Chapter 43 Chapter 43: A Voice Without a Name
The ringing stopped just as I turned toward the door, leaving the room wrapped in a sudden, heavy silence that felt louder than the sound had been. For a few seconds I simply stood there, staring at the phone resting on the coffee table as if it might light up again. My heartbeat was still racing from the sight of Auren’s name moments earlier, and the quiet that followed felt strange and unfinished.
Slowly, carefully, I placed the phone back exactly where it had been and exhaled a shaky breath. “You’re overthinking this,” I whispered to myself. “Just get the wine.” The laughter from the lounge echoed faintly through the hallway beyond the suite, reminding me that Miss Elara and her friends were waiting.
I forced my feet to move toward the door, focusing on the simple task ahead of me. Glasses. Bottle. Tray. Something normal to steady the restless feeling inside my chest. My fingers had just curled around the door handle when the ringtone exploded through the silence again—sharp, sudden, and impossibly loud in the quiet room. I froze mid-step, my heart lurching so hard it almost hurt. Slowly, I turned my head toward the coffee table. The screen glowed brightly in the dimming sunlight. Unknown Caller. A nervous breath slipped from my lips. “You should leave it,” I murmured, but the phone kept ringing, each note sharper than the last, filling the room with urgency until it felt impossible to ignore.
My feet moved before my mind could argue. I crossed the room quickly and picked up the phone, my fingers tightening around it as if it might ring its way out of my hand. For a moment I hesitated, staring at the screen, my reflection faintly visible in the glass. Then I pressed accept. “Hello?” My voice came out softer than I intended, careful and cautious.
A man’s voice answered instantly, deep and firm and completely without greeting. “Put Elara on the phone.” The command in his tone made my shoulders straighten automatically. There was no hesitation in his voice, no politeness—just expectation. My grip on the phone tightened slightly.
“Miss Elara is currently busy,” I replied politely. “May I ask who’s calling?” I tried to keep my voice even, professional, the way I’d been trained. But the silence that followed stretched long enough to make my pulse start to climb.
“I didn’t ask for a receptionist,” he said finally, his voice colder now. “I asked for Elara.” The dismissiveness in his tone sparked a small flicker of heat in my chest.
“And I asked who was calling,” I repeated, still polite but firmer now. “I can’t transfer the call without telling her.” I held the phone closer to my ear, my heartbeat thudding louder with every second of silence that followed.
“You can,” he snapped. “You just don’t want to.” The irritation in his voice was sharp enough to make my jaw tighten.
“No,” I replied, the word slipping out before I could soften it. “I want to do my job properly.” My fingers curled tighter around the phone, the polished glass cool against my palm.
A short, humorless laugh echoed through the line. “Your job is to pass the phone, not interrogate callers.” His tone carried a bite now, sharp and impatient.
“My job,” I said slowly, forcing calm into every syllable, “is to respect Miss Elara’s time. That includes knowing who she’s speaking to.” My heart hammered against my ribs, but once the words were out, I couldn’t pull them back.
His breathing grew heavier on the other end. “You’re being difficult.”
“And you’re being rude,” I shot back before fear could stop me. The words hung between us like a spark waiting for fuel. The silence that followed was immediate and heavy.
“You don’t know who you’re talking to,” he said quietly, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. The warning in his tone made my stomach tighten—but I didn’t back down.
“Then tell me,” I replied, my voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline flooding my chest.
Another long pause. I could almost feel his disbelief through the phone. “I don’t answer to staff,” he said sharply.
“And I don’t transfer calls blindly,” I replied, my voice trembling slightly but refusing to break. “If you want to speak to her, you can start by telling me your name.”
His breath left the receiver in a slow, controlled exhale. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone standing between me and that phone.”
“I’m not standing between you and anything,” I said quietly. “I’m asking for basic courtesy.”
“You just made this more complicated than it needed to be,” he said, his voice colder now, sharper than before.
“And you just made me less willing to help you,” I answered, my heartbeat roaring in my ears. The room felt smaller somehow, the silence pressing in from all sides as the tension on the line thickened into something heavy and unmistakably serious.
For a moment neither of us spoke, and the silence that filled the line felt heavier than the argument itself. I could hear faint movement on his end—distant noise, maybe traffic or wind—but his breathing stayed steady and controlled, like he was carefully choosing what to say next. My fingers tightened around the phone, my pulse still racing from the sharpness in his voice.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said finally, slower this time, each word deliberate. “You have no idea how important this call is.”
My throat tightened, but I forced my voice to stay level. “Then you should have started the conversation differently.” The reply came out quieter, but firmer than before. My reflection stared back at me from the dark glass screen, eyes wider than usual, shoulders stiff with tension.
His tone hardened again. “You think you’re protecting her, but you’re just delaying something inevitable.”
“I’m following instructions,” I answered. “If you want access to her, respect the process.”
A sharp breath left him, almost a scoff. “You’re incredibly stubborn.”
“And you’re incredibly unwilling to cooperate,” I replied before I could stop myself. My heart pounded louder with every exchange, adrenaline making my hands feel almost numb.
There was a pause—longer this time. The kind of pause that felt like a decision being made. “Listen carefully,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter but far more intense. “You will regret interfering in this.”
A chill slid down my spine, but the words that left my mouth surprised even me. “Threats won’t change my answer.”
Another silence followed, thick and tense. I could almost imagine him pressing his fingers against his forehead, frustrated and losing patience.
“You’ve wasted enough of my time,” he said at last, the anger in his voice cooled into something colder and more controlled.
“Then this conversation is over,” I replied softly.
Before he could say another word, I pulled the phone away from my ear and ended the call. The sudden silence that filled the room felt deafening as I stood there, staring at the dark screen, my heartbeat still thundering in my chest.