Chapter 6
Chapter Six – Unlearning Silence
Sophia hadn't slept either.
But unlike the restless insomnia that had claimed so many of her nights, this one felt different. It wasn't stress over a quarterly report or a lost investor. It wasn't about the merger waiting in Shanghai or the press demanding an answer she hadn't decided to give.
It was Lena.
Her voice still lingered in Sophia's mind—rough around the edges, like she'd learned how to live without softness. That voice had wrapped itself around Sophia's thoughts the moment the call ended. It had followed her from her desk to the shower, from her mirror to her untouched bed.
What kind of girl asks "Why?" and waits for the truth?
Sophia didn't know how to answer that without peeling herself open.
She stood at the floor-to-ceiling window in her penthouse, watching the city below. It was just past dawn. Rain painted streaks down the glass, softening the skyline. Her bare feet pressed against the cold marble, the silk robe slipping slightly off one shoulder.
Her coffee sat untouched beside her. She wasn't sure if she wanted warmth or silence more.
The city had always been hers. She owned property on every block that stretched from Midtown to the East End. She had built tech startups from whispers. She had turned investors into millionaires and partners into legends.
But the more she built, the more hollow her victories became.
The truth?
No one called her Sophia anymore.
She was always "Ma'am," "Miss Beaumont," "CEO."
Even her closest staff looked at her like she was made of glass and granite, equal parts beautiful and unbreakable.
But Lena had looked at her like a person.
A tired, flawed, curious person.
And it terrified her more than the idea of losing an empire.
She slipped out of the robe and dressed in jeans and a navy wool coat—casual but clean. She didn't want to show up looking like wealth. She wanted to show up looking like herself. Whoever that was.
The town car was waiting downstairs, but she dismissed it with a wave.
She walked.
Umbrella in one hand, phone in the other. Not checking messages. Not replying to a single email.
She just walked.
Block by block, as if searching for something real.
Sophia paused outside the café. It was still early. Too early.
The lights were off. The chairs turned upside down on tables.
Lena wouldn't arrive for another hour, maybe two.
Still, Sophia stood there in the quiet, the cold mist catching in her hair.
It was strange how someone could return color to your world just by existing in it.
A smile touched her lips. Faint. Foreign.
She took out her phone and opened the notes app. Typed. Then paused. Deleted. Typed again.
To Lena:
I don't expect you to trust me.
I don't expect you to believe I know what I'm doing.
But I hope you'll see I'm trying. For once, not as a CEO. Not as a name.
Just as a woman who found a reason to breathe again.
If that's too much—I'll step back.
But if it's not… I'll be here tomorrow. At six. Same place. Same table.
I won't rush you.
I'll just wait.
She stared at it for a moment, her thumb hovering.
Then she sent it.
Not to an assistant. Not through a business line.
Straight to Lena's phone.
The girl who brewed tea like she was pouring comfort.
The girl with storms in her eyes.
Sophia turned and walked home without checking for a reply.
The power of learning how to wait—it was something she hadn't practiced in years.
But Lena, somehow, made her want to learn everything all over again.