Yvette in Her Office

Yvette sat at her sleek, minimalist desk, papers spread out in front of her, her fingers moving methodically over the documents. The office was pristine, the space perfectly arranged to reflect control and order, much like Yvette herself. But despite her focus, her mind kept wandering.

She tapped a pen rhythmically against the surface of the desk, her eyes staring at the papers in front of her, but not truly seeing them. Thoughts of Owen kept creeping in, unbidden and relentless.

"I shouldn't be thinking about him," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head, as if that could erase the memory of his voice, his calm demeanor, his unwavering gaze.

She tried to concentrate on the tasks before her—the reports, the numbers, the endless tasks that kept her world in order. Yet, every time she looked at the figures, his face would flash in her mind, his questions echoing in her ears.

*What about Randall?*

The words kept repeating, haunting her. What if Randall never returned? Would she be able to move on, or would she be stuck, waiting for a future that might never come?

Yvette clenched her jaw, frustration building. "Stop it," she whispered. "Stop thinking about him."

But the harder she tried to suppress the thoughts, the more they surged forward. The silence of the room seemed louder than usual, and the ticking of the clock on the wall only emphasized the quiet that had grown around her.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her. *Why does it matter so much?* she wondered. *Why do I even care what he thinks, what he wants?*

Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her reverie. She glanced at the screen, expecting a work-related notification. Instead, it was a message—a simple, innocuous text from a colleague asking if she needed anything for the upcoming meetings.

Yvette sat back at her desk, the sound of her pen scratching against the paper filling the otherwise quiet office. The soft hum of the computer monitor was the only thing breaking the silence. The storm outside loomed in the distance, dark clouds creeping in, hinting at the snowstorm predicted to hit Imperial City.

Her phone buzzed again, this time from a news alert. She glanced at the screen. The message read: *"Snowstorm Warning – Imperial City to be hit by severe snowstorm. Heavy snowfall expected. Stay indoors and avoid travel unless absolutely necessary."*

Yvette frowned, scrolling through the rest of the message. The authorities were urging citizens to stay indoors, warning of hazardous conditions. The city would be effectively locked down.

She let out a deep sigh, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her temples. The idea of being confined to the office wasn't exactly new for her, but something about this storm felt different.

After a moment, she picked up her phone and dialed her assistant. "Get all the updates on this storm. How bad is it expected to be?"

The assistant responded quickly. "The meteorologists say it could last for days. They're expecting heavy snowfall and strong winds. They're closing down most of the city, including main roads. They're advising people to stay indoors."

Yvette nodded, her brow furrowing. "And Owen? Is he still outside?"

There was a brief pause on the line before the assistant replied. "He's not back yet, ma'am. He's still out in the garden."

Yvette clenched her jaw, the thought of him remaining outside in this storm irritating her further. "Tell him to come inside. No more of his dramatics. He can't keep acting like this."

The assistant hesitated but then complied. "Yes, ma'am."

Yvette stared at her phone, the silence pressing down on her again. The snowstorm seemed to mirror the chaos in her mind, each flake of snow covering her thoughts, leaving them hazy and distant.

She glanced out the window at the darkening sky, watching the first few flakes begin to fall. "No one leaves the office," she muttered to herself. "No one goes out."

The snowstorm raged on outside, fierce and relentless. The world seemed to be blanketed in white, the only sounds being the howling winds and the occasional falling snow. The once bustling streets of Imperial City were now eerily silent, almost abandoned under the weight of the storm.

Owen sat cross-legged in the middle of the garden, his back against the old tree he had touched weeks ago. The snow piled around him, untouched by his still figure, as he meditated, completely unaware of the outside world. His eyes were closed, his breath slow and steady, his mind detached from everything except the cold and the silence. The storm howled around him, but he remained unshaken, lost in his thoughts, lost in his focus.

He didn't notice the heavy snowfall accumulating on his clothes, or the wind numbing his skin. His body, weary and cold, ignored the signs of the storm, his mind focused on something deeper, something more distant. His thoughts were consumed by the path he had chosen, the commitment he had made to himself, to a life beyond what Yvette had given him.

Nearby, Yvette sat in her office penthouse, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the blizzard raging beyond. The snowstorm was fierce, relentless, and isolating. The city, normally vibrant and full of life, had become a ghost town, hidden beneath a thick layer of white.

She sipped from a glass of whiskey, the burning warmth of the drink doing little to soothe the growing frustration gnawing at her. The silence stretched between her and the storm.

Yvette leaned back, resting her head against the plush leather of her chair, staring at the window. Thoughts of Owen consumed her, his absence unbearable. She had expected him to return, expected him to come back after whatever "journey" he had embarked on. But days had passed, and there had been no word from him. No sign that he was back. No indication that he had given up.

Her fingers tightened around the glass as she set it down on the table. "He's supposed to be done by now," she muttered to herself, her voice breaking the silence. "He's supposed to surrender, to give up, but... nothing."

Her mind drifted back to their confrontation, his cold, expressionless face. How had he become this person? The man who once begged to be with her, who once clung to their marriage as if it was his lifeline, now appeared so distant, so unreachable.

Yvette pressed her palms against her temples, trying to will away the memories. "He's supposed to be mine," she whispered, her voice trembling with frustration. "Why isn't he back?"

Her phone buzzed on the desk, and she grabbed it, hopeful. But when she checked, it was another notification—another storm update, warnings about how dangerous the conditions were, how few people had even dared to step outside.

She leaned forward, gripping the phone tightly. "Where are you, Owen?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Why aren't you done?"

Her gaze drifted back to the storm, the cold, empty world beyond the glass. "You're supposed to be mine."

But the only response she got was the echo of the wind.