Chapter 4
1064words
The tense atmosphere spread throughout the company. Vivian grew increasingly anxious and cautious, but her nervousness only led to more mistakes.
Wrong coffee orders. Mixed-up schedules. Poorly handled emails. Small errors multiplied daily.
Each mistake reminded Garrett that the precision machine that had run flawlessly for seven years was now faltering without its core component.
He began watching Sylvia unconsciously.
She still arrived punctually each day, efficiently organizing files, training Vivian, and compiling thick handover manuals. She remained respectful and courteous toward him, answering all questions—but that respect now carried an unbridgeable distance.
She no longer made his coffee, reminded him of appointments, or arranged his lunches. Her desk gradually emptied of personal items.
All this left Garrett increasingly agitated. He'd grown accustomed to Sylvia's presence—as essential as air or water. Now that the air was thinning, he felt a suffocating discomfort.
That evening, Garrett worked late. After finishing his last email, he noticed city lights glimmering through the window as light rain fell. He leaned back, rubbing his throbbing temples, and habitually dialed the number he knew by heart.
The phone rang for what seemed like forever before Sylvia's cool voice answered: "Hello?"
Hearing her voice brought an inexplicable relief. At least she still answered his calls.
"Still at the office?" he asked with unconscious dependency in his tone. "I'm done here. I'll wait five minutes and we can head back together." They lived in a luxury apartment near the company, usually driven by a chauffeur, occasionally traveling together.
Silence hung on the line for several seconds.
Then Sylvia's voice came through clearly, tinged with confusion: "Mr. Grayson, have you dialed the wrong number? I've already left the office. And I don't believe I have any obligation to wait for you."
Garrett froze.
"Also," Sylvia continued, her tone unwavering, "my personal number will be discontinued after the handover period ends. For future work matters, please use the company messaging system or email. If there's nothing else, I'll hang up now."
"Wait!" Garrett blurted, panic seizing him. "Sylvia, is this really necessary? Even if you're resigning, between us… are we really left with nothing but a cold, professional relationship?"
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He sounded desperate—pleading.
Sylvia laughed softly—a gentle sound tinged with unmistakable mockery.
"Mr. Grayson, in these past seven years, was there ever anything between us besides our professional relationship?" She paused, her voice dropping lower, each word striking like a hammer. "At least from your perspective, I've always believed there wasn't."
"Good night, Mr. Grayson."
Without waiting for his response, she hung up, leaving only the dial tone.
Garrett held the phone, listening to the monotonous beeping, frozen in place.
Outside, the rain intensified, drumming against the windows. His darkened office was lit only by the blue glow of his computer screen, casting shadows across his grim face.
For the first time, he realized with stark clarity that Sylvia was withdrawing from his life at an irreversible pace—not just professionally, but from all the care and companionship that had permeated every corner of his existence, things he'd taken for granted.
He suddenly stood, grabbed his car keys, and rushed to the elevator. In the garage, he started his car, the finely-tuned engine growling as he sped into the curtain of rain.
He had no destination in mind, but instinctively drove to Sylvia's apartment building.
He knew where she lived—he'd had his assistant arrange this apartment in a quiet, upscale neighborhood. But he'd rarely visited, usually having his driver pick her up at the company entrance.
He parked and rolled down his window, letting cool raindrops hit his face. Looking up, he saw her window glowing with warm light. She was home.
He lit a cigarette but didn't smoke it, just watched the smoke curl in the damp air. He wanted to go up, knock on her door, demand answers. He wanted to tell her he didn't want her to leave!
But as what? Her boss? Or the husband who'd neglected her for seven years?
As he wrestled with himself, a black Bentley Mulsanne pulled smoothly to the curb.
The door opened, a black umbrella appearing first, followed by a man in a gray coat with impeccable posture.
Garrett's pupils contracted sharply.
He recognized that man instantly—his longtime rival and the competitor who'd recently caused significant trouble on several projects: Lawrence Langford, CEO of ClearCore Technologies.
Lawrence walked around to the passenger side, gentlemanly opening the door and shielding the occupant with his umbrella.
Sylvia stepped out. She wasn't in business attire but wore a light beige cashmere coat with a soft scarf, a relaxed smile gracing her features.
Lawrence naturally tilted the umbrella toward her as they stood close together, speaking quietly. The rainy night, the soft lights, the elegant couple under the umbrella—it created a picture-perfect scene that burned Garrett's eyes.
Sylvia gave Lawrence a warm smile, then gestured toward the entrance in apparent farewell. Lawrence nodded, handed her the umbrella, and motioned for her to go inside.
She took it, said something more, then turned toward the building.
Lawrence stood in the rain, watching until she disappeared into the lobby before returning to his car and driving away.
The entire exchange lasted barely two minutes.
Yet it made Garrett, watching from his car, feel as though he'd plunged into an icy abyss.
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, a crushing weight on his chest making it hard to breathe.
Lawrence Langford? How could it be Lawrence Langford?
When had they become so familiar? Why was he bringing her home? What were they discussing? That relaxed, admiring smile on Sylvia's face—how long had it been since he'd seen that?
A thousand questions and the burning poison of jealousy consumed Garrett's rationality.
He finally understood that Sylvia's departure wasn't merely about disappointment in him.
Perhaps she'd already found greener pastures—with the very man he despised most!
Raindrops hammered against his window, mocking his belated realization and self-importance.
Garrett slammed his fist against the steering wheel, sending a harsh honk echoing through the quiet rainy night.
He stared at the warm glow from Sylvia's window, the truth finally crystallizing—
He might truly be about to lose her forever.
And in this battle, from the moment he'd signed that resignation letter, he'd already been fighting a losing war.
