After 7 Years of Going Dutch, I Returned Home as a Mafia Heiress

Swallowing the last bite of the hot dog, I hailed a cab and headed back to the company.

The promotion list had already gone out in a company wide email, but I had to see for myself where I'd gone wrong.

Seven years I'd poured into this industry, consistently topping the performance charts and tackling the toughest, most profitable projects.

And somehow, I had lost to a rookie who couldn't even read a balance sheet.

The moment I stepped out of the car, I saw Arthur ten feet away. He was leaning over, opening the passenger door for Jessica.

"Take your time with that proposal. There's no rush."

"In a couple of days, I'll take you to Kingsburg for the Ferrera family banquet. You can meet the people in that circle and broaden your horizons."

"But I don't have the seniority..." Jessica bit her lip, her tone pitiful and delicate.

"You don't need to worry about that."

Arthur cut her off, his voice so gentle it could melt ice.

"Business can be learned. Seniority is bullshit."

"With me backing you up, you can do whatever you want."

A gust of wind rounded the corner, but the chill I felt started in the soles of my feet.

In seven years, Arthur had flown to over thirty countries and had never taken me along once.

He would always scold me with a dark expression, saying that the office was strictly for superiors and subordinates.

I'd asked him once what would happen if I joined a business trip as the project lead.

He had looked at me, his eyes frosting over. "Vivian," he'd said, "are you trying to use your performance to pressure me into giving you special treatment? At work, you need to know your place."

I saw this place all too clearly now.

To be with him, I'd cut ties with my father and hidden my identity as the heir to the Rossi family.

To give him peace of mind, I was just Vivian in front of him. A regular employee.

During the first year of Arthur's startup, his own mother ran off with all his initial capital, leaving him with an eight-figure debt overnight.

He absolutely hated gold diggers. Because of that, for seven whole years, I never touched a cent of his money.

I carefully hid our relationship, left zero traces on social media, and didn't even dare to ride the same elevator with him in the office building.

I didn't care about the money. I truly believed that as long as we loved each other, none of that mattered.

Yet he turned right around and told another woman that seniority was just bullshit.

Jessica caught me in her peripheral vision and immediately waved with a bright smile. "Vivian!"

Arthur followed her gaze and turned around.

His eyes didn't stay on my face for more than a second before returning to Jessica.

"Get in the car. I'll take you home. Get some rest."

Jessica nodded obediently, then turned to blink at me. "Vivian, are you heading upstairs to work overtime? Or should we give you a ride? Is it on the way?"

Arthur finally frowned slightly, his gaze falling back on me.

"Call a car for yourself. Jessica lives on the west side of the city. It's not on the way."

But we lived in the same building. His car would end up in the same underground garage. What part of the journey was supposedly "out of his way"?

Before I could even speak, he had already opened the door, slid into the driver's seat, and started the engine.

I stood alone under the neon lights, watching the taillights fade into the darkness.

I had stared at his retreating back for seven years.

In the past, he would drive across the entire city just to pick me up after I finished negotiating a contract.

And now, I didn't know when I'd become a detour he was no longer willing to take.

I swiped my badge to go upstairs and pulled up the evaluation forms in the backend of the HR system.

Right next to my name, Vivian, Arthur, acting as the final decision-maker, had typed a glaring letter: C.

Out of the entire board of directors, he was the only one who gave me a failing grade.

Scrolling down, Jessica's column prominently displayed the grade he had personally given her: A+.

I stared at that bright red C. My chest felt like someone had stuffed a wad of wet cotton inside, making it impossible to breathe.

I never imagined that the person to do this would be Arthur.

He knew better than anyone how I had survived these past seven years.

The nights I stayed up with bloodshot eyes revising proposals, the days and nights I spent dealing with difficult clients, and every single sales report that broke company records. He had seen it all with his own eyes.

Yet the score he gave me was the lowest.

"Why?" I asked softly at the screen.

My only answer was the soft plink of a tear hitting the spacebar as a sudden downpour broke the quiet of the night.