Chapter 10

Matteo's POV

The moment I left the office, I told myself I wouldn’t think about her again, wouldn’t let her name echo through my mind like a curse I never meant to say aloud.

I drove with the windows down, hoping the wind would clear the static she’d left behind, the scent of her perfume still clinging to the corners of my memory like it belonged there.

My penthouse was silent when I walked in, the marble floors cool underfoot, the lights casting long shadows that usually calmed me but tonight they just made everything feel empty.

I dropped my keys on the table, peeled off my jacket, and stood there like a man waiting for something he didn’t dare to name, heart pounding harder than any boardroom pressure ever managed to provoke.

I poured a drink, neat and dark, then moved to the window, the city glittering below me like it was in on some cruel joke, like it knew I couldn’t get her out of my damn head.

Sarah Hart.

The woman I was supposed to ignore, supposed to destroy with deadlines and distance, the woman who looked at me like I was both the fire and the match.

I remembered the kiss not just the way her lips tasted like tequila and sin, but the way her body melted into mine like she was made to fit, like she’d belonged there all along.

Her curves had haunted me for weeks, the shape of her hips seared into my memory, her laugh echoing down corridors that weren’t supposed to feel so hollow anymore.

I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers clenching the glass, trying to distract myself with anything emails, stocks, news but her face kept coming back, eyes wide and vulnerable, mouth slightly parted like she was daring me to try again.

I wasn’t supposed to want her.

I wasn’t supposed to care.

But want twisted into need, and need twisted into pain, and suddenly I was hard and aching for something I couldn’t even say aloud without cursing myself afterward.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will it away, but that just made it worse because the darkness made her more vivid, made the memory of her touch sharper, the heat between us undeniable.

“Fuck” my heart is a mess and my dick is hard as a rock.

What was I thinking, Why can't I stop thinking about her?

And that’s when I heard the elevator chime the private one that only a few people had access to, the one that meant trouble long before I ever opened the door.

Isabelle.

She stepped into my apartment like she owned it, lips already curled in that predatory smile, dress hugging every curve like she’d chosen it with the intent to ruin whatever peace I had left.

Her eyes locked on me on the tension in my jaw, the stiffness in my posture, and then dropped slowly, deliberately, to the bulge pressing against my tailored slacks.

“Well,” she said, voice like silk laced with poison. “Looks like someone’s in a mood.”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t have to.

She walked toward me, slow and confident, each click of her heels a countdown I didn’t remember asking for, each sway of her hips a reminder of what we used to be.

“You thinking about me?” she asked, standing right in front of me now, fingers already sliding up my chest, nails sharp enough to make my breath catch. “Or is that little assistant of yours crawling under your skin again?”

I didn’t reply, but that was answer enough.

She leaned in, lips brushing my ear, breath warm and deliberate. “You want to forget her? Let me help.”

Her hands moved fast one on my belt, one gripping the back of my neck, and she was already kneeling before I could think straight, already undoing the very control I’d built my life around.

I should have stopped her.

I should have pushed her away, told her to leave, told myself I didn’t need this kind of distraction this kind of artificial comfort dressed in designer seduction.

But I didn’t.

I sat there, perfectly still, letting her pull me apart piece by piece, as if undoing my belt could somehow untangle the thoughts I didn’t dare speak aloud.

Her lips were warm, practiced, familiar but it felt like touching a ghost, one I had already buried a long time ago, and yet still let walk through the door when I was too weak to say no.

My body responded, because it always did because this was muscle memory, not emotion, routine not romance, a physical solution to a psychological craving I couldn’t name.

Her hands were confident, mouth teasing, tongue moving in patterns she thought would make me forget the ache Sarah left behind but all it did was amplify it.

I let my head fall back, jaw tight, breath short, chasing release the same way I chased control desperate, calculated, unsatisfied even when I got what I wanted.

I felt her moan softly, humming against me like she expected praise, like this act still had the power to bind me to her in the ways it once had.

But it didn’t.

Because behind my closed eyes, I didn’t see her.

I saw Sarah.

I saw her laugh, the way she bit her lip when she was nervous, the fire in her voice when she dared to challenge me, the curve of her waist in that dress last Friday.

I saw the way she looked at me in the bar that night, fearless and unsure all at once, like she wasn’t scared of who I was, just what I could do to her.

And suddenly the pleasure felt wrong.

It felt stolen.

Isabelle didn’t notice.

Or maybe she didn’t care.

Maybe she thought I was quiet because of how good it was, not how empty it felt.

When it was over, she stood slowly, wiping the corners of her mouth with the edge of her finger like she was tasting victory, not realizing how little of me she’d touched.

