Shattered Focus

A sharp, electronic chime sliced through the steady hum of the ceiling projector.

The screen of the mobile phone resting on the dark mahogany conference table flared to life. Declan turned his head. His sharp gaze locked onto the notification banner flashing across the glass. It was a text message from Miranda. For a split second, time seemed to freeze in the expansive, highly pressurized boardroom.

Standing by the projection screen, Garrett paused his presentation. The special assistant possessed a keen eye for subtle shifts in the atmosphere, a survival skill honed from years of working under Zenith Group's demanding CEO. He casually dropped his gaze to the illuminated phone on the table. In that fleeting moment, Garrett caught a glimpse of a specific name glowing brightly on the digital screen. Valerie.

Before Garrett could process the implication of seeing the former Mrs. Cross's name, Declan’s large hand clamped down on the device. He swiftly flipped the phone upside down, pressing the dark screen flush against the polished wood. When Declan raised his head, his dark, angular eyes locked onto Garrett. The brief distraction was gone, replaced instantly by an inexplicable, chilling coldness.

Garrett braced himself, his spine stiffening. He half-expected a harsh reprimand for pausing the quarterly meeting. Instead, Declan just stared at him with an icy, intimidating detachment.

"Go on." Declan commanded, his low voice devoid of any warmth.

Garrett swallowed hard, giving a hesitant nod. He clicked the laser pointer and resumed his detailed explanation of the complex architectural design plan. The corporate jargon flowed smoothly from his practiced lips, but the air in the room had fundamentally shifted. A heavy, suffocating tension radiated from the head of the table. Declan was no longer looking at the slides. His dark gaze was distant, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle feathered along his cheekline.

As Garrett concluded his final point and the slide transitioned to the summary page, he chanced another glance at his boss. Declan sat rigidly in his leather executive chair, his thick brows knitted into a deep, unforgiving frown.

"Who approved such a lousy plan?"

Declan’s voice was not loud. It was a low, booming rumble that reverberated against the glass walls. Yet, the question hit the room like a physical shockwave. The executive staff froze in their seats. The collective intake of breath was audible in the sudden silence.

Garrett stood frozen beside the projector, the plastic clicker suddenly feeling like a lead weight in his palm. He looked at Declan, his mind racing to formulate a safe response. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sheer hostility in Declan's posture made him snap his jaw shut.

Met with absolute silence, Declan slowly turned his head. His piercing glare swept across the table, examining the row of seasoned executives.

Instantly, every single person in the room lowered their heads. They stared intensely at their blank notepads, their unlit tablets, and the grain of the mahogany table, desperately pretending to be lost in profound thought. None of them dared to make eye contact with the man at the head of the table.

"You don't know?" Declan pressed ruthlessly.

The silence thickened. It was a heavy, dangerous quiet. Underneath the table, hidden from the boss's line of sight, the executives began darting panicked, pleading looks toward the front of the room. They were looking directly at Garrett.

As the special assistant and vice president of Zenith Group, Garrett was accustomed to playing the human shield. He had taken the fall for various departments time and time again. But the past few days had tested even his seasoned limits. Everyone in the building could sense the massive, chaotic shift in Declan’s demeanor. Their boss had not just become irritable or overly demanding; he had morphed into something inexplicably sullen and dangerously volatile. He scrutinized every minor detail with a cold, unforgiving edge. Most bizarrely, he seemed prone to unprecedented lapses in memory, drifting into deep, distracted voids during crucial discussions.

The silent pleas from the staff weighed heavily on Garrett's shoulders. Usually, he could defuse Declan’s anger with a strategic apology or a quick pivot. But this time, the tension felt entirely insurmountable.

Garrett kept his head bowed, trying to blend into the shadows cast by the projection screen. It was a futile effort.

"Since everyone is looking at you, Garrett, answer me on their behalf." Declan leaned forward, gesturing sharply toward the glowing projection screen behind his assistant. "Who passed such a crappy plan?"

Garrett felt his stomach drop. He stared at his colleagues, feeling thoroughly betrayed by their silent deflection. Cornered by the relentless interrogation, he forced himself to meet Declan's unyielding gaze.

"Mr. Hayes?" Declan prompted, his tone dripping with impatience.

"I... I don't know." Garrett stammered. His courage completely abandoned him at the last second.

Declan’s eyes narrowed. He shifted his attention away from his assistant, his gaze landing randomly on a man sitting near the middle of the long table.

"Kaelen, say it." Declan ordered.

Kaelen Frost flinched as if he had been struck by a whip. He shot a terrified, apologetic glance at Garrett before throwing the live grenade right back to the front of the room.

"Mr... Mr. Hayes is in charge of this project." Kaelen stuttered, his voice trembling under the immense pressure.

