Doctor Sylvia stood as she watched Ortega leave with a mixed expression. Disdain, pity, guilt—she couldn't tell; all she knew at the moment was that her feelings were a jumbled mess and that she might have misjudged.
"Whatever," She scoffed, her voice the sound of melting iron, "Fact remains that he's a creep!... A hot-blooded wench, just like all the others." She pivoted on her jean heels and stormed towards the communication system on her desk. Her face wore a scowl, and her heart boiled.
She clasped the phone with her left hand, which was taut as she squeezed the device and raised it to her ear. Her right fingers worked on the keypad, punching in the digits of a phone number she knew too well. Her eyes were steely as she heard a corresponding beep sound for every number key she pressed.
A sudden memory flashed in Sylvia's mind—sudden, distinct, and vague. Her body shuddered involuntarily. She wasn't supposed to recall those monstrosities. They were supposed to be forgotten, discarded echoes of the past—a past she dearly hated. Her heart pounded in her chest, and conflicting emotions played across her face.
Her expression was like the motifs of an abstract painting drawn by an eccentric artist. Each stroke, pattern, and color seamlessly blended to form a vague representation of the turmoil occupying her mind.
It was a jumbled mess of clashing emotions.
Her left index finger hovered in the air, just an inch away from punching in the final digit. She hissed at her own hesitation. Why was she hesitating? A voice boomed accusingly in her head, feeling like her conscience speaking out. Sylvia gulped, her finger still frozen, her eyes watery.
With a sudden movement...
Beep!
She jabbed the button, dialing the CEO's number. As she waited for Velvet to answer the phone, she took deep breaths, forcing herself to calm the raging turmoil in her chest. There was a lot on her mind, and she needed to articulate her thoughts before Velvet suspected something was wrong, as she always did.
Heaving a big sigh, Sylvia's foot tapped the floor in quick, rhythmless successions. She was getting impatient, it seemed.
"Yes..." A voice finally spoke, cold and haughty, like a mighty wall of ice.
"There's something I'd like to report about... him," Sylvia dropped into her chair, her fingers twirling the cord of the communicator.
"Go on," Velvet urged, and Sylvia leaned back, sensing the immediate eagerness in Velvet's tone.
"He was brought to the clinic this afternoon."
"Oh, was he sick?"
"No, he wasn't. He had a seizure—a non-epileptic one," Sylvia explained.
"Did you check his medical records? He could be lying."
"There's no glaring evidence he's pretending, but I'll keep digging," Sylvia replied, her tone a mix of annoyance and resignation.
"Are we done here? Or did you call just to interrupt my suspicions?" Velvet's tone turned harsh, and Sylvia imagined her frowning on the other end. She paused, then continued.
"There's one more thing."
"Say it!"
Sylvia swallowed hard. This was her chance to implicate Ortega, to see him fired and humiliated. But guilt gnawed at her. He had never harmed her, only acted out of naivety. She remembered how he had flared up when he felt ridiculed.
Yet, it was hard to believe a man could be innocent. She knew Ortega harbored inappropriate thoughts and had tried to act on them. But could he truly be blamed?
Ortega reeked of loneliness, and she had invaded his space, noticing the inflammation in his eyes and thoughtlessly touching his face.
When he tried to kiss her, she had been shocked. The hateful memory had surfaced, and in a moment of rage, she slapped him—a hard slap that left an imprint on his cheek. She realized she had made a painful mistake, betraying her role as a doctor and a superior. Her hatred for men had blinded her, and she had succumbed to her inner demons.
Sylvia's heart battled with conflicting emotions. She wanted revenge but also felt an overwhelming guilt. Holding the phone, her hand trembled, and her lips quivered. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She sighed, feeling utterly drained.
"It's nothing, Vel."
They both knew where the other came from, what troubles haunted them in the past, and the reason behind their decision to start a company with a female-dominated workforce.
There was an unspoken understanding between them, a bond forged from shared experiences and a mutual desire for success.
"Just go easy on the boy. Give him a listening ear. Make him feel welcome," Sylvia advised, her voice surprisingly calm. Inwardly, she seethed with a plan to see him fired if he was lying.
"... Can't make half that promise."
"What?"
"I won't go easy on him; he still has a lot to prove. But I'll see about making him feel welcome. I might have taken things too personally," Velvet admitted, a hint of guilt in her voice.
"Pfft! Might have? You have Gabriella watching him like a hawk," Sylvia replied, rolling her eyes.
"It's a precaution. You never know with men, Sylvia. Don't forget that," Velvet countered seriously.
"I won't. And, umm... thanks," Sylvia said, her voice softening. She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. "Thanks for listening... sister."
Velvet's rare, soft chuckle echoed through the line. "Anytime."