Chapter 155: Where did these fakes even come from?
The words settled into the room slowly, like dust after something had been disturbed. No one spoke. It wasn’t just silence, it was confusion. Disbelief, even. Amara... taking time off?
In an office that thrived on her presence, her quick decisions, her relentless energy, the way she seemed to hold everything together without ever appearing tired, the idea felt... wrong. Like a clock skipping a beat.
Raymond was the first to move. His hand, which had been resting on his mouse, stilled completely. His brows pulled together as he looked up, searching Janet’s face as though the answer might already be written there.
"Why is that?" he asked, his voice careful, but edged with something harder to hide, fear. "Is she... I mean, is she okay?"
A beat. "Well, she has been working hard," The understatement lingered in the air.
Across the room, a few people shifted uncomfortably. Someone exchanged a glance with a colleague. Another quietly minimized a screen, no longer focused on work, now that it had been said out loud, they all felt it. They had seen it too.
The late nights. The way Amara would brush off questions with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The subtle pauses, so quick you could almost miss them, before she spoke, as if gathering strength, no one realized she was losing.
Janet didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she drew in a slow breath, her gaze sweeping across the team, not avoiding Raymond, but not settling on him either.
"The boss is fine, Raymond. We’re all aware of her condition, and her doctor was very clear she needs the rest," she said at last. But there was something in her tone. Something too measured. Too controlled.
As if "fine" was a word she had chosen... not one she fully believed. Raymond leaned back slightly, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. If anything, it deepened. Because Janet hadn’t answered the real question.
And now, neither had anyone else. Somewhere in the office, a notification pinged. No one moved to check it. The quiet that followed felt heavier this time. Less like peace...
She clapped her hands once, a gentle signal to get back to the grind. "You can all head back to work now."
As the rest of the team started chatting again, Raymond felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. He didn’t move. He didn’t even look at his monitor.
To the others, Amara was a boss who needed a break. To him, she was the person he looked for the moment he walked through the door. She was the one who made the long hours feel like minutes and the one whose laugh could turn a bad day into a manageable one.
He looked at her closed office door. Usually, he’d find an excuse to drop by with a question just to see her. The thought of the next few days or weeks without seeing her felt like a heavy weight in his chest.
Raymond’s brow furrowed. He knew she needed the rest. He wanted her to be healthy. But his heart was pulling him in the opposite direction.
He tried to type, but his fingers felt heavy. He couldn’t stay away from her; it wasn’t just about work anymore. He needed to know she was actually okay, not just "office okay." He needed to hear her voice.
As the sound of typing resumed around him, Ramymond (Seb) planned his next move.
—
The next morning, the office didn’t wake; it erupted. What was usually a gentle start, soft footsteps, the quiet aroma of fresh coffee curling through the air, had been replaced by something sharp, frantic... almost violent.
Telephones rang. Not once. Not twice. But endlessly. Layer upon layer of shrill, overlapping noise, as if the entire building had been wired to panic at once.
No one sat. No one settled.
Desks were abandoned mid-motion, chairs pushed back at awkward angles. Screens flashed with incoming calls, unread emails stacking faster than anyone could click.
At the center of it all, Janet stood frozen.
The company tablet glowed in her hands, its light casting a pale reflection across her face. Her fingers tightened slightly around its edges, as though she needed to hold onto something solid.
On the screen. A post. No... not just a post. A storm. Images scrolled past in rapid succession: dresses, fabrics, patterns, every detail unmistakably familiar. Too familiar. Ara’s designs.
Except they weren’t. They were cheaper. Rougher. The stitching is slightly off if you look closely enough. But to the untrained eye?
Identical. And the captions. They were spreading faster than the designs themselves.
"I paid $200 for the ’original’ and found the exact same thing for $30 in a bargain bin! What a scam!"
"Low-quality materials for high-end prices. Amara is just a fraud."
"Can’t believe I trusted this brand. Never again." Each comment hit harder than the last. Janet’s breath caught.
"No..." she whispered under her breath, almost instinctively, as though denial alone could slow what was happening.
It didn’t. Across the room, someone slammed a phone down, only for it to start ringing again immediately. "Ma’am, they’re demanding answers..."
"Line three says they’re pulling out completely..."
"The suppliers are calling again, they..."
"I already told them!" Voices clashed. Overlapped. Rose in pitch. And then Janet’s phone lit up again. She answered without thinking.
"Yes, this is Janet..." She didn’t even get to finish. The voice on the other end was sharp. Accusing. Afraid. Her expression faltered.
"No, no, that shipment isn’t due yet, we have time..." she tried, her voice steadying out of sheer will. "We’ve always honored our..." The caller cut her off.
Janet pulled the phone slightly away from her ear, as if the words themselves had weight. "I understand your concern, but panicking isn’t going to..."
Another interruption. This time, louder. Harsher. Her composure cracked just slightly.
"I don’t understand!" Janet cried out at last, the words slipping free before she could stop them. Her voice trembled, raw and unguarded, as she quickly pressed the call on hold.
Silence didn’t follow. It never did.
"We’ve never used these materials," she continued, more to herself now than anyone else, her eyes darting back to the tablet as if it might finally give her an answer. "Where did these fakes even come from?"