Chapter 13

The plates were rinsed and stacked neatly by the sink when a sudden, sharp knock echoed through the apartment, loud enough to make my chest jump with unwanted tension and curiosity.

Matteo didn’t flinch just turned toward the door with the kind of casual awareness that said he already knew who was behind it, like surprise was never part of his vocabulary anymore.

I stood by the counter, clutching a damp towel, barefoot in my borrowed discomfort, wearing nightwear that suddenly felt far too revealing for the possibility of a new set of eyes.

He opened the door without hesitation, and in stepped a tall man with dark curly hair, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, and a grin that was all trouble and charm.

“Russo,” he said with a warm punch to Matteo’s arm, “You really do live in a damn museum where do you even keep the liquor?”

Matteo smirked. “Still in the cabinet. Where your nosy ass left it last time.”

Then the man’s eyes found me just for a second lingering with subtle interest before he offered a gentleman’s nod and a disarming smile that didn’t quite hide the curiosity behind it.

“Sorry,” Matteo said, glancing at me, then back to him. “Sarah, this is Dominic Carver old friend. L.A. tech empire, scandal machine, back in town for forty-eight hours.”

I gave a polite smile, feeling the weight of my outfit and the fact that I wasn’t exactly prepared for houseguests especially not those who looked like walking Forbes profiles.

Dominic stepped forward, extended his hand, but paused halfway through. “Sarah Hart?”

My blood chilled slightly. “Yeah…?”

He blinked. “You interviewed with my company a year ago. Communications director role. Downtown tower.”

My heart skipped. “Wait… that was your company?”

He laughed. “Small world, huh? You were top three. I pushed for you. My board went with someone else, but I still remember your pitch. It was brutal. Brilliant.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned by the coincidence, suddenly hyper-aware of Matteo behind him, silent and unreadable in the dim lighting of his polished fortress.

Dominic looked between us, piecing something together in silence, his smile faltering for just a second before returning, smoother and more curious than ever.

“Well,” he said, walking toward the bar, “now I need a drink.”

Matteo watched him closely, the muscles in his jaw tightening just enough for me to notice even if he didn’t say a word about the connection we all now shared.

Dominic poured three glasses, handed one to me with a wink, then one to Matteo, who accepted it without breaking eye contact with me, like something had shifted but hadn’t snapped yet.

We sat in the living room, tension thick under the jazz playing softly from hidden speakers, the kind of music rich men use when they want their silence to sound expensive.

Dominic asked about work, about the city, about Matteo’s mood swings and whether I had the patience of a saint or the heart of a daredevil working under him.

I smiled thinly. “Some days I think it’s both. Other days I think I’m just stubborn and tired.”

Matteo didn’t interrupt didn’t deny it just sipped his drink and stared like I’d become some strange puzzle he hadn’t solved yet, and now someone else was trying to.

The conversation stayed light until Dominic excused himself to take a call on the balcony, leaving me and Matteo in the quiet crackle of space that was suddenly too full again.

“He knew me,” I said softly, standing to collect the empty glasses. “From before this.”

Matteo nodded, not moving. “I remember when your résumé came through. I never connected the dots until just now.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were looking that closely.”

His eyes met mine, slow and sure. “I was.”

I opened my mouth closed it again because I didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at me now, like I’d been his long before I stepped inside this place.

Just then, the sliding door opened, and Dominic stepped back in, tucking his phone into his pocket, eyes scanning both of us like he’d walked in on something just short of personal.

He set his glass down, walked over to Matteo, and leaned in close enough that I couldn’t hear everything, but I caught the important parts.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked under his breath. “Because that one’s lightning, and you look like someone begging to get burned.”

Matteo didn’t answer him.

Just stared at me again.

And this time?

He didn’t look away.

I barely had time to process Dominic’s words “lightning, and you look like someone begging to get burned” when another knock cracked through the apartment, sharp and familiar.

Matteo didn’t move.

Dominic raised a brow. “Expecting more company?”

Matteo’s jaw ticked. “No.”

He strode across the room, opened the door and there she stood.

Isabelle Laurent.

Blonde. Perfect. Frosted. Dangerous.

Her eyes landed on me immediately. Her smile didn’t move, but something in her body tensed like a snake preparing to strike.

“Well,” she said, stepping inside like she owned the penthouse. “I thought you were alone tonight, Matteo. But look at this… a full house.”

Matteo gave a tight nod. “What are you doing here, Isabelle?”

“Returning your watch,” she said sweetly, holding up a tiny velvet pouch. “You left it at my place… weeks ago.”

Her gaze dropped to the wine glass in my hand, the way I was standing barefoot, in nightwear, unmistakably at home in his home.

Her smile cracked. Just slightly.

