Between Silence and Shadow
What was I even thinking?
Why did I ask him if he had feelings for me?And why — why did it sting when he said no?
For the past three days, that moment has looped in my head like a film caught on rewind. His voice. His expression. The quiet steadiness of his eyes when he said it — no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. I told myself it didn't matter. That it shouldn't. That I didn't feel that way about him.
But then why did disappointment feel like a bruise blooming under my ribs?
Maybe I never liked him — not the way people mean when they say like. Maybe I was just curious. Or maybe I wanted to matter to someone like him — someone who seems to exist half in this world and half somewhere unreachable.
Aubrey Ardel.The name alone carries weight. One of the most celebrated young violinists in New York. The son of Arthur Ardel — a man whose influence could buy empires but never love. Arthur built a kingdom in both business and music, and yet he refuses to let his surviving son stand on its marble floors. He wants Aubrey to rise without inheritance, without whispers. Without help.
And then there was Alex — the brother who didn't survive the weight of that name. Suicide, they said. But no one speaks of why.
Maybe they don't want to know.
I used to think their family's story was just another headline: rich, fractured, tragic. But now it feels cruel to call it that. Because now I've seen Aubrey — not the violinist or the heir, but the man underneath. The one who looks at the world like it's a song he's forgotten the words to.
And maybe that's what's unsettling me. I don't know if I wanted his affection or just his attention.But I know this: his no felt heavier than it should have.
My head throbbed from too many thoughts colliding. The ache wasn't from fatigue; it was from feeling. I needed focus — discipline — the mission.
And yet for three days, I'd done the same foolish thing: watching the café door.
Waiting.
For the soft chime of the bell. The low hum of the hinge. The shape of him stepping through the morning light.
Emerald eyes that never stopped searching. Hair — black, wavy, and soft-looking enough that I wanted to test its texture just once, just to see how he'd react. His voice when he talked about art — every word deliberate, like paint strokes laid onto silence. The way his rare smile shifted the air, pulling warmth into cold spaces.
And the way his gaze found mine. Every time.
"Earth to Emma!"
I startled, blinking as June waved a hand in front of my face.
Emmett stood behind her, arms crossed, wearing that half-concerned, half-annoyed look that only he could pull off.
"You've been staring into nothing for five minutes," June said, squinting at me. "You even blinked in slow motion."
I pressed my fingers to my temple. "Sorry. Headache."
"Headache or heartbreak?" June teased. "Because you've been acting strange since your conversation with the green-eyed prodigy."
My head snapped up. "June."
"What?" She smirked. "You think we didn't notice how your head turns every time the bell rings?"
I stayed quiet. Silence is dangerous; it tells the truth before words can.
Emmett cleared his throat, his tone more measured. "We're not trying to pry," he said. "We just need your call on these."
He handed me a folder — one I recognized instantly. The weight of it was heavier than paper.Confidential. Classified. Dangerous.
Right. The mission.
I pulled it open, flipping through pages I'd already memorized, though my focus kept drifting.He hadn't come in today. Or yesterday.
Was he avoiding me?
Was I hoping he wasn't?
"I still need you to follow him," I said finally, my voice steady but low.
June leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Are you sure? He's been clean. No strange meetings. No anomalies. Nothing."
"I know," I murmured. "But something doesn't add up. He feels… off. Like there's another rhythm beneath the melody. I just can't hear it yet."
June studied me for a moment, seeing more than I wanted her to. "You've barely slept," she said softly. "Maybe you're seeing ghosts."
"Or maybe I'm the only one looking," I snapped before I could stop myself.
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
"Alright," she said quietly. "I'll keep watching. Just… don't lose yourself, Em."
I nodded, and she slipped out through the back door, the bell above it giving a faint, mournful jingle.
The café fell into stillness.Only the low hum of the espresso machine and the faint crackle of the city outside remained.
Emmett didn't move. He just stood there, arms folded, gaze steady — the way a person watches someone they care about but no longer understand.
"You know," he said after a moment, voice calm, "it's dangerous to get entangled with someone we don't really know."
I didn't look up. "Everyone's a stranger until you decide to know them," I said quietly, flipping another page I couldn't read.
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Not when the mission depends on staying detached."
I froze, my fingers tightening around the edge of the file. "What are you trying to say?"
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. "Be careful."
"No," I said, meeting his gaze at last. "You mean I'm distracted. Say it."
He exhaled slowly. "You're too smart to be reckless, but I know what loneliness looks like. And I've seen the way you watch the door every time it opens."
The air thickened between us. My heartbeat thundered in my throat.
"We're not here to belong," he said softly. "We're here to finish what we started. Don't forget that."
I looked down, throat tight. "I haven't," I whispered.
"Good."
He left it at that — no more words, no comfort, just truth.He turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the quiet hum of the café, surrounded by the smell of roasted beans and the echo of things I couldn't say.
I told myself the pounding in my chest was just adrenaline.That I hadn't already crossed a line.
But when the bell above the door rang later that evening, my hands trembled — and I hated myself for hoping it was him.