Chapter 142 Jude’s Insight
Anabelle sat quietly at her desk, staring at the report on her computer screen. The numbers were right, but her mind wasn’t.
Every click of the keyboard around her felt heavier than usual. People greeted each other in low voices, yet when she spoke, they grew silent.
The small shift in tone was enough for her to feel it—something had changed, and not in her favor.
When she walked into the staff lounge, two women near the coffee machine stopped talking and smiled too quickly.
“Morning, Anabelle,” one of them said, her tone sweet but distant.
Anabelle smiled back, pretending not to notice the tension that floated in the air. She poured her coffee, hands steady even though her chest tightened.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. It was a text from Fred: “Don’t forget to eat. You’ve been quiet lately.”
She smiled faintly, her lips curving at the thought of him noticing. “Just work stress,” she typed back. “I’m fine.”
She sent it and slipped the phone into her pocket before walking out of the lounge.
By noon, the silence in the office felt heavier. A meeting had been scheduled, but her name was missing from the invitation list. It wasn’t the first time this week.
She bit her lip and reminded herself to stay calm.
Victoria, Carson’s mother, held quiet power in every corner of the company. People listened when she spoke.
And lately, it seemed Victoria had taken an interest in making Anabelle’s work life just a bit harder.
No one said it openly, but the pattern was clear. Meetings shifted, files disappeared, and small mistakes that weren’t hers ended up under her name.
By the end of the day, Anabelle’s head ached. She packed her bag slowly, not wanting anyone to see how tired she was.
Outside, the evening wind brushed her hair as she walked down the steps. She didn’t go straight home.
Instead, she turned toward the small café near the corner—a quiet place where Jude often worked in the evenings.
When she entered, the smell of warm bread and coffee filled the air. Jude sat by the window with his usual black coffee and a notebook open before him.
He looked up the moment he saw her. “You look like you’ve been carrying the world,” he said gently.
She gave a small laugh. “Maybe half of it,” she said, taking a seat across from him.
He signaled the waiter and ordered her usual drink without asking. When the cup arrived, Anabelle wrapped her hands around it for warmth.
“Rough day?” Jude asked.
“More like a rough week,” she said softly. “People are avoiding me at work. And I think it’s because of the gala.” She paused, eyes fixed on the coffee’s surface.
Jude leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. “Victoria,” he said slowly, “that woman has a way of controlling a room without even being in it.”
Anabelle nodded. “Exactly. I don’t know what I did wrong. I’ve always respected her.” Her voice dropped. “But now, it feels like she’s watching me… waiting for me to fail.”
Jude’s expression softened. “Sometimes people like Victoria don’t need a reason,” he said. “They simply see someone they can’t control—and that’s enough.”
His words were calm but steady, and they made something stir in Anabelle’s chest.
She looked up at him, eyes searching. “You think that’s it? That she just doesn’t like me?” she asked quietly.
He nodded. “I’ve seen it before,” he said. “Powerful people often build their image on fear, not respect. You don’t fit into that kind of structure. You stand on your own. That makes her uneasy.”
His voice carried quiet conviction, and Anabelle could tell he had seen this pattern many times.
She sighed and rested her chin on her hand. “It’s just exhausting,” she said. “Every day, I walk in and wonder what’s next. A missing report? A new rumor? I can’t even focus on my work anymore.”
Jude smiled faintly. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said. “But you need to play smart. Don’t let her see that she’s getting to you.”
Anabelle frowned slightly. “How do I do that?” she asked.
“By doing what you’re already doing,” he said simply. “Keep showing up. Keep being professional. Don’t give her fuel. The moment she realizes she can’t shake you, she’ll move on.”
He took a slow sip of his coffee, his calmness grounding her.
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she asked, “Have you ever dealt with someone like her?”
Jude chuckled softly. “Too many times,” he said. “They come dressed in kindness, but they thrive on control. The trick is not to challenge their authority directly—just outshine them quietly.”
His eyes gleamed as he said it.
Anabelle smiled faintly. “You make it sound easy,” she said. “It’s not easy,”
Jude replied. “It takes patience. But I’ve seen what happens when good people like you stop believing in themselves. That’s exactly what Victoria wants. Don’t give her that power.”
His tone was firm now, almost protective.
The waiter came to clear their cups, and the soft clinking of dishes filled the space.
Outside, the streetlights flickered on, casting a warm glow through the window. Anabelle felt a little lighter, as if Jude’s words had lifted something heavy from her shoulders.
“You always know how to make things make sense,” she said quietly.
He smiled. “I just remind you of what you already know,” he said. “You’ve worked hard for where you are. Don’t let anyone rewrite your story.”
His words struck deep. She nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.
“Thank you, Jude,” she said. “Really. I needed that.”
He leaned forward, his voice softer. “Anytime. Just remember—being independent isn’t about fighting alone. It’s about standing firm, even when the ground shakes.”
She met his gaze, feeling the truth of it settle inside her. For the first time in days, she smiled without forcing it.
Her phone buzzed again. It was Fred. “Heading home? Want me to bring dinner?”
She laughed under her breath and typed, ‘That’d be nice.’
Jude noticed her smile.
“Someone special?” he asked teasingly.
She shook her head. “Just a friend who worries too much,” she said.
He chuckled. “Those are the best kind.”
When they stood to leave, Jude put his notebook away and said, “You’ll be fine, Anabelle. People like Victoria may cast long shadows, but light always finds a way through.”
She looked up at him and smiled warmly. “You sound like a poet,” she said.
“Maybe I am,” he said, smiling back.
They stepped outside together, the air cool and gentle. The city hummed softly around them, streetlights reflecting in the wet pavement.
Anabelle turned to him.
“Thank you again, Jude,” she said sincerely. “For listening.”
He nodded.
“Always,” he said. “Go home, rest, and remember—you’re not alone in this.”
As they parted ways, Anabelle walked slowly toward the bus stop, her bag slung over her shoulder. She felt lighter, steadier, stronger.