“You don’t know your boundaries, Sarah,” she said, drawing my name out like something sour on her tongue.

I nodded politely. “Sorry. I don’t think I know what you’re talking about .”

Isabelle tilted her head. “How… lovely.”

Dominic stepped in with the ease of someone who recognized tension and was trained to smooth it. “Isabelle. Always a pleasure to be visually outdone in someone else’s home.”

She barely looked at him. “Dominic.”

Matteo poured her a glass of wine. Whether out of obligation or strategy, I couldn’t tell.

“Why don’t the ladies chat while we talk business?” Isabelle suggested suddenly, her voice too pleasant, eyes already locking onto mine.

I hesitated, but Matteo gave a small nod. “Outside, if you’d like. The pool deck’s empty.”

I followed her out the glass doors. The air was cooler than I expected, and the pool shimmered beneath low garden lighting quiet, private, isolated.

Isabelle moved gracefully across the tiled floor and turned once we were alone.

“You’re living here now?”

I stiffened. “Temporarily. Just until I figure things out.”

“How convenient,” she said, her tone slicing through the cool night. “A helpless little assistant who happens to fall into Matteo’s lap the moment her life collapses.”

“I didn’t ask to be here,” I replied, keeping my voice calm. “He offered. I had nowhere else to go.”

She stepped closer. “You think I haven’t seen this game before? You’re just another girl trying to crawl her way up by screwing the man at the top.”

I took a breath. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“You think you’re different?” Isabelle laughed, low and cruel. “He’s had smarter. Prettier. Richer. You’re just a placeholder until he remembers who he is.”

I turned slightly, ready to head back inside. “This conversation is over.”

She grabbed my arm.

I yanked it free, but she stepped into my space.

“You don’t belong in his world, Sarah,” she hissed. “He’s mine. He always has been. So do yourself a favor get out before you ruin yourself.”

“I don’t scare easily,” I said, trying to sound stronger than I felt.

Her smile returned twisted, sharp.

“Let’s test that, then.”

She shoved me.

Hard.

The pool swallowed me whole.

Cold.

Immediate.

I barely had time to scream before the water pulled me down, panic rising faster than my arms could move.

I wasn’t a swimmer.

Not even close.

My hands slapped the surface, legs flailing, lungs tightening as the world around me blurred into blue and bubbles and pure, terrifying helplessness.

Then screaming.

Not mine.

Someone else’s.

Footsteps.

Running.

A splash.

Everything went black.

***

I woke up coughing.

Choking.

Soaked, shaking, sprawled across warm stone.

Voices swirled above me.

Matteo.

Dominic.

The maid.

Someone was pressing towels around my shoulders.

I looked up.

And saw Matteo’s face, wild with something I’d never seen before.

Rage.

Panic.

Fear.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice hoarse and cracking.

“She pushed her!” the maid said breathlessly. “I saw it! She just pushed her into the pool!”

I turned my head slightly and saw Isabelle standing near the glass door, pale but defiant.

“It was an accident,” she said quickly. “She tripped. I tried to grab her”

“You’re lying,” the maid snapped.

Dominic stepped between them, arms out. “Enough. Everyone calm down”

“Calm?” Matteo’s voice thundered.

He was on his feet now, soaked from diving in after me, his hands clenched at his sides, dripping water onto the deck.

“You could’ve killed her,” he said to Isabelle, voice shaking. “And for what? Jealousy?”

Her eyes widened. “Matteo, you’re overreacting”

“Get out,” he said.

She flinched.

“What?”

“I said,” he growled, stepping closer, “get the fuck out of my house.”

Isabelle stared at him for a long second then turned, heels clicking violently against the tile, disappearing into the night with not a word more.

Matteo knelt beside me again, one hand trembling as it brushed the wet hair from my face.

“I’ve got you,” he said, quietly now. “You’re safe.”

But all I could think about was how fast everything had changed.

And how I didn’t feel safe.

Not at all.

Not even close.

—

Matteo guided me into the bathroom like he was holding something breakable and maybe he was. I was shivering, soaked through, humiliated, and raw, but under his touch… I felt something else too.

Heat.

His shirt clung to his chest, wet and transparent, muscles carved and defined, his dark hair dripping as he shut the door behind us, locking out the world and every cruel word Isabelle had left behind.

“Take those off,” he said quietly, nodding toward my drenched top.

I hesitated.

His jaw tightened. “You’ll get sick, Sarah. Let me help you.”

I didn’t speak.

But I lifted my arms.

He reached for the hem, dragging the fabric upward, slow and careful, his knuckles grazing the side of my ribs, over my stomach, across my spine.

The cold air hit my skin, but his gaze… burned.

I stood there in nothing but a soaked bra and shorts, trembling for a different reason