Chapter 163: Restoring the Faith 2
Close. Too close. Shoulders brushing, breaths held, eyes scanning line after line.
And then. The tone changed. "Wait... this actually looks legit."
"That stretch? You can’t fake that."
"I thought this was a scam, but now I’m not so sure..."
"Okay, I just placed my order again."
"Refund guarantee? That’s confidence." A pause. Then another voice, barely containing their excitement. "They’re deleting the hate comments."
"No," Mike said quickly, shaking his head, eyes still glued to the screen. "Not deleting..." He scrolled again.
Faster. "They’re being buried." That landed. Hard. Because that meant something else entirely. It wasn’t control. It wasn’t damage management. It was momentum.
"They’re turning," someone whispered.
"They’re actually turning..." Behind them, the steady ping of incoming orders grew louder again, faster now, more urgent, like a heartbeat picking up pace.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Hope surged through the room, electric and contagious.
But at the center of it all. Amara stood still. Watching. Not the screen. Not the crowd. But the shift. The tide she had pushed against... finally beginning to move. And somewhere near the edge. Seb exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest twisting into something complicated.
Because this. This was what he wanted. Her power. Her victory. Her return.
And yet. As the room filled with rising energy, with people gravitating toward her success, celebrating what she had just done. The distance between them hadn’t changed.
If anything. It felt even clearer now. Because she didn’t need saving. Didn’t need rescuing. Didn’t need anyone to pull her back into the fight.
The shift in the room was almost unreal. A few minutes ago, it had felt like the company was standing on the edge of collapse, phones ringing, voices breaking, trust slipping through their fingers.
Now. It was like someone had opened a window in a suffocating room. Breath returned. Hope rushed in. And it came in the form of notifications. Rapid.
Relentless. Alive. "More comments coming in!"
Mike’s voice rose again, barely containing his excitement as he leaned closer to the screen, scrolling faster as if afraid the momentum might disappear if he stopped.
"The CEO is literally pregnant and came in to defend her work personally. That’s boss energy. I’m sticking with Ara!" A ripple went through the staff.
Not just relief. Admiration.
Then. "The orders are coming back!" Mike shouted, pointing at the screen as if he couldn’t believe it himself. "Look, people are canceling their cancellations!"
A wave of stunned laughter broke out. Someone clapped once. Then stopped, as if unsure if it was too early to celebrate.
But the numbers didn’t care about hesitation. They kept climbing. Ping after ping. Like the company’s heartbeat coming back online.
Amara sat down slowly in a nearby chair, as if her body had finally decided it was allowed to stop holding itself so tightly together. Her hands rested lightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the screen but not fully present in it.
Around her, the celebration grew louder. But she didn’t join in. Not yet. Because while the room was beginning to heal. Her mind wasn’t. It was still listening for something else.
Something missing. The source. The hand behind it all. And that uncertainty lingered just beneath the surface of her relief, quiet but persistent.
Nearby, Raymond stood still. Watching. Not the screen this time. Her.
He had seen it happen, every shift, every spike, every reaction. The world responding exactly as he had engineered it to.
But it didn’t feel like victory. Not entirely. Because this version of success came with something heavier than he expected.
Visibility. Attention. Exposure. Every comment praising her. Every post dissecting her image. Every new viewer pulling her deeper into a spotlight that wouldn’t fade easily now.
She had survived the fire. Yes. But now the world was watching her burn brightly enough to be seen everywhere.
And Raymond felt it then. A slow, tightening realization settling in his chest. He had brought her back into the center. But he hadn’t considered what it meant to keep her there.
—
"Look at this one!" Mike’s voice cut through again, pulling everyone back into the present as he pointed at another wave of comments flooding in.
"Someone just said....’Wow, you are really pretty for a pregnant woman. I see it was all a lie then. Ara is the real deal.’" A few people laughed softly.
Others smiled. The tone had shifted so far from panic that it almost felt like a different day entirely.
Amara’s lips parted slightly at that comment. Just a fraction. A quiet exhale of disbelief mixed with something warmer, something human. She didn’t respond, but the faint color returning to her cheeks didn’t go unnoticed.
And the comments kept coming. Faster now. Louder. More certain.
"These fake people trying to spoil businesses... we love you Ara Clothing!"
"I’m buying two more dresses just to support her!"
"We will always buy from you!"
The screen glowed brighter with every passing second. Orders rising. Trust rebuilding.
Momentum returning. But beneath it all. Beneath the celebration, the relief, the noise. Amara stayed still. Watching. Thinking. Because success, she knew, was never the end of the fight. It was only the moment the next one began to reveal itself.
"You’re a genius, Amara," Janet whispered, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. "You turned the tide in five minutes. Look at them... they’re finally relaxing." The staff, who had been on the verge of tears an hour ago, were now laughing and high-fiving. The "Ara" name wasn’t just saved; it was stronger than ever.
Amidst the rising energy in the office, the laughter, the renewed confidence, the steady stream of notifications, Julian’s phone vibrated against his thigh.
Once. Then again. A silent interruption he didn’t ignore. His expression shifted almost immediately.
Subtle. But noticeable to anyone paying attention.
He stepped away without a word, moving toward the hallway where the noise of the office dulled into a distant hum. His voice, when he answered, dropped into something controlled and razor-focused, businesslike in a way that left no room for curiosity from the other end.