Silence That Speaks
Country: Aurivelle
City: Auremont
Grayson
I sat in the backseat of my car, scrolling through my iPad. I had just wrapped up a meeting at Hawthorne Finance and was now on my way to the media company.
I hadn’t been there in two days. Greg had been sending in reports, and under normal circumstances, that would have been enough.
But something felt… off.
The moment I stepped into the building, I noticed it.
The shift.
There was an unusual urgency in the air…staff moving faster than usual, conversations cut short the moment I passed. No one needed to say anything.
Something had happened.
Greg was already walking toward me as I stepped out of the elevator.
“Mr. Hawthorne.”
“What’s going on?” I asked without slowing.
“There’s a situation at the institute.”
I stopped.
“And you didn’t think to report it?”
“I was going to,” he said quickly, handing me an iPad as we walked into my office. “I just didn’t think it required immediate attention at the time.”
I didn’t respond immediately. I took the device from him, scrolling through the contents as I moved behind my desk.
“I’ve made it clear,” I said calmly, my eyes still on the screen, “that anything concerning the company comes to me first. Decisions are not made without my knowledge.”
A brief pause.
“This is unlike you, Greg.”
“I apologize, sir.”
I continued scrolling.
“So what exactly am I looking at?”
“A designer..Alvara Dane..was named Designer of the Month,” he began. “Those are her designs… and her profile.”
I paused slightly.
“Alvara Dane…” I repeated, the name lingering.
It felt familiar.
Then it clicked.
Mother.
The “extraordinary talent” she had mentioned.
My gaze returned to the screen.
“And?”
Greg stepped closer, scrolling further down.
“Yesterday, we started receiving a large volume of tags…mostly from other designers. These are the posts.”
The screen filled with them.
Comments. Threads. Speculations.
Some subtle.
Most not.
All centered around her.
Her past.
Her life before she came into the institute.
And the growing demand that she be removed.
I leaned back slightly, reading through a few more.
Predictable.
“People can be… unnecessarily invested,”
I said dryly.
Greg nodded. “Mrs. Hawthorne has already instructed that all defamatory posts be taken down. Especially since she’s currently representing the institute as Designer of the Month.”
“That’s the right move, we don’t allow anything that compromises the Hawthorne name.”
Greg nodded once and excused himself shortly after.
But I didn’t move.
Because despite everything…
My mind was still on her.
Alvara Dane.
I picked up the iPad again, pulling up her interview.
Her voice.
Her composure.
The way she spoke about her work…
It wasn’t rehearsed.
It wasn’t forced.
It was… real.
And somehow….
That made everything else around her feel insignificant.
By the time I wrapped up at the office, the day had already stretched longer than expected.
I left shortly after, settling back into the car as it pulled into the evening traffic.
On the way, I called Vivienne.
“I won’t be returning to the Technology and Innovation office today,” I said simply.
“Handle anything urgent.”
“Of course,” she replied.
The call ended just as quickly.
My phone rang, cutting through the quiet hum of the drive.
Mother.
I answered immediately.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Grayson,” her voice came warm, “Don’t tell me you’re still at work.”
A faint smile touched my lips.
“No. I’m on my way home.”
“Good,” she said. “You’ve been working too much lately.”
I didn’t bother responding to that.
“How are things at the institute?” I asked. “I haven’t been there in a while.”
A brief pause.
“You saw it, didn’t you?”
Of course she would go straight to that.
“Well… yes,” I said calmly. “Your favorite designer has been trending. Not exactly for the right reasons. Though I suppose it’s… balanced. Positive and negative.”
“Everyone has a past,” she said evenly. “And if I remember correctly, you’re the one who always insists that a person’s past doesn’t define them.”
I exhaled softly, my gaze shifting to the window.
“I do,” I replied. “But not when it risks the Hawthorne name.”
“It’s already being handled,” she said. “And as a matter of fact, I’ll be going to the institute tomorrow.”
“Will you come with me?”
She already knew the answer.
“Of course.”
The call ended shortly after.
Right on cue, the car pulled into the driveway of my penthouse.
Dinner was minimal.
Just the way I preferred it.
Afterward, I freshened up and headed straight into my home office. A final review….operations, reports, international branches. Everything needed to be in place.
It always was.
Only then did I allow myself to rest.
The next morning
My driver pulled up in front of Hawthorne Hospitality and Management.
Mother was already there.
I stepped into her office without knocking.
“Good morning, Mother.”
She turned immediately, her expression lighting up in that way only she could manage.
Effortless.
Polished.
Perfect.
“Grayson,” she said, walking toward me and pulling me into a warm embrace.
It was always like this with her.
No matter how much time passed, she still treated me like I was ten.
I allowed it.
“You look good,” I said as she pulled away.
She smiled, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.
“And you look exceptional, as always.”
Of course she would say that.
“Let’s go,” she added, picking up her handbag. “I’m done here.”
We made our way down to the underground parking.
I got into my car while two of hers followed behind.
As the car eased out onto the road, she turned slightly toward me.
