Denova's feet wouldn't move. Curiosity anchored her in place, her thoughts tangled in questions about what was about to unfold and what, exactly, they were saying behind that door.
"Are you really going to resign?" Yoter asked again, his voice low, strained, as if he were afraid the answer would shatter something fragile inside him. "Is it because of me?"
Patricia turned sharply toward him, disbelief flashing across her face. "Why does everything always have to be about you?" she snapped, though her hands trembled at her sides. "No. Of course not. I'm leaving because I want to start a new life. I'm doing this for myself. Why can't you just believe that?"
Yoter clenched his jaw. "Because you've been avoiding me," he said quietly, each word heavy. "For days. You don't speak to me unless you have to. You walk away the moment you see me. You won't even look at me anymore. Tell me how am I supposed to believe that has nothing to do with me?"
Patricia let out a shaky laugh, one that carried no humor at all. "Avoiding you?" she echoed bitterly. "What did you expect? That I'd continue hovering around you like nothing happened? That I'd smile and chat and pretend my feelings didn't matter?"
Denova stood frozen behind the door, her back pressed against the cold stone wall, shoes clutched tightly in her hands. She hadn't meant to hear any of it. She really hadn't. But now every word had lodged itself deep in her chest, heavy and aching, and there was no pulling them out.
Her throat tightened.
Patricia's voice, so strong, so capable, so endlessly reliable had cracked, and Denova felt each fracture like it was happening inside her own heart. She had never seen Patricia like this. Never heard her voice tremble with this kind of raw pain. The woman who always knew what to do, who always stood steady no matter the situation, is breaking right in front of her.
"I didn't say that," Yoter replied, confusion flickering in his eyes. "But you used to talk to me. We used to work side by side. Now it feels like you're a stranger. I wanted to talk to you about something, but every time I try, you always find excuses to go then disappear."
Patricia's eyes glistened. "Because.... I'm trying to survive, Yoter," she said, her voice breaking. "What do you want me to do? Still approach you when it's not work-related? Are you out of your mind? I still talk to you about manor affairs. I still do my job. That's all where my responsibility align."
Her hands clenched into fists. "And don't act like I'm heartless for that."
"But you don't talk to me the way you used to," Yoter said, stepping closer despite himself. "You don't smile. You don't tease me. You don't even meet my eyes. Every time I look at you, you turn away. Every time I walk toward you, you find a reason to leave. You're clearly avoiding me, Patricia."
Silence hung heavy between them.
Denova pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling the sharp breath that threatened to betray her. This is none of your business, she told herself desperately.
You shouldn't be here.
You shouldn't be hearing this.
But she couldn't move.
Then Patricia snapped.
"You rejected me, Yoter!" she hissed, her voice trembling with fury and pain she could barely contain. "What did you expect me to do after that? Laugh it off? Act like it meant nothing? Like I didn't lay my heart bare in front of you?"
Her eyes burned red as tears spilled freely now. "Of course I don't want you near me. I don't want false hope. You keep giving me mixed signals acting like you still care after breaking my heart. Do you have any idea how cruel that feels?"
She stepped forward and struck his chest, once, twice, fists pounding against him. "I'm in pain, Yoter. I've been in pain ever since that night. I feel embarrassed! Humiliated! Disappointed in myself for ever believing—"
Her voice cracked completely. "—for ever believing you might feel the same."
Yoter didn't move. The blows meant nothing physically, but each one landed deep in his chest, sharp and unbearable. Seeing her cry like this because of him made his heart ache in a way he didn't know how to handle.
"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I truly am! I didn't realize how deeply you were hurting. I never meant to cause you pain."
"Then why did you?" she demanded softly. "Why did you let me hope?"
He swallowed. "I never thought of you as unimportant," he said quickly. "Never! I see you as someone I rely on. Someone I trust with this manor, with the Ashenveils themselves. You are… important to me."
Patricia let out a quiet, broken laugh. "As a coworker," she said. "As someone useful."
"That's not." He stopped himself, struggling for words. "I don't know what this feeling is. All I know is that when you started avoiding me, it felt like something was wrong. Like something was missing. I couldn't focus, I couldn't understand why it bothered me so much."
Her breathing faltered.
"You see?" she whispered. "That's exactly the problem. You don't even know what you feel, but you still want me close enough to comfort you. Do you know how painful that is?"
