Requiem of a Broken Heart

Chapter 8 Chapter 8: In the blink of an eye, Brian's long strides brought him closer, his face etched with concern.

Tracy, sensing his concern, quickly reassured him. "Brian, please don't worry. It was all my fault earlier. I wasn't holding the cup properly. Rachel had no part in this." Rachel's lips curled into a sarcastic smile, her eyes cold with disdain. For a brief moment, when Brian had approached, she had allowed herself to believe that he might actually care, that his concern was for her.

Her heart had softened, only to be shattered by the realization that she was wrong.

He wasn't here for her, only rushing to protect Tracy.

Rachel's expression hardened, her voice devoid of emotion as she finally spoke. “This has nothing to do with me," she said, her tone calm but cutting. "If I had wanted to hurt her, the whole cup of coffee would have been thrown at her, not just a few splashes." Brian's expression darkened, an unreadable intensity settling in his eyes. Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, fingers curling firmly around Rachel's wrist. "Rachel..." he murmured, his voice husky, laced with an unfamiliar hesitation.

The sound of his voice, once a balm to Rachel's soul, now sent a jagged ache through her chest. She steeled herself, masking the storm beneath her calm exterior. "Release me," she said quietly, though the faint tremor in her words betrayed her.

Brian, however, didn't release her. Instead, his grip only tightened.

Rachel inhaled deeply, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Alright then," she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. "Tell me, do you even know what I'm afraid of?" "You..." Brian faltered, taken aback by her question. He was momentarily lost for words, realizing how little he understood her.

Latest chapters in G I.☐☐☐ "Forget it," she said quietly, her hand slipping from his as she pushed him gently away. "I must have been asking for too much." Rachel turned away, her footsteps steady, yet each step carried the weight of an unbearable truth. She didn't glance back, unwilling to reveal the turmoil within. Though her exterior remained composed, the pain had already carved deep wounds in her heart.

Brian had always remembered everything about Tracy; her fears, her anxieties, the little details that made her who she was. He knew she was afraid of darkness and confined spaces. But he...

He had never once noticed Rachel's fears, never realized that she, too, was terrified of the dark, that the sensation of sudden drops and falling sent a wave of panic through her.

Rachel and her twin brother had entered the world on the sday, but from the beginning, their lives had been shaped by loss. Their mother had died during childbirth, leaving them in the hands of a father and grandmother who had never truly wanted her.

Initially, Rachel's brother was her only source of comfort. The harsh words and cold indifference stung less with him by her side. At least she wasn't completely alone. But everything changed the day he was diagnosed with autism. The world labeled him defective and unworthy. From that moment on, both of them becburdens to their families.

Whatever warmth had once existed in their hfaded, replaced by cruelty and disregard. Rachel quickly learned that affection was a privilege, not a given, and survival meant enduring, adapting, and expecting nothing from anyone. Everything worsened when Moira Haynes bectheir stepmother. Eager to keep his new wife content, their father ensured Rachel and her brother remained invisible. They were forbidden from leaving the house and being seen, especially when Moira was present.

Hidden away like secrets, too shameful to acknowledge, they spent their days locked in attics, cellars, and windowless rooms where darkness stretched endlessly.

At night, the blackness was suffocating. Shadows blurred into one another, erasing all sense of space and time. Yet Rachel couldn't risk turning on a light. Visibility meant discovery, and discovery meant punishment. If Moira ever found out about them, the consequences would be severe. A beating would be the least of their worries. Surviving didn't guarantee living; it only meant enduring another day of torment.

How could Rachel not be terrified of the dark? It was the raw, visceral terror that seeped into her bones, a fear so deep it consumed her. But Brian-he never knew this part of her. He had no idea what she had endured.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Rachel kept walking, forcing herself forward as she always had, one painful step at a time.

As Rachel stepped out of the elevator, she unexpectedly bumped into Ronald. His expression was one of surprise. "Ms. Marsh, why are you leaving?" he asked, clearly caught off guard.

Rachel's eyes fell to the tube of ointment in his hand. She said nothing, the silence heavy between them. It was obvious Brian had sent him to buy the ointment for Tracy. Yet, the sting of that realization still hit her with a sharp twist. It wasn't for her, not for the woman who had been there all along.

As Ronald entered the elevator, he noticed the subtle limp in Rachel's stride, her unsteady and strained gait. He frowned and asked, "Are you hurt?" Rachel avoided his gaze, her voice tight as she answered, "You should go. Brian is probably waiting." When Ronald returned to the office, he quickly realized that the ointment was for Tracy.