“So,” she said casually, “why did you agree to come with me?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
“Were you curious about my extraordinary designer?” she added, a hint of amusement in her tone.
I let out a quiet breath.
“Of course not,” I said. “I have more pressing matters. Your ‘extraordinary designer’ isn’t one of them.”
She raised a brow.
“Then what is?”
I met her gaze briefly before looking ahead again.
“I haven’t been as present at the institute as I should be,” I said. “It’s been over a month.”
That part, at least, was true.
“And,” I continued, “we finalized a partnership yesterday. A tech company…AR and VR fashion showcases, AI-driven design tools. It directly involves the institute.”
Her expression shifted slightly.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I was going to,” I said. “The timing just wasn’t right.”
“Still,” I added, more quietly, “I should have.”
She studied me for a moment.
Then smiled.
“That’s always been you,” she said softly.
“Handling everything before anyone even knows it exists.”
There was no accusation in her tone.
I leaned back slightly, my gaze drifting toward the window as the city moved past us.
She had a way of doing that.
Of pulling something out of me no one else could.
That much was obvious the moment we stepped into the institute.
No formal reception. No lined staff. No unnecessary politeness.
Just the normal rhythm of a working day.
Exactly how I preferred it.
Mother walked beside me, composed as always, her heels echoing softly against the polished floor.
“Let’s see what they’re really like when they’re not prepared,” she said lightly.
I didn’t respond.
My attention had already shifted.
There was noise ahead.
Not loud.
Voices gathering in one place.
A crowd.
That alone was enough to draw my interest.
Students weren’t supposed to linger during active hours.
Yet, as we turned the corner…
We saw them.
A group gathered along the hallway.
Not chaotic.
Not disorderly.
But focused.
Watching something.
Or someone.
Mother slowed slightly.
“So this is where the attention is,” she murmured.
I said nothing.
I was already looking past the crowd.
And then
I saw her.
Alvara Dane.
She stood in the center, calm in a way that didn’t match the situation.
She didn’t try to stand out.
But she did anyway.
Opposite her.
Three other girls stood.
The usual kind.
Poised.
Sharp.
And clearly enjoying themselves.
“…I’m just saying,” the first lady's voice carried, smooth and cutting, “it’s impressive. Truly.”
A pause.
Her smile widened slightly.
“To go from being someone’s maid… to pretending you belong here?”
A few quiet laughs rippled through the crowd.
“I think the real talent is confidence,” she added. “Not everyone can walk into a place like this and act like their past doesn’t follow them.”
The other crossed her arms, her gaze sweeping over Alvara slowly.
“Or maybe she just doesn’t have shame,”
she said lightly.
Another laugh.
Sharper this time.
I watched closely.
Waiting.
Most people would react by now.
Anger.
Embarrassment.
Defensiveness.
Something.
But she didn’t.
Alvara stood there.
Still.
Unmoved.
And that… was unexpected.
The first lady took a step closer.
“Tell me,” she said, her tone lowering just enough to feel personal, “when you look around this place… do you ever feel out of place?”
“Or are you just used to standing behind people like us?”
That one landed.
That one landed. The silence stretched. Even the crowd stiffened, waiting. That moment right before something breaks. I felt it too. Mother shifted beside me, expression unreadable.
And then…Alvara spoke.
“I did stand behind people like you,” she said.
“And I learned something very important from that.”
“You only seem untouchable… because no one has had the courage…or the skill…to tear you down yet.”
“You think my past makes me weak. That I’d crumble under whispers and sneers.
That I’d beg for acceptance.” She paused, voice low, “I survived because of it. I thrived in spaces where no one wanted me…and now? Now I’m exactly where I belong.”
She stepped forward again.
“And if any of you thought standing in my way would matter…think again. Because I don’t just survive here. I own it. And every ounce of your arrogance won’t change that.”
No one laughed.
No one spoke.
They didn’t have anything to say back.
And I….
I couldn’t look away.
Footsteps approached quickly.
“Alvara…what is going on here?”
Mrs Alexia.
Her voice cut cleanly through the silence as she stepped into the scene, her eyes scanning the group sharply.
Then…
She saw us.
And froze.
“Oh…Mrs Hawthorne….I….”
She straightened immediately, clearly caught off guard.
“I sincerely apologize, I wasn’t informed you had arrived.”
The students turned.
One by one.
And saw us.
Shock spread instantly.
Postures straightened.
Faces changed.
Reality setting in.
Alvara turned.
Her eyes met Mother’s first.
Recognition flickered.
Then mine.
And for the briefest moment..
She paused.
Not shaken.
Not afraid.
Just… aware.
I held her gaze.
Measuring.
Re-evaluating.
Because the girl in front of me…
Was not the girl in those posts.
Not even close.
Mother stepped forward then, her presence immediately commanding the space.
“It seems,” she said calmly, her voice carrying without effort, “we arrived at an interesting time.”
No one spoke.
No one moved.
But I was still watching her.
Alvara Dane.
The girl everyone thought they understood.
Neither did I.
But I intended to.