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she stepped back. "I did everything right," she said quietly. "I worked harder than anyone. I trained myself to be better, sharper, more dependable because I thought if I proved myself, you'd notice me."
She smiled weakly. "And you did notice. Just… not the way I hoped."
Yoter reached out instinctively, then froze. "Patricia!"
She shook her head. "Don't."
Her voice softened, exhaustion replacing anger. "It's not your fault," she said.
"It's mine.
I loved you.
I hoped you'd love me back.
But now… I don't want to hope anymore."
She straightened her shoulders, even as tears continued to fall.
"I need time.
I need distance.
I need to heal and learn how to breathe again without hurting."
She looked at him one last time. "Please don't approach me unless it's work-related. I misunderstand things too easily. And I can't afford to break myself again."
Then she turned away, each step slow, heavy, deliberate leaving Yoter standing alone with words he never realized were knives until they were already lodged in his heart.
When Patricia slowly walking towards the door, Denova panicked. Barefoot and breathless, she hurried down the corridor as silently as she could, heart pounding like it was trying to escape her chest. She barely had time to press herself behind a column before Patricia stepped out, eyes red, posture straight, dignity held together by sheer will.
Denova watched her pass.
She wanted to reach out.
To call her name.
To tell her she wasn't alone, that she was loved, that she mattered more than she ever realized. But Denova stayed silent, nails biting into her palm as she watched Patricia disappear down the hall.
Only then did Denova sag against the wall, legs weak, chest aching.
She swallowed hard, blinking, guilt washing over her in heavy waves. I shouldn't have heard that, she thought. I shouldn't know this. But knowing didn't make it hurt any less.
Behind the door, Yoter hadn't moved.
After a few long minutes, Denova finally forced herself to move, her steps slow and heavy as she continued down the corridor toward her rooms to prepare for her departure. She told herself to focus on packing, on schedules, on Ravenscroft, but her heart was still lodged somewhere behind that half-open door.
She glanced back once more.
The door creaked softly as it opened, and Yoter stepped out.
He didn't notice her. He barely seemed to notice the world at all.
His usually immaculate posture was gone, shoulders slightly hunched as if something unseen had settled heavily upon them. His eyes so often calm, observant, composed were clouded with pain and confusion, the kind that comes from a wound one doesn't yet know how to name. He paused in the corridor, fingers tightening briefly at his side, as though he were trying to steady himself before moving again.
Denova's chest tightened.
He looked pitiful in a way that hurt to witness, not weak, not broken, but lost. Like a man standing in the aftermath of something precious slipping through his fingers, still insisting he hadn't been holding anything at all.
He may have feelings for her.
Maybe not in the way poets wrote about, not yet. But the ache in his eyes said enough. He just didn't realize it. Or perhaps he did, deep down, and simply didn't know what to do with the feeling. A lifetime spent serving, suppressing, prioritizing duty over self, how could he possibly recognize his own heart when it finally spoke?
And Patricia…
Denova swallowed. Whatever pain Patricia had been carrying, it must have grown unbearable for her to reach the point of resignation. To walk away from years of loyalty, from feelings she had carefully buried beneath professionalism and grace, it wasn't something done lightly. No, this wasn't a threat or an impulsive decision.
Patricia was serious.
Heartbreak had finally demanded its due.
There was nothing Denova could do.
That realization stung more than she expected.
She turned away quietly, leaving Yoter alone in the corridor with emotions he didn't yet understand, and continued to her chambers. Once inside, she released a slow, weary sigh and began preparing in silence until she arrive. Documents sorted, seals checked. Her hands moved automatically, but her thoughts kept drifting back to red eyes, clenched fists, words said too late and feelings left unspoken.
Even as she sat down to review the plans and paperwork at Ravenscroft Manor, the new project, the schedules, the agreements meant to shape the future of the land, those images lingered at the edges of her mind.
Thankfully, her butler was there, steady and efficient as ever, gently reminding her of what needed to be signed, what required her seal, what discussions awaited her. His calm presence grounded her. With his help, she pushed through it all, planning, calculations, revisions until everything was finally complete.
She had survived the paperwork.
The planning.
The responsibilities.
Yet as she stood to leave, cloak in hand, Denova couldn't help but think that some wounds were far harder to organize and heal than any project or document.
And some hearts, once cracked, took far longer to mend.