Silver Adams had never liked memories.
They had a way of returning uninvited—slipping into quiet moments, resurfacing when she was weakest. And lately, weakness followed her like a shadow.
The rumors at the office had not stopped. They had only grown quieter, sharper, more deliberate. Silver learned quickly which smiles were genuine and which were laced with judgment. She answered questions politely, worked harder than ever, and kept her head down.
But inside, something fragile was cracking.
That evening, rain poured steadily over Los Angeles, blurring the city into streaks of gray. Silver stayed late again, the office nearly empty by the time she shut down her computer. She welcomed the silence. It gave her space to breathe.
Or so she thought.
As she stepped into the hallway, her phone buzzed.
A name flashed across the screen—one she hadn't seen in years.
Daniel.
Her heart skipped painfully.
She stared at the screen, frozen, before finally silencing the call. Her fingers trembled as she slipped the phone back into her bag.
Some wounds never healed. They only learned how to hide.
Silver didn't notice Raymond at first.
He stood near the windows at the end of the hall, jacket draped over his arm, his expression unreadable. When she looked up and saw him, her steps slowed instinctively.
"You're still here," he said.
"So are you," she replied softly.
He nodded. "Long day."
She hesitated, then surprised herself by speaking honestly. "It's been a long few days."
Raymond studied her face. "Walk with me?"
She nodded, and together they moved toward the elevators. The silence between them felt heavy but not uncomfortable—like a pause waiting to be filled.
"You've been carrying a lot," Raymond said quietly. "And I don't think it's just work."
Silver's throat tightened.
For a moment, she considered brushing it off. She had done that her whole life—pretended she was fine, even when she wasn't. But something about the way Raymond looked at her made lying feel pointless.
"I wasn't always like this," she said suddenly. "So… cautious."
Raymond didn't interrupt.
"I used to believe love was simple," she continued. "That if you gave your whole heart, it would be enough."
The elevator doors opened, but neither of them stepped inside.
"I loved someone once," Silver said. "Deeply."
Raymond's jaw tightened slightly.
"He promised me everything," she went on, her voice barely steady. "A future. Marriage. Stability. I believed him. I planned my life around him."
She swallowed hard.
"Then one day, he told me he'd found someone else. Someone more exciting. Less… complicated."
Raymond's hands curled slowly at his sides.
"I wasn't angry," Silver whispered. "Just empty. Like I'd given everything I had, and there was nothing left for me."
Silence settled around them.
"That's why you're afraid," Raymond said softly. "Not of love—but of giving it to the wrong person."
Silver nodded, tears burning her eyes. "I promised myself I wouldn't make that mistake again."
Raymond took a step closer—but stopped, respecting the invisible line she'd drawn.
"I'm sorry someone made you feel replaceable," he said. "You're not."
The sincerity in his voice almost undid her.
The next morning, the tension at the office reached a breaking point.
During a departmental meeting, a senior editor made an offhand comment—subtle, but pointed.
"Some people seem to be receiving… extra attention lately."
The room went quiet.
Silver's face flushed.
Before she could respond, Raymond spoke.
"Let's be clear," he said calmly. "Performance is the only currency that matters here. And Silver Adams has earned every responsibility she's been given."
Every eye turned to him.
"She's diligent, capable, and professional," Raymond continued. "Any suggestion otherwise is misplaced."
Silence followed.
Silver's heart pounded.
Raymond didn't look at her. He didn't single her out further. He simply moved the meeting along as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
But to Silver, everything had changed.
Later, she found him alone in his office, staring at the city.
"You didn't have to do that," she said softly.
"I did," Raymond replied. "No one should feel small for doing their job well."
She hesitated. "Thank you."
He nodded, then looked at her—really looked at her.
"I won't rush you," he said. "But I won't walk away either. Not because I'm stubborn—but because I believe some things are worth waiting for."
Her heart clenched.
"I don't know when I'll be ready," she admitted.
"That's alright," he said. "I'm not asking for promises."
Just honesty.
That night, Silver lay in bed, rain tapping softly against the window.
She thought of the man who had broken her heart.
And the man who had quietly defended it.
For the first time in a long while, she wondered if loving right didn't mean avoiding love—but choosing it carefully.
Across the city, Raymond Cole poured himself a drink he didn't touch.
He had built empires by knowing when to act and when to wait.
And with Silver Adams, he knew—waiting might be the most important decision he'd ever make.