Declan’s dark eyes snapped back to the front of the room. "Garrett."

Garrett gritted his teeth. There was no escape. He looked at the row of executives who were suddenly taking furious, fake notes, and then back to the imposing figure of his boss. He braced for impact, deciding that the truth, however absurd, was his only option.

"It was you who approved it, Mr. Cross." Garrett confessed. He lowered his voice slightly, adding the final nail to the coffin. "Last night."

The expansive conference room fell into a dead, absolute silence. Not a single pen scratched against paper. Nobody dared to breathe.

Garrett watched his boss closely. For a fleeting second, a rare, genuine trace of shock crossed Declan’s handsome, angular face. The cold mask of the ruthless CEO cracked, revealing a man who had completely lost track of his own actions. Declan blinked, his eyes shifting back to the design schematic displayed on the large screen. The realization of his massive professional lapse hit him visibly.

Taking advantage of the stunned silence, Garrett took a cautious step forward.

"Mr. Cross, you seem to be a little out of sorts these days. Are you all right?"

Declan exhaled slowly, the sharp lines of his face hardening as he forcibly composed himself. He cleared his throat, pushing the psychological distraction down into the depths of his mind.

"Yes. I'm sorry. It's my negligence." Declan stated calmly, his professional authority returning in an instant. "Redo the design. Break it up."

Without waiting for a response, Declan reached across the table, grabbed the upside-down phone, and walked out of the room with a brisk, terrifying stride.

The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him.

Instantly, the suffocating tension vanished from the boardroom. The collective exhale sounded like a deflating balloon. The executives slumped in their chairs, a flurry of fierce, hushed whispers breaking out across the table. Several of them shot thumbs-up gestures toward the front of the room.

"You're so brave." Kaelen sighed in profound relief.

Garrett pointed an accusing finger at the row of men. "I've always protected you guys. You only know how to throw the bomb at me at the critical moment. You're all ungrateful."

"After all, you're the only one who can withstand Mr. Cross's anger, aren't you?" A marketing director chuckled nervously.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Hayes. We'll treat you to a meal another day."

Garrett waved off their apologies with practiced ease. The executives forced smiles, but the deep confusion remained etched on their faces.

"Did something happen to Mr. Cross? He's very strange recently." Kaelen murmured, leaning across the table to lower his voice.

"Yes, I noticed it too. He's even distracted sometimes." Another executive chimed in.

"He has never been like this before. Did something happen at his home?"

The gossipy, inquiring eyes inevitably turned back to Garrett. As the man closest to the CEO, they expected him to hold the answers.

"Of course not." Garrett deflected smoothly, stacking his presentation files together. "Mr. Cross is so enthusiastic about work that his body can't stand it. It's normal for him to be absent-minded occasionally."

He joked with the staff for another minute, effortlessly shutting down the rumor mill before stepping out into the hallway. He navigated the plush corridors of Zenith Group and entered the open office space situated just outside the president’s private suite.

The clerical assistants were huddled together, whispering animatedly. When they heard footsteps, they instantly snapped to attention, their spines rigid, eyes glued to their monitors. But upon realizing it was only Garrett, their posture immediately relaxed. Several of them patted their chests, letting out heavy sighs of relief.

Garrett smiled faintly, tapping a rolled-up folder lightly against the nearest desk. "Look at yourselves."

He didn't blame them. Everyone in the building was terrified of Declan right now. Garrett shared their underlying anxiety. It wasn't that Declan was inherently tyrannical. On the contrary, he rarely lost his temper. He was a relentless workaholic, but he never forced his grueling standards onto his subordinates. He was known for being a strict but highly reasonable boss who provided top-tier benefits and never threw mindless tantrums or docked pay over petty mistakes. The fear he commanded stemmed purely from his overwhelming aura and his cold, unyielding personality.

But this recent behavior was different. It was chaotic.

Garrett glanced through the glass partition separating the assistant area from the massive presidential office. Inside, Declan had already dropped into his high-backed leather chair. The mobile phone was tossed carelessly onto the far corner of the massive desk, lying there like a toxic object. Declan sat perfectly still, staring at it with an expression of barely contained turmoil.

Having caught that brief glimpse of Valerie’s name earlier, Garrett easily pieced the puzzle together. This unprecedented professional breakdown had everything to do with her.

Garrett had met Valerie a handful of times over the years. His impression of her was overwhelmingly positive. She was a quiet, gentle woman with a pure and simple elegance. She spoke softly, moved without urgency, and treated everyone with a grounded politeness that starkly contrasted with the arrogant airs put on by people like Miranda. She was never impatient, never demanding.

