The days in Navarro Corporation passed with mechanical precision—emails, meetings, transactions, reports—all flowing seamlessly like a machine that no longer needed a human heartbeat to keep it running.
Yet to Kael, something vital was missing.
It had been a week since that day—the day he shattered everything.
The memory haunted him, looping endlessly: Amara's tearful eyes, wide and trembling, the way her lips parted as though to speak—but she never did. And he, cold and unfeeling, had walked away after saying the cruellest words he could muster.
"She's just a staff's daughter. Nothing more."
He had said it in front of everyone.
And every night since, the words returned like a knife twisting deeper.
At first, Kael convinced himself she was sulking. She needed time—that was all. Amara always forgave him, didn't she? She always came back.
Maybe she'd be cold, distant for a while, but she'd return to her desk, her quiet voice, her predictable warmth.
But a week passed. Then another. And her desk stayed empty.
By the tenth day, whispers began to drift through the hallways.
"Did you hear? Miss Amara took a month's leave.""A whole month? That's not like her.""Maybe she's sick… or maybe—heartbroken."
That last word hit him like a punch.Heartbroken.
Kael froze in the middle of the corridor, pretending not to hear, pretending it didn't matter. But his chest tightened, the word echoing again and again until it filled every space in his thoughts.
He clenched his fists. "A month?"
It didn't make sense. Amara wasn't the type to disappear for that long. She wasn't the type to abandon her duties or hide from the world. Even when she was upset, she stayed—because that was who she was. Loyal. Consistent. Stronger than people thought.
So why now?
Her absence was louder than her presence had ever been.No soft rustle of her papers, no polite reminders for his meetings, no faint hum of a tune she used to hum under her breath when she thought no one noticed.
Kael found himself looking at her workspace more often than he cared to admit.
Everything was still there—the mug she left behind, her pen holder, the little potted plant she kept by the corner. The leaves were beginning to wither.
He stood there one afternoon, hand in his pocket, staring at that dying plant.
"You'll die too," he muttered softly, voice rough. "Because she's not here to take care of you."
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Talking to plants now, Kael?"
Clariss.
She stood behind him, arms crossed, eyes glittering with amusement. "You really must be losing it."
Kael straightened, his tone sharp. "What do you want?"
"Just checking on you," she said smoothly, stepping closer. "You've been… distracted lately. Everyone's noticed."
"I'm fine," he replied curtly.
"Oh, I'm sure you are." She leaned on Amara's desk, tapping the edge with her manicured nail. Her gaze swept over the items left behind, then lingered on the withering plant. "Clinging to her things now, are we?"
Kael said nothing.
Clariss tilted her head, voice softening with mock sympathy. "It's sweet, really. The way you look at her desk. Almost like you miss her."
He glanced at her, wary.
She smiled faintly. "Though I suppose it's easy to miss someone when you only ever saw what they wanted you to see."
Kael's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, nothing." She shrugged, feigning innocence. "Just… Amara always had a way of playing the part, didn't she? Quiet. Polite. So very… harmless."
Her tone darkened just enough to make him pause.
"But sometimes," she continued, tracing the rim of Amara's mug with a fingertip, "the ones who seem the most innocent are the ones with the most to hide."
Kael's voice was low. "You're implying something."
Clariss met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm just saying—maybe you didn't know her as well as you thought. People talk, Kael. And not all of it's flattering."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Stop talking in riddles."
"Fine," she said, her smile widening. "You know, people are starting to whisper. They say her engagement was… reassigned. Apparently, it's Damian now."
Something inside Kael snapped.
He turned to her fully, his expression cold. "Don't be ridiculous."
Clariss blinked innocently. "Oh? It might be true. In fact…"She smirked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I saw something interesting recently. Damian Sinclair rushing into the hospital with her. Quite the sight, actually. You should've seen the way he held her."
Kael froze.
"What did you say?"
Clariss shrugged, playing coy. "It's not my place to gossip. But I'm sure someone like you can put the pieces together. Maybe she wasn't as sweet as everyone thought."
