The click sound of her apartment door locking behind her was the sound of a fortress gate slamming shut. Sharon leaned against the door, the rigid posture she'd maintained for eight hours finally collapsing. A long, shuddering sigh escaped her lips. It felt like the first breath she'd taken all day.
The silence of her house was the total opposite of the noisy, exciting atmosphere at Hayashi Tech. She slid down the door to sit on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. The sharp, powerful blazer she'd worn as armor now felt like a costume. The day replayed behind her eyes in a series of brutal, vivid snapshots.
'It's Ms. Lee.'
The look of deep pain in his eyes and the tight clench of his jaw showed her something. She had tried to insult his pride, but she was sure she had done much worse.
A part of her, a part she was deeply ashamed of, had thrilled at it. The power had been intoxicating. But now, in the quiet, the intoxication had worn off, leaving a bitter, hungover guilt. The claimant was satisfied, but the woman who had loved him was bruised by her own cruelty.
A key turned in the lock, and the door pushed against her back. "Sharon? You're blocking the door!" Sasha's voice, bright and concerned, came from the hallway.
Sharon pushed herself up, opening the door to reveal Sasha holding a bag of takeout. The smell of Thai food filled the air, but it turned her stomach.
"Well? Don't keep me in suspense! How did it go? Was he a total monster? Did you make him cry?" Sasha bustled in, setting the food on the coffee table and turning to face her, eyes wide with anticipation.
Sharon walked to the couch, sinking into the cushions as if her bones had turned to lead. "He wasn't a monster," she said quietly, staring at her hands. "He looked… tired. Exhausted, actually. There were shadows under his eyes I've never seen before."
Sasha's face fell slightly. "Oh, please. That's just a tactic. The poor-little-rich-boy act. He probably had a late night with his model ex."
"He tried to call me Sharon," Sharon continued, almost to herself. "And I looked him right in the eye and said, 'It's Ms. Lee.'" She spoke again in the same cold, polite voice she'd used earlier.
Sasha let out a low whistle. "Ouch. Go you! That's exactly what he deserved."
"Was it?" Sharon's head snapped up, her eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears. "Sasha, it was like kicking a wounded animal. I wanted to feel powerful, I wanted to enjoy it, but it just… hurt. Seeing him like that, so… diminished. It hurt me."
The confession hung in the air, raw and honest. Sasha sat down beside her, her expression shifting from gleeful ally to something more measured. "Sharon, listen to me. That's exactly what he wants you to feel. He's manipulating your empathy. He's not the victim here, you are! Remember the photo? Remember how you cried for days?" She gripped Sharon's hand. "Don't fall for it. His guilt is not your problem to carry."
The words were logical. They were what she should believe. But they felt like a rehearsed script. Why was Sasha so determined to stoke the flames of her anger instead of acknowledging the complexity of her pain?
Alone in the silent apartment after Sasha left, Sharon gazed at the city lights. Her earlier excitement was completely gone, replaced by a feeling of emptiness and worry.
Her mind started thinking about the past, even though she didn't want it to. She thought about the beginning, not private jet or kisses in the rain.
She remembered her first day at Hayashi Tech, a nervous junior assistant. Kenzo had been a whirlwind of intensity, a silhouette against the glass wall of his office. He'd handed her a complex report and said, "I need this summarized. Don't disappoint me." It hadn't been a threat, but a challenge. She had stayed until 10 p.m., and her summary had been so sharp he'd called her into his office just to ask, "Where did you learn to think like that?"
Then, a more recent, warmer memory surfaced: the Hayashi family estate. Obaasan, with her soft hands, pulling her into the kitchen to teach her how to make dango. The way Kenzo's uncle had quietly offered her a rare, first-edition book on coding after she'd fixed his tablet. The sound of the family's laughter during the fireworks, Kenzo's shoulder a solid, warm presence against hers. For a few fleeting days, she hadn't been an employee or a fake fiancée. She had simply… belonged.
A single, hot tear rolled down her cheek. The memories caused a physical ache in her chest, making her deeply sad and longing for something that was completely gone.
She kept looking at the dark phone on the table. She felt a strong pull, an urge to send him a text. To say something, anything, that wasn't about patents and server access. 'I saw the shadows under your eyes. Are you sleeping?' or 'Grand ma emailed me a recipe today. It made me think of you.'
Her fingers trembled as she picked up the phone. The screen glowed to life, illuminating her tear-streaked face in the dark. She typed, 'Kenzo…'
Then she stopped. She remembered everything: Nadia's arrogant face in the photo, his sleeping body behind her, and the complete embarrassment.
He's manipulating your empathy, Sasha's voice echoed in her head.
With a choked sob, she deleted his name. The emptiness of the text field yawned back at her. But the need for connection, for some thread to remain, was too strong.
She opened her email instead. Her professional fortress. Her fingers moved with a mind of their own, typing with sharp taps.
Subject: Re: Nakamura Protocol - Clarification
Mr. Hayashi,
Upon reviewing the server logs from today, I require clarification on the legacy code in the secondary firewall. Please confirm the original deployment date for Module 7-B.
Regards,
S. Lee
It was dry and secure. It was her only escape, disguised as a normal business communication. She pressed send.
The message vanished into the digital ether. She put the phone down, the cold glass against her cheek. It was a pathetic substitute for the conversation she truly wanted, but it was all she could allow herself. She had drawn a line in the sand, and even in her deepest loneliness, she would not be the first to cross it.
--
Across the city, in his silent, sterile penthouse, Kenzo's phone lit up with the email notification. He was on his third whiskey, staring at the city lights that held no beauty for him anymore.
The sender name made his heart stutter: S. Lee.
He opened it, devouring the few lines of text. It was nothing. A technical question. A excuse. But she had emailed him. After hours. She had been thinking about the work, which meant she had been thinking about him.
He started to type a long, rambling reply. 'I can't stop thinking about the way you looked at me today. I'm so sorry. The deployment date was…' He deleted it all. She had built a wall, and this email, this tiny, professional crack, was all he had. He couldn't scare her away.
His reply was just as brief, just as professional.
Ms. Lee,
The original deployment for Module 7-B was Q2 of last year. The documentation is in the archived server, folder Delta-7.
K. Hayashi
He sent it. And then he simply stared at the screen, at the two cold, formal emails sitting in his inbox. It was the most intimate conversation they'd had in weeks. It was nothing, and it was everything. In the profound darkness of his penthouse, it was a single, stubborn point of light.