Fractures in Silence
It was seven in the morning when Norah hung up the call with her daughter, Eloá Adele, the one person in the world who grounded her, who reminded her that no matter the shadows of the past, she had something worth rising for every morning.
Despite the weight of her current case, the scrutiny of Eldoria's press, and the proximity to a man who had once fractured her soul, Norah never faltered when it came to her child. She texted, called, and checked in, more than five times a day. A mother not out of guilt, but a guardian forged in fire. Eloá Adele wasn't just her heart, she was her resurrection. Her greatest triumph over a life once manipulated, discarded, and burned.
After bidding her child a good day for school, Norah rose. She moved through her morning rituals with mechanical grace, cold water splashed across her skin, teeth brushed in practiced rhythm, hair sectioned and pinned with royal elegance into a braided messy bun. Long strands of bling blonde curls framed her face, unintentional and yet regal, as if even rebellion bowed to her poise.
Her breakfast was simple and quick, toast, avocado, black coffee, untouched fruit. It was sustenance, not indulgence. Her mind was elsewhere. She had spent the past week submerged in data, threading digital trails with precision most investigators could only envy. The Everson couple was a well-woven tapestry of performance. But Norah, Norah saw the threads fraying beneath.
The Blackwood name reappeared. An erased dynasty. A fallen empire. And Neila, an eliminated child reborn in silk and fire, backed by forces not merely political, but dangerous.
Norah had seen enough. She didn't need Maxen's final report to confirm what her instincts already knew, this wasn't just a socialite with a grudge. Neila was being moved by a hidden hand, and the aim wasn't Jacob's downfall. It was his erasure.
A buzz interrupted her thoughts.
Email received from: Assistant to President J. Everson
Subject: Summon to D.A Moda Headquarters – Noon
Norah's brows lifted faintly.
She returned to her work without pause, fingers gliding over her tablet, closing tabs, highlighting names, cross-referencing fund movements from shell corporations buried deep within offshore archives. Everything she would say later, she would say with precision. She would bury Jacob Everson in truth.
Not out of revenge. But out of duty.
---
D.A MODA HEADQUARTERS — 11:59 A.M.
The building rose into Belgor's sky like a monolith of power, all sharp edges and mirrored windows. On the topmost floor, the President's office was a sanctuary of authority, spacious and severe. Gold accents on dark wood, contemporary leather sofas, a wall of curated accolades, and beyond them, wide glass that opened the room to a kingdom of steel and sky.
Jacob Everson sat at the helm of it all.
He was dressed in beige, tailored to brutal perfection, vest hugging his frame, white shirt clean enough to gleam, black tie angled like a blade. His shoes polished, his hair combed back in a ruthless style that dared anyone to challenge him.
He had just opened a file, an old news report archived deep in the company's history folders.
There she was.
Norah Draven
Senior Legal Strategist in the Continent's National Prosecution Bureau
Victory Rate: 98.6%
Specialty: Untraceable Corruption, Political Manipulation, High-Tier Espionage
One article detailed the imprisonment of a notorious underground financier linked to the Eldorian Royal Trust, a case she won in six weeks, single-handedly.
Jacob leaned back.
"Damn," he muttered.
He remembered her differently. Seventeen. Fragile. Hair like golden silk chopped short above her nape. Voice always barely above a whisper, as if afraid the world would crush her if she dared to speak too loudly.
She was a secret. His secret. The girl he kept in shadows while he paraded Neila in boardrooms. He'd promised Norah the world. Marriage. A future. But it was a lie to keep her close, just close enough to touch, never close enough to stay.
He remembered the day she found out she was an orphan, sobbing into the void of their shared apartment. He could have stayed. Held her. Been the man he always claimed to be. But he had chosen to leave her alone. For Neila. For business. For selfishness.
He remembered the last time he touched her, her hands trembling, lips bruised from silence. She had looked at him with eyes full of stars and disbelief.
He had broken her.
Now she was back. And he barely recognized her.
The door opened. His assistant's voice followed: "Mr. Everson, Ms. Draven is here."
He stood.
He didn't know what he expected.
But when she entered, all breath left him.
She was sculpted elegance, draped in a formal beige dress that stopped just above the ankle, paired with black stilettos that clicked like gavel strikes on the marble floor. Her long bling blonde curls had been woven into a loose, braided messy bun, with tendrils cascading beside her cheeks. She wore no makeup, she didn't need any. Her skin was ethereal, untouched, and luminous like fine porcelain kissed by sun.
Her posture was commanding. Her eyes, frigid steel. And Jacob, Jacob was silent, trapped somewhere between arousal and shame.
Norah stopped two feet from his desk.
"Stop gawking," she said.
The words hit like a slap. He almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, he moved behind her slowly, deliberately, letting the scent of lavender and vanilla engulf him. His fingers hovered dangerously close to her arm before reaching for the black file on the shelf behind her. He set it gently on his desk and opened it with reverence.
She didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Just watched him with the apathy of a blade waiting to be unsheathed.
He gestured at the file.
"Thought you'd want to see this."
Norah stepped forward, not bothering to sit.
She opened it.
Pages of clean, expensive paper. Notarized. Dated. Official.
"Divorce papers," she said plainly.
He studied her. "No reaction?"
"I expected it," she replied coldly. "She's not as smart as she thinks. She left trails."
"You've been digging," he murmured, a note of admiration hidden beneath.
"I've been doing my job. Something your legal team seems allergic to."
Jacob smirked. "You're cold, Norah."
"Don't you have a liking for professionalism? Considering your empire," she fired back.
He leaned in, just a little too close. "I liked a lot of things."
She took a step back. "And you lost most of them."
Her words weren't sharp. They were surgical. Clean. Efficient.
She slid another file from her leather case, thicker, heavier.
She placed it on the desk. "This is what I found. You'll want to read it alone. Unless, of course, you prefer me to spell out your wife's sins aloud in your sacred office."
His jaw tightened.
"You never change, do you?" he asked.
"Oh, I am only doing my job," she said, eyes meeting his.
And with that, she turned.
Her heels clicked once more, each step toward the door a declaration of dominance.
But Jacob didn't move. He watched her leave.
No tears. No warmth.
Just fire wrapped in flesh, walking away from the man who once thought she'd never have the strength to.
And for the first time in years…
He wondered if he'd made the greatest mistake of his life.