As he approached Brian's desk, Brian looked up at him, his tone casual but purposeful. "Ronald, apply this for her," he instructed.

Tracy quickly withdrew her hand, her tone playful yet insistent. "Brian, I only want you to do it for me." Brian took the ointment tube, unscrewed the cap, and was about to apply it when something inside him shifted. With a quiet sigh, he handed the ointment to Tracy instead. "Use your right hand to apply it yourself," he said, his voice steady.

"But..." Tracy pouted, clearly displeased, her eyes narrowing with frustration. "If it's too much trouble, I can have Ronald take you to the hospital," Brian offered, his voice calm, almost indifferent.

Tracy hesitated, her pride taking over. "No, I can do it myself." After applying the ointment, she lingered, silently hoping for a moment of attention, perhaps a sign of connection. But as she watched Brian immersed in his work, his concentration unshaken, a familiar sense of frustration began to rise within her.

Her lips tightened in quiet annoyance, and with a deep sigh, she decided to leave. There would be other moments, she reminded herself.

Rachel and Samira arrived at the modest office, their eyes quickly scanning the room.

It didn't take long for them to identify the young woman responsible for copying Rachel's design. She was shy, introverted, and looked as though she had just stepped out of school. Her appearance struck a chord with Rachel, evoking memories of her early days after graduation, when she was just as naïve and unsure of herself. "Samira, please bring the draft," Rachel said, her voice calm and commanding. The woman across from them looked up in confusion. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?" she asked, her voice laced with hesitation.

Rachel placed the design draft on the table, her gaze unwavering as she locked eyes with the woman. "I think you recognize this," she said, her voice calm but carrying an underlying intensity.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise as she examined the draft. "How did you know?" she stammered, clearly taken aback.

Rachel's voice remained even but firm. “Because I'm the one who created this design, I spent a week working on it. The submission you made to Titan Innovations is nearly identical, with only slight alterations. What you've done is not only plagiarism, it's also an infringement of my intellectual property." She paused, giving the woman tto absorb her words. "I expect you to retract your submission and acknowledge your error. If you refuse, I have no choice but to take legal action to protect my rights." The woman sat in stunned silence, her expression a mix of confusion and realization. She struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

Samira leaned closer to Rachel, her curiosity piqued. “What's happening? She seems lost. Do you think she's feigning ignorance, or is she genuinely this unaware?" Rachel remained composed, her eyes never leaving the woman. "Let's wait and see. We'll know soon enough." "Alright," Samira replied.

Several minutes passed in silence, the tension thick in the room, before the woman finally spoke, her voice shaky. "Plagiarism? How could that be? I didn't know this was your design." Rachel raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "What do you mean you didn't know?"

The woman's face crumpled, and tears welled in her eyes. “I had no idea. A few days ago, my boyfriend showeda design. He said he had created it himself. He knew my company was looking to partner with Titan Innovations, so he askedto make a few adjustments, incorporating my ideas." The revelation hit Rachel like a wave, and she softened her expression, realizing the woman was not at fault here. "You've been misled," she stated, her voice steady but firm.

Rachel calmly spread her original sketches and drafts on the table, ge letting the evidence speak for itself. "This design is entirely mine. Every line, every detail. Your boyfriend's actions, however, constitute both plagiarism and the theft of trade secrets." As the weight of Rachel's words sank in, the woman's complexion drained of color, her anxiety and fear becoming palpable.

The rest of the conversation proceeded with clarity. With no further resistance, the woman o.m reluctantly gave up the nof the person who had deceived her. Rachel turned to Samira, her voice composed but purposeful. "Samira, the next steps are yours. Don't alert him yet. Start collecting evidence, and I'll handle the legal procedures." "Understood," Samira responded, her attention momentarily drifting to Rachel's swollen ankle. “You need to rest.

Your ankle looks painful. You should head home." When Rachel arrived home, the living room lights were on, casting a warm glow over the space. Brian was seated on the sofa, exuding his usual air of composure and elegance.

Rachel was physically and mentally exhausted. She longed for nothing more than a shower and squiet rest. With a determined step, she walked past him, choosing to ignore his presence entirely.

But just as she moved to pass by, his hand shot out and grabbed hers. The shand that had been burned earlier throbbed with pain under his grip, sending a sharp wave of discomfort through her.

"Let go!" she said sharply, her voice tinged with irritation.

His grip tightened slightly, his patience thinning. "Still holding onto that, are you? Do you really want to start another argument with me?"