Chapter 34: We Can’t Be Friends Anymore

Without waiting for a response, he walked out, leaving the door ajar. Cynthia sat frozen on the bed, her fists clenched, her tears flowing freely. The silence that followed was deafening, amplifying the ache in her chest.

She sank back onto the bed, clutching the pillow once more, her body wracked with sobs. "I can't— I can't," she whispered to the empty room, her voice a mix of desperation and fear.

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The Following Day...

The faint hum of the elevator reverberated through the sleek, modern steel walls, but Cynthia barely noticed it. She stood in the center, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her reflection staring back at her from the polished surfaces. Her thoughts churned like a storm, replaying the same chaotic reel: Carlos’s cold eyes as he towered over her, fists clenched. The throbbing ache in her ribs from his last outburst.

She exhaled sharply, biting her lip. Why am I even doing this? she thought, her eyes fixed on the ascending floor numbers. The ding of the elevator startled her, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. The doors slid open, revealing the expansive glass-walled corridor of her floor.

She hesitated for a second, quickly pulling her blazer tighter around her bruised frame before stepping out. The click of her heels echoed down the corridor as she walked, her back stiff and her gaze straight ahead. She could feel it— judging eyes from her coworkers peeking out from behind desks and glass partitions. Whispers buzzed faintly like an undercurrent, but Cynthia kept moving. Her heart hammered against her chest.

When she reached her office, she pushed the door open and stepped in, immediately drawing the blinds closed. The sunlight streaming through the glass walls vanished, replaced by a muted, dim glow. She stood there for a moment, her breathing uneven. Then, she collapsed into her chair and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the cool surface of the desk.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours— she couldn’t tell. The silence in the room was deafening. She sat up abruptly, the chair creaking beneath her weight. Her gaze darted to the office door. What are they saying out there? Are they talking about me? Laughing? Judging?

Unable to shake the paranoia, Cynthia got up and moved to the door. She pressed her ear against it, her heart sinking as muffled voices reached her.

“She’s here?”

“Yeah, I saw her walk in earlier.”

“After everything? The news, the beatings— she still shows up to work for him? It’s pathetic. She has no self-respect.”

“She really doesn’t. First, her husband married her and her sister together, and now this? She’s a joke.”

Their voices faded as they walked past, leaving Cynthia frozen in place. Her hands trembled, her nails digging into the doorframe. She slid down to the floor, tears streaming down her face.

Her whispered words were barely audible: “Is this what my life has become? A living joke? The subject of office gossip?” She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. “I have to stay strong,” she told herself through gritted teeth. “If I leave, he’ll take everything— my company, my life. He’ll surely destroy me.”

The sobs came hard and fast, shaking her frame. She pressed her face into her hands, muffling the sound. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and she fell asleep right there on the cold, polished floor.

When she stirred hours later, her body ached from the awkward position. Groaning, she pushed herself up and stumbled to her desk. The clock on it read 2:13 PM. “Damn it,” she muttered, wiping her tear-streaked face with trembling fingers. She grabbed her phone, her thumb instinctively swiping to WhatsApp.

Brian’s chat was still there, the unanswered text staring back at her. Why didn’t she respond? Cynthia thought bitterly. Isn’t she supposed to be my friend?

“I need to know why,” she whispered, standing abruptly. She smoothed her clothes, straightened her posture, and marched out of her office. She ignored the stares from her coworkers as she made her way to the middle floor, her heels clicking against the tiles like gunshots in the heavy silence.

The open-plan office was bustling with activity, but Cynthia’s presence brought an immediate hush. Heads turned, conversations stopped, and all eyes were on her as she walked toward Brian’s desk.

Brian looked up, her eyes widening in surprise before she forced a faint smile. “Cynthia… When did you resume back to work?”

Cynthia ignored the question, her voice low but firm. “Why didn’t you respond to my text?”

Brian hesitated, looking away briefly before meeting Cynthia’s gaze. “I’ve been… busy.”

“Busy?” Cynthia repeated, her voice rising slightly. She nodded slowly, the sarcasm dripping from her tone. “Too busy to type a response? Too busy to even acknowledge me?”

Brian sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. “Look, Cynthia… I don’t want to get mixed up in this. The whole thing with Carlos— it’s messy. And he’s my boss. I can’t risk losing my job.”

Cynthia’s breath caught in her throat. “You could have sent a text to tell me how you felt,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Brian straightened in her chair, her expression hardening as she met Cynthia's gaze again. “We can’t be friends anymore.”