She leaned in again, kissed my neck, and whispered, “Still works like magic, doesn’t it?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

She sat beside me, running her fingers through my hair like a woman reclaiming her territory, but I couldn’t stop the words before they came out quiet, sharp, honest.

“That wasn’t for you.”

She froze.

Her hand paused, hovering just above my collar, and then slowly pulled back as if my skin had suddenly turned to ice.

“What did you say?” she asked, voice low.

I met her eyes. “That wasn’t for you. You know it.”

Her face changed just slightly but enough to make me realize she’d always known.

“You’re thinking about her,” she said, voice stripped of its sweetness now, flat and bitter like a blade across glass.

I didn’t deny it.

I didn’t have to.

She stood, adjusted her dress with the grace of a woman who refused to be humiliated, even when it was written across her face in sharp, red lines.

“You’re obsessed with her,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “That assistant.”

I looked away.

Isabelle grabbed her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and walked toward the door, but not before throwing one last grenade over her shoulder.

“She’ll never love you back, Matteo. Women like her don’t stay with men like you.”

The door closed.

Silence returned.

And all I could do was sit there, half-dressed, breathing hard, pulse still pounding not from sex, not from shame but from the echo of a name I couldn’t shake.

Sarah.

She was in my veins now.

In my thoughts.

In every inch of me that refused to be numb, no matter how many times I tried to turn it off.

I stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the city that had made me powerful, successful, and invincible.

And none of it meant anything.

Because she still wasn’t mine.

And I was starting to realize… I wanted her to be.

The silence after Isabelle left was louder than her heels on my floors, louder than her voice whispering things she hoped I wanted to hear.

I stood in the middle of my penthouse, still shirtless, belt undone, staring at my reflection in the tall mirror across the room.

I didn’t see power.

I didn’t see control.

I saw a man trying to screw the ghost of a woman he didn’t understand but couldn’t stop craving.

I ran a hand over my face, jaw clenched, stomach tight with a frustration I couldn’t name.

Not because Isabelle didn’t satisfy me. She had, technically.

But the satisfaction felt fake.

Like chewing paper when you’re starving for something real.

I poured another drink.

Didn’t sip it. Just held the glass like it might stop my hands from shaking.

Why did I care so much?

She was just an assistant.

Just a kiss.

Just a woman who looked at me like I wasn’t a monster until I reminded her that I was.

I’d called her replaceable.

A piece of shit.

I’d threatened her job, humiliated her in front of others, and punished her for being late while knowing full well she was working with an injured hand.

And yet… she still showed up.

Still stood tall.

Still held her gaze when I tried to break her down.

And that?

That scared the hell out of me.

Because I didn’t know how to deal with a woman who didn’t need me but who mattered anyway.

I drained the glass, pulled on a shirt, and sat on the edge of the bed, but I didn’t lie down.

Sleep wouldn’t come tonight.

Because she’d be there in every flicker behind my eyelids.

In the soft sting of regret crawling up my spine.

In the ache I couldn’t take care of, no matter how many drinks I had… or how many other women I touched.

She was under my skin.

And I didn’t know how to get her out.

I stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights shimmering below like distant stars I couldn’t touch.

I had it all money, power, control.

But I didn’t have her.

And that single truth burned more than all the other losses I’d collected in silence.

I pressed my palm against the glass, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the skyline like it could answer the question I refused to say out loud.

Why her?

Why now?

Why couldn’t I stop thinking about the way her eyes narrowed when I insulted her, the way her voice caught when she was trying not to break?

I hated how much I noticed her.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. The curve of her lower lip when she bit it to keep from snapping at me. The subtle shift in her posture when she was holding back a retort she didn’t dare say out loud.

I hated that I wanted to hear her say it anyway 

And more than anything?

I hated that she made me feel like I wasn’t just a man with a name on a building.

She made me feel like someone who could still be wanted… for something real.

But real came with consequences.

And I wasn’t built for that.

I turned from the window, fists clenched at my sides, pulse hammering through my veins like a war drum I couldn’t silence.

Tomorrow, I’ll see her again.

Tomorrow, I’d wear the suit, wear the mask, wear the voice that made people flinch and respect me at the same time.

But tonight?

I was just a man.

A man haunted by a woman he’d never meant to want… and now couldn’t seem to stop needing.

Even if she never looked at me that way again.

Even if I’d already ruined everything.

I sank deeper into the silence, drink untouched, shirt still half-buttoned, mind racing where it shouldn’t.

No matter how hard I tried to forget her, she was everywhere.

And worst of all she didn’t even know.

Not yet.

But soon… she would.