Because Declan had entrusted the divorce proceedings to a lawyer Garrett had recommended, the special assistant was one of the few people who knew the marriage was officially over. What he didn't know was the reason behind the sudden split.

From Garrett's perspective, the relationship between Declan and Valerie had always appeared perfectly stable. They weren't a fiery, overly affectionate couple, but they existed in a state of harmonious peace. There had never been any signs of deep resentment or bitter conflict that usually preceded a divorce. He vividly remembered the day Valerie had visited the company. Declan had calmly instructed Garrett to drive her to a bookstore. They hadn't seemed like a couple on the brink of collapse.

Yet, the very next morning, the perfectly matched pair had dropped the bombshell directive to finalize their separation.

The massive shift in Declan’s personality had aligned perfectly with that timeline. The moment Garrett informed his boss that Valerie was selling their shared home, the strange behavior escalated. And today, it had culminated in a total lapse of memory regarding a major corporate project.

Alone in the dead silence of his private office, Declan stared at the discarded device. The physical distance between him and the phone did nothing to quiet the raging thoughts in his head. After a long, agonizing pause, he leaned forward, reached across the polished wood, and picked up the device.

He unlocked the screen and opened the messaging application.

Miranda’s hateful texts flooded the screen, but Declan ignored the words. His dark eyes locked instantly onto the crisp, high-resolution photo she had attached.

In the image, Valerie was standing near an airport counter. She looked beautiful, delicate, and strangely out of focus, her gaze drifting into a distant trance. Beside her stood a handsome, composed man in a tailored jacket.

Declan sat in the dim lighting of his office, the bright glare of the digital screen reflecting off his sharp features. He zoomed in on the image, his thumb dragging across the glass until the man's face filled the display.

The camera had captured a devastatingly intimate moment. Declan’s sharp, analytical eyes immediately recognized the specific look etched onto the stranger's face. The man was staring at Valerie, completely absorbed in her presence. It was not a look of temporary amazement. It was not the casual gaze of a platonic friend.

It was a profound, desperate, and agonizing romantic love, buried deep within the man's heart, bleeding through his eyes when he thought no one was watching.

Declan’s jaw clenched tightly. A cold, unfamiliar sensation gripped his chest. He scrutinized the handsome features of the man in the photo. He didn't know who this person was. In all the time he had known Valerie, he had never seen a single photograph of this man, nor had he ever heard his name mentioned.

His thumb hovered over the glowing screen. A sudden, heavy realization washed over him, hitting him with the force of a physical blow.

In two years of marriage, he had never once checked Valerie’s phone. He had never questioned her private life, never asked about her social circle, never bothered to learn the names of the people she spent her time with. He had lived in the same house as her, slept in the same bed, and yet, he knew absolutely nothing about the reality of her world.

Outside the glass walls of the office, Garrett watched his boss with growing alarm. He couldn't see the screen of the phone, but he could clearly see the devastating shift in Declan’s demeanor. The CEO was staring obsessively at the device, his brown eyes growing colder and more terrifying by the second. His handsome face was wiped completely blank, taking on a calm, eerie stillness that reminded Garrett of the suffocating ocean right before a catastrophic storm broke.

Inside the office, Declan swiped down, exiting the photo view. He refused to let the bubbling chaos in his chest dictate his actions. He held down the microphone icon next to Miranda's name. He needed to shut down her vindictive gossip, both to protect his own bruised pride and to shield Valerie from further scrutiny.

"I arranged that person for her. Don't worry about it." Declan lied smoothly, his recorded voice deep and steady, betraying none of the psychological turmoil raging beneath the surface.

He released the button, sending the voice message. He pressed the power button, turning the screen black, and tossed the phone back onto the desk with a sharp clatter.

"Garrett." Declan called out, his voice easily piercing the glass partition.

"Yes." Garrett hurried forward, immediately schooling his features into a mask of professional efficiency as he stepped through the office door. "What's the matter, Mr. Cross?"

Declan stood up from his executive chair, his movements brisk and sharp. He gathered a stack of documents from his desk, his face set in stone.

"What time is it? Has Mr. Tate arrived?"

"He'll be in the meeting room in ten minutes." Garrett nodded quickly, confirming the schedule.

"Okay. Come with me." Declan ordered, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket.

Garrett nodded in agreement. His eyes darted to the dark phone lying on the desk. The unspoken tension in the room was palpable.

"Mr. Cross, if you have something urgent, I can help you..." Garrett offered tactfully, leaving the sentence open, giving his boss an out to deal with the personal crisis that was clearly tearing him apart.

"No need." Declan interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Burying his feelings beneath a wall of cold authority, Declan marched out of the office with a terrifying, purposeful stride. Hesitant but left with no other option, Garrett hurried to keep pace, following his boss directly into the fray.