He stared at her, disbelief flaring into anger. "You're lying."
She smiled. "Am I?"
Kael turned away before he did something he'd regret. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of Amara's desk, his breath coming shallow and uneven.
Clariss's footsteps faded, but her voice lingered like poison.
"Maybe she wasn't as sweet as everyone thought…"
When the office emptied for the evening, Kael stayed behind.
The silence was deafening. He sat in his chair, staring blankly at the window where city lights bled into the night. His reflection stared back at him — tired, hollow-eyed, and lost.
His hand found its way to his phone, unlocking it almost unconsciously. He scrolled through old messages — her gentle reminders, her small check-ins, her awkward little jokes.
Good morning, sir. Don't forget your 9 AM meeting.Did you eat lunch today?The new proposal is on your desk. I think you'll like it.I'll stay late tonight, if that's okay. I just want to finish it properly.
His thumb hovered over her last message — weeks old now.
Thank you, Kael.
He remembered the way she'd said it in person that same day — quietly, with a tremor in her voice — just before he broke her heart in front of everyone.
Kael squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face. He could still see her — standing there, pale and trembling, trying not to cry as he looked her in the eye and denied everything they'd shared.
Now Clariss's words mixed with his guilt, twisting into something darker.
Damian rushing her to the hospital.You should've seen the way he held her.Her engagement was reassigned.
He wanted to dismiss it — wanted to believe Clariss was lying. But the more he tried to reject the thought, the clearer the image became in his mind: Damian and Amara, together. Her fragile body leaning against him. His hand holding hers. Her trusting him in ways she used to trust Kael.
It made his chest burn.
He slammed a hand on the desk. The sound echoed through the empty office.
"No," he whispered harshly. "She wouldn't."
But his heart didn't listen.
In the quiet, jealousy festered like an open wound. It mixed with regret, with self-loathing, with the gnawing knowledge that if Damian truly had her now—it was because Kael had pushed her there himself.
He stood abruptly and walked toward the door, then stopped—his gaze falling once more on her desk.
Her mug still sat there, empty.Her plant, wilted beyond saving.Her nameplate, half-faded but still legible.
Amara Castellanos.
He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against the surface of her desk, tracing the invisible outline of where she used to sit.
"You wouldn't," he murmured again, but his voice cracked this time.
Clariss's smirk flashed again in his mind. "I saw something interesting recently…"
He shook his head violently, as if trying to shake off the image.
But it stayed.
It always stayed.
Meanwhile, in her own office across the floor, Clariss sat on her couch with one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through her phone. She found the photo — the one she'd taken secretly at the hospital: Damian's arm around Amara, his face drawn with concern, her head resting against his shoulder.
The image was blurry, but powerful enough to spark questions — and that was all she needed.
She tilted her phone, studying the picture with satisfaction. "Poor Kael," she murmured, voice dripping with false pity. "He never stood a chance."
Then she smirked, saving the photo in a hidden folder before standing up.Her heels clicked sharply against the floor — deliberate, confident.
"Let's see how far the perfect Amara Castellanos falls."
Kael didn't go home that night.He sat in his car, parked outside the building, rain tapping softly on the windshield. His thoughts ran wild — too loud to silence.
He replayed every memory of her: the way she smiled shyly when she brought him coffee, the quiet way she'd say "Goodnight, sir," before leaving, the one time she laughed so freely during lunch that he couldn't stop staring.
And then he remembered that last look she gave him — broken, betrayed, done.
He pressed a fist against his chest. It physically hurt.He didn't even know if it was jealousy or guilt anymore — probably both.
"Damian Sinclair…" he muttered. The name tasted bitter on his tongue."You don't deserve her either."
But deep down, he knew — neither did he.
When morning came, the world outside was bright and merciless. Kael dragged himself into the office with no sleep and a head full of ghosts.
He didn't see Clariss waiting for him near the elevators, her expression perfectly composed, her phone already open to the photo that would destroy everything.