21. Jarvin
CHAPTER 21
Jarvin
E lara showing up unannounced gave me the chance to realize my feelings for Lucy have grown deeper than just my initial interest in her. It’s the way she carries herself and has let me get a glimpse of the woman behind her walls and vulnerabilities.
When Elara walked into my office unannounced with that look in her eyes, all I could think about was getting her out so I could get to lunch with Lucy. Instead, something must have happened because Lucy started to pull away right when things were finally feeling good between us.
Lucy’s behavior shifts subtly at first, but I notice. It starts with her declining our usual lunch dates. “Got busy,” she says, not meeting my eyes. The next day, it’s a deadline she’s scrambling to meet. I can’t help but feel the sting of her absence. The easy rhythm we’d found is offbeat now, and I can’t ignore it.
Our conversations become stilted, strained. She answers in clipped sentences, her tone distant. Every excuse she gives feels like another brick in the wall she’s building back up between us. My instincts flare, bristling at the lack of clarity. What happened to the woman who laughed at my jokes and shared her stories so freely?
I try to push down the frustration gnawing at me. She has her reasons, I tell myself. But damn it, I need to know what they are.
What went wrong? What did I do? I have no idea what the hell happened for her to suddenly freeze me out like this.
Back in my office, I pace restlessly, replaying every interaction in my mind. There’s something she’s not telling me, something deeper than work stress or tight deadlines.
I can’t stand being shut out like this, not when we were finally getting somewhere real. My instincts scream at me to confront her again, demand answers—but I know that approach could push her further away.
As the days pass, Lucy’s avoidance only fuels my determination to break through whatever barrier she’s erected between us. Each time our paths cross in the office, each brief interaction feels like a test of my resolve.
I will find out what’s going on with her. For now, though, all I can do is wait and watch for an opening—a chance to get back to the connection we shared before everything went sideways.
I send Lucy a message: “Hey, everything okay? We haven’t had lunch in a while. Let’s talk.” I wait, staring at my phone, but the screen remains stubbornly blank. Minutes turn into hours, and still, no response.
The next day, I try again: “Lucy, if something’s bothering you, I’d like to help. Can we chat?” The message shows as read, but she doesn’t reply. The silence feels like a slap in the face. What the hell happened?
In the office, I make several attempts to catch her. “Lucy, got a minute?” I call out as she passes by my office door.
“Sorry, I’m swamped with work,” she says without looking up, her pace quickening.
Another time, I find her in the break room. “Lucy,” I start, but she’s already gathering her things.
“I’ve got to get back to my desk,” she mutters, brushing past me before I can say more.
Each encounter leaves me more frustrated and confused. The complete avoidance gnaws at me. My natural inclination is to confront issues head-on—get everything out in the open and deal with it—but I know I can’t force her to talk. Forcing the issue might only push her further away.
The lack of control over the situation is infuriating. Here I am, Jarvin Thraknar, CEO of a major financial group—used to commanding rooms and making decisions that impact hundreds of lives—yet I’m helpless when it comes to one woman’s silence.
My patience wears thin as days stretch into weeks with no change. Each time our eyes meet across the office floor, and she quickly looks away, it feels like a punch to the gut.
I draft a message: “Lucy, please. We need to talk.” But before hitting send, I delete it. Clearly, messaging isn’t working.
Back in my office, I grip the edge of my desk until my knuckles ache. This distance between us is unbearable. I can’t keep pacing this damn room or second-guessing every interaction we’ve had. Something has to give soon because this silent treatment is driving me insane.
Yet here I am, stuck in this maddening limbo where my every instinct screams for action but every logical thought warns restraint.
I sit in my office, staring at the reports Lucy handed me days ago. The words blur together, meaningless against the backdrop of my thoughts. How did we go from those warm, shared lunches to this cold, silent distance?
I flip through the pages absently, my mind drifting back to our last positive interaction. She had laughed at one of my jokes, her eyes lighting up in a way that made everything else fade into the background. The memory is a painful contrast to the strained encounters we've had since then.
Did I do something to upset her? The question gnaws at me. I replay every conversation, every look, every touch, searching for clues. Was it something I said? Something I did?
My frustration mounts, but alongside it is a pang of empathy. I remember the vulnerability she shared with me about her past. The walls she built around herself didn’t appear overnight; they were constructed from hurt and betrayal.
I decide to give Lucy the space she seems to need. It goes against every instinct I have, but forcing her hand will accomplish nothing. So, I pull back. I stop trying to force conversations or corner her into discussing what’s wrong.
Instead, I focus on my work with a renewed intensity. Meetings, contracts, negotiations—they all take precedence as I channel my restless energy into something productive. Every day is a struggle between my desire to fix things and my need to respect her boundaries.
In the office, our interactions become strictly professional. When I pass by her desk or see her in meetings, I make sure to be cordial but not overbearing. It’s an uneasy truce—a silent acknowledgment that something’s wrong but neither of us are willing nor able to address it just yet.
Patience isn’t something that comes naturally to me. But for Lucy, I’ll wait as long as it takes.
Every time I see her lately, she looks more worn out, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She moves through the office like a ghost, her usually vibrant energy muted. It tears at me to see her this way.
All I want to do is find a way to fix this, to step in and make everything right. But I know better. So, I watch from afar, masking my worry. In meetings, I notice her gazing off, clearly preoccupied. She’s normally so attentive, so engaged. Seeing her this distracted only heightens my concern.
One afternoon, I come across her in the break room, staring vacantly at the coffee machine. Her shoulders sag under some unseen burden. It takes all my willpower not to walk over and ask what’s wrong. But I restrain myself, biting my tongue and respecting the boundaries she’s set.
I know she needs space, even if it defies every instinct I have. My feelings for Lucy are profound—deeper than I ever anticipated. It’s that bond that keeps me patient. I trust in what we share; it’s strong enough to weather this storm.
Later that day, I find myself pacing my office, haunted by the image of her weary face. I catch a glimpse of my own reflection in the window—an orc who's supposed to be in control yet feeling utterly helpless. The contrast is jarring. I clench my fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
How can I, someone who’s known for handling crises, be stumped by the distress of one woman? Because she’s not just any woman, she’s Lucy. And she means everything to me.
There are moments when I think she might be close to opening up again. Once, she glanced my way during a meeting and held my gaze for a beat longer than usual before looking away quickly, almost as if caught in the act. Another time, our hands brushed as we both reached for a document on the conference table—a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through me.
It’s these small signs that give me hope. They tell me she’s struggling internally but hasn’t completely shut me out. Every day is a test of patience and restraint. The connection we share is worth every moment of waiting.
I can still remember the first time I saw her that day at the airport, how her vibrant eyes caught my attention immediately. There was something about her, something that made me want to know more, to break through the walls she had built around herself. And now, every glance, every fleeting touch, reminds me why I’m doing this. For her, I’ll wait as long as it takes.