge to say more but hesitated. Unfortunately she wasn't one to keep things for herself.
"The CEO was there." She muttered
Maya's eyes widened. "What?!"
"He... pulled me out of the way." She whispered.
"Okay, that's not normal."
"I figured so." Amaya agreed.
Maya leaned closer. "He doesn't just show up in places like that."
Amaya slightly frowned."...Then why was he there?" She said, almost to herself.
Meanwhile, Lucien stood by his window again. But his mind wasn't on the city this time. It was on the basement. The timing, placement and intent. He was so sure that rack didn't fall by accident. It was made to fall.
His jaw tightened "Daniel Reed," he said to herself. But this time, there was no doubt.
Keep Reading
The story is getting intense! Switch to App to
Unlock All Chapters
You may also like
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.