The office was quieter than usual. A Monday lull—paperwork stacked high, keyboards clicking in muted rhythm, and the faint hum of the air conditioner masking what no one dared say aloud.
Leah sat at her desk, eyes scanning the last lines of a financial summary, when a knock on the glass partition startled her. The intern, a timid boy with round glasses, stood clutching a brown envelope like it carried something far heavier than paper.
"Miss Bennett," he said softly. "This was delivered to the front desk. It's addressed to you… but there's no sender."
Leah frowned. "Thanks," she said, reaching for it. Her fingers brushed the rough paper, and a shiver of recognition coursed through her. The handwriting. Neat. Precise. Familiar.
It couldn't be.
She waited until the intern left before she slid a finger beneath the seal. Inside was a single sheet—plain, typed, unsigned.
"Some things are better left unsaid, Leah. But silence doesn't erase the truth."
Her pulse quickened. The words weren't threatening—just… knowing. Like someone was reminding her that the past never really stayed buried.
Before she could process it, a shadow fell across her desk. She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Adrian.
He had that presence again—quiet, composed, the kind that made the air feel heavier without a single word spoken. "Everything all right?" he asked, his voice calm but sharp, like he was testing the edge of something.
Leah folded the note and slipped it back into the envelope. "Just a delivery mix-up," she lied.
His gaze lingered a second too long. "You're sure?"
"Yes," she said quickly, but the slight tremor in her tone betrayed her.
Adrian's eyes flicked to the envelope in her hand. "May I?"
Her instinct screamed no, but she hesitated—then handed it over.
He studied it briefly, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Then, without another word, he set it down on her desk. "If it happens again," he said, his voice lower now, "bring it to me."
Leah swallowed. "It's just paper, Adrian."
His eyes lifted, gray and unreadable. "Paper can ruin empires, Leah."
Their gazes held—hers uncertain, his guarded. It wasn't the first time they'd stood at this invisible line, but this time felt different. The air between them wasn't just tense—it was charged, layered with something neither of them could name.
"Understood," she murmured.
He nodded once and turned to leave, his footsteps measured. But halfway to the door, he paused. "Leah," he said without looking back, "don't destroy it."
Her breath caught. "What?"
"The envelope. Keep it." His voice was calm, almost detached, but something in it sounded personal—like he wasn't giving an order, but a warning.
When he left, Leah sat in silence, staring at the plain brown envelope on her desk. Her fingers hovered over it, tracing the edge. Questions she didn't dare ask echoed in her head.
Who sent it?Why her?And how did Adrian know enough to sound… unsettled?
By the time she tucked it into her drawer, her coffee had gone cold. But the weight of that single message lingered—silence doesn't erase the truth.
That night, long after everyone had left, Leah found herself standing by the window, city lights flickering below. Behind her, the drawer with the envelope stayed slightly open, as if the past itself was refusing to be shut away.
And somewhere in another part of the building, Adrian stood alone in his office, a different envelope in his hand—one sealed, never opened. His thumb brushed the corner, his expression unreadable.
Whatever history they were both trying to forget was no longer content to stay hidden.
The truth, it seemed, was finding its way back.