Chapter 2
Creed’s silence wasn’t empty. It was structured, carefully maintained, like something he’d decided not to dismantle yet.
Another week had passed. Another string of meetings where I felt his presence without feeling him.
He moved through the office like I was invisible, like I was just another name on the org chart instead of the woman who had once held his attention with a single look. But I wasn’t just another employee.
And we both knew it.
The silence gnawed at me, worse than anger ever could have been. I had seen Creed furious—had watched him dismantle people with nothing more than his composure and authority. I had felt the weight of his disappointment before.
This was different.
This was deliberate.
I told myself that certainty was easier than wondering if I’d finally been erased.
I sat at my desk, my phone resting in my palm like it weighed a hundred pounds. I stared at the dark screen, willing it to light up. Hoping—praying—that his name would appear. I didn’t care what he said. He could remind me how badly I’d fucked up, how deeply I’d fractured his trust.
I’d take it.
Anything was better than this hollow stretch of nothing between us.
But the screen stayed dark.
No vibration. No message.
Just silence—mirroring the ache spreading through my chest.
Creed was really gone this time.
I pressed my hand against my chest, as if I could physically hold my heart together, but the ache didn’t ease. God, I missed him. Missed the way his voice wrapped around me like certainty. The way his presence grounded me when everything else felt unstable.
I missed the way he looked at me—like he saw me. Like every broken, guarded piece of me didn’t scare him away, but drew him closer.
And you ruined it.
The truth hit hard, sharp, and undeniable.
I had pushed him away when all I wanted was to be held. I had kept secrets in the name of protection when what he needed from me was trust. I fought something that had already claimed me.
I couldn’t stand it anymore.
My finger hovered over my phone. I knew what I was about to do, and I hated myself for how familiar the impulse felt. I typed before I could second-guess myself.
There are consequences for breaking the rules.
I’m ready to surrender, serve, and obey you.
This wasn’t born of trust. It was surrender born of fear, and I knew he’d hear the difference.
I hit Send before I could talk myself out of it.
And then I waited.
Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes dragged like hours. I kept my phone face-up on my desk, staring at it between meetings, between sips of coffee I barely tasted.
Nothing.
My chest tightened, my thoughts spiraling faster with each unanswered minute. By lunchtime, I was barely holding myself together.
For the first time, it occurred to me that the silence wasn’t about making me wait.
It was about refusing what I’d offered.
I pressed my fingers to my temples, breathing slowly, deliberately. Why did I love him this much?
The answer came instantly, cutting through the doubt like a blade.
Because he was Creed.
Because he had never failed me. Not once.
Because while I flailed and let fear dictate my choices, he had remained steady. Unwavering. Certain.
And now his last words echoed through me, sharp and unforgiving.
I told you I protect what’s mine.
It’s a shame you didn’t believe me.
I dropped my head into my hands, my breath shuddering. “I’m sorry.”
"Are you talking to me?"
I jerked, my head snapping toward the door.
Sierra.
She stood there, her perfectly arched brow lifted in amusement, eyes gleaming with something just short of satisfaction.
She leaned against the frame, exuding confidence, draped in a rustic-brown colored dress that clung to her curves like it had been custom-molded to her body.
Radiant. Unbothered. Smug. Everything I wasn’t in that moment.
I straightened in my chair, forcing myself to breathe, to smooth out the cracks in my composure. “No,” I said, my voice barely scraping together enough strength to sound normal. "Just thinking aloud."
Sierra smirked, stepping inside with a deliberate ease that made it impossible to ignore her. She didn’t sit. Of course, she didn’t. Instead, she took up space, positioning herself near my desk like a model mid-photoshoot.
She wanted this moment. Needed me to see her basking in it.
Fine. Let her have it.
“I just came to tell you in person that I’ve resigned,” she announced, her tone light but soaked in significance.
The words pulled me from my haze of self-pity, snapping me back into the present. I blinked, straightening further, my attention sharpening. I hadn’t seen that one coming.
"Please, have a seat," I said, gesturing to the chair across from me, even though we both knew she wouldn’t take it.
Sierra tilted her head, giving me an almost pitying look before brushing off my invitation entirely.
“A scout from Cosmopolitan reached out,” she said, her voice dripping with calculated nonchalance.
“They were looking for someone with creative expertise, and, well...” She let the words hang, the pause intentional. Theatrical.
"It was an offer you couldn’t refuse." I didn’t bother masking my pleasure. “Good.” I should’ve kept that to myself, but exhaustion had chipped away at my patience.
Sierra had always been a thorn in my side, but she was also talented as hell. And if there was one thing about her, she didn’t just survive in high-pressure environments—she thrived.
Still, I smiled, my voice even. "I’m happy for you." And despite my personal feelings, I meant it.
Her lips curled, amusement flickering across her face like she could smell the relief rolling off me. “I’m sure you are,” she said, her voice lilting with barely concealed glee.
Petty. And unapologetic about it.
She smoothed a hand down her hip and continued, “I’ve already discussed it with Creed. He’s supportive." She paused for effect, then added, "And I recommended Dixie as my replacement.”
I lifted an eyebrow. That was unexpected. “Really?” I asked carefully masking my skepticism.
Sierra shrugged, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “She’s talented and more than qualified. She’d be perfect for the role.”
I let out a breathy chuckle, nodding slowly. “I agree and appreciate the endorsement.”
Sierra waved a perfectly manicured hand dismissively. “I’ve already spoken to Dixie. She’s elated. I just thought you should know.” She was handing over the baton like she was doing me a favor.
Before I could respond, she added, “I’ll be leaving after the Thanksgiving holiday. It’ll give me time to get to New York and find an apartment.”
I nodded, polite but detached, and said, "Best of luck."
Her lips curved into a razor-sharp smile. “I don’t need it but thank you.”
Of course she didn’t.
Sierra turned to leave, but before stepping out, she glanced back over her shoulder, her voice softer but no less confident. “By the way...” she said casually. “The special winter issue looks fantastic. You and Mavis outdid yourselves.”
I froze.
A compliment.
From Sierra.
My first thought wasn’t gratitude—it was confusion. Why now?
I didn’t even have time to respond before she was gone, her heels clicking against the floor, the sound fading as the door whispered shut behind her.
I stared at the empty space she left behind, unease curling low in my stomach, already missing the distraction she had provided. I was back to drowning in the silence Creed had left me in. Every second of it suffocated me, pressing against my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake.
It was worse than his anger. More intense than his clipped words. Worse than the look in his eyes the last time we spoke—the one that told me I had pushed him too far.
The silence wasn’t emptiness. It was pressure.
And then, just as I felt myself slipping—not toward hope, but toward resignation—my phone buzzed. A text message. I snatched it up, my pulse pounding.
Be in front of the building at 5.
It wasn’t an invitation. It was instruction—brief, impersonal, and unmistakably deliberate.
Should I be ready to obey?
The words tasted familiar on my tongue—and that frightened me.
He hadn’t answered what I’d offered. He’d simply told me where to be.
Anticipation and dread twisted together, sharp, and inseparable.
This was it.
Not forgiveness. Not resolution.
A test.
My chance—maybe my last—to face what I’d broken without hiding behind fear or obedience.
I called Aunt Ruth to let her know I might not be home. She answered with warmth and understanding, like she always did.
“Take your time, Peyton,” she said, her smile so audible it painted itself in my mind.
But I couldn’t mirror it. My heart was too heavy, too tangled in guilt and longing—in hope sharpened by uncertainty.
Because tonight wasn’t just about him.
It was about whether I was finally ready to trust without control.
To surrender without disappearing.
To stand fully exposed and accept whatever waited on the other side of his silence.