Chapter 210
No one knew about the tragedy that had unfolded, except for Matilda. She was the sole keeper of that
grim secret.
The day Chloe left was like any other she got dressed in her crisp work attire, slipped into her pumps,
and headed to the office. When the workday ended, she quietly handed in her resignation letter while
no one was looking, tying up all her foose ends before she vanished without a backward nce.
Matilda had wept for her. Back when Chloe was crumpled on the floor, her blood painting a stark
contrast against the white tiles, she had clutched Matilda’s hand, her wrist still bleeding profusely.
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“Matilda,” she had whispered, “don’t let Den touch me. Don’t let him find me.”
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With tears streaming down her face, Matilda promised, and from that moment on, there was only
silence.
Matilda continued her life as though nothing had happened. She went to work, sharedughs and
banter with her quirky colleagues, brainstormed new fashion lines in meetings, and kept Chloe’s secret
locked away. Nobody in the marketing department knew that their bright and bubbly beauty was gone.
It was a weekter when Den realized Chloe had gone radio silent. After theirst encounter, he had
callously tossed her aside like yesterday’s newspaper, not even bothering to help her get dressed. He
didn’t spare a thought for the pain she must have endured as she walked away, nor the depths of
despair she must have felt.
To him, she was just a toy, and he regretted not having onest fling before discarding her. But a week
of silence had passed, and Chloe hadn’t reached out to him, not a single WhatsApp message or a
yful “Mr. Yeager” like she used to. She had once been ever–present, cooking, cleaning, doing
laundry, all to earn a few extra bucks from Den.
He had always considered Chloe the kind of woman who would spread her legs for anyone who
shed the cash. She was like an annoying fly that couldn’t be swatted away, always buzzing around
him, her voice dripping with a fawning tone whenever she called him “Mr. Yeager.” Yet, to others, she
exuded a cold and sexy demeanor.
Den was well aware that many men coveted her, and he took pleasure in knowing she obeyed only
him. Everymand he gave, every task he demanded, was met with herpliance, and it fed his
ego.
All men wanted her, but she was his pet.
But Den never considered the possibility that the woman who seemed so resilient, who never
comined of pain, might one day admit that she was hurting – and how
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soul–wrenchingly painful that admission would be
Irritated, Den stubbed out his cigarette and nced at his phone. Chloe’s chat was silent; her
Facebook untouched for a week. He scoffed, thinking she was ying some kind of game with him.
But he’d never be the one to reach out first. So, with cold finality, he deleted Chloe’s contact, expecting
her toe crawling back, begging to be added again. The thought brought a twisted smile to his face.
She was just another boring woman, after all. What a waste of his time.
Matilda was settling into the rhythm of the creative studio. The team was a motley crew of personalities,
all easy to get along with. Orson might have had a resting glum face, but- his talent was undeniable.
Together, they often came up with ideas that were outside the
box.
The game’sunch was a hit, with yer registrations skyrocketing. Their creative direction was paying
off, so they doubled down, crafting new storylines and releasing
fresh fashion. The studio’s value soared.
asionally, Matilda’s thoughts would drift to Chloe and the scar on her wrist. She’d look at her own
scars and shake her head at how fate yed its cruel games.
As time went on and the game topped the download charts for a month, Matilda felt a mix of pride and
impending loneliness. The thought of parting ways with the studio made her heart heavy. She never
expected to grow so attached in such a short time. Leaving now would be harder than she ever
imagined.