Chapter 7 Matilda
Seven
Matilda
Istep into the office expecting the usual chaos. Phones ringing, shoes squeaking on the marble floor, Henry’s voice echoing orders down the hallway. But today… silence. It’s unnerving.
I reach my desk, set down my bag, and glance toward his office. Empty. His coat isn’t on the stand, his computer screen is dark. Maybe he’s gone to an early meeting? I set his coffee on the desk anyway—force of habit—and open my inbox to check if I missed something.
That’s when I see it.
To: Matildagreen@
From: Henrychase@
Subject: Day off
Matilda,
I’m having a personal day. Cancel all my meetings.
Henry
Henry Chase, CEO
Henry Chase Architects
“What?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
Henry Chase—the Henry Chase—doesn’t take personal days. He barely takes holidays. In fact, he takes exactly one day off a year, and today is not that day. Something’s off.
I stare at the email, chewing the inside of my cheek. Should I call? That feels… weird. Especially after Friday night. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m being clingy or reading too much into that almost-kiss.
I set my phone down, trying to focus on my other emails. But I can’t stop glancing at his empty office. The silence feels heavy, unfamiliar.
Sod it. What harm can one text do?
Matilda: Hey, I got your email. Hope everything’s okay. —Matilda.
He replies almost instantly.
Henry: Back in tomorrow. I have your number saved, you don’t need to sign your texts.
I blink at the screen, half amused, half irritated. What a jackass. Guess the friendly version of Henry from Friday night is officially dead and buried.
Still… something nags at me. His message is clipped, colder than usual—even for him. There’s no sarcasm, no snark. Just flat words. Detached.
I push the thought aside and dive into work, but it’s a strangely quiet day. No extra emails flying in, no last-minute requests, no Henry breathing down my neck. By five o’clock, I’ve actually finished everything on my to-do list.
That never happens.
I shut down my computer, sling my bag over my shoulder, and walk out into daylight—daylight, for the first time on a Monday. I can’t help but smile at the novelty of it.
By the time I get home, I’ve had a long, hot shower, and I’m stood in my kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. Steam curls up around me as I lean against the counter, thinking about how blissfully calm today has been.
Hands down, the best Monday I’ve had in years.
Still, even as I sip my tea, I can’t shake the strange hollow feeling that something isn’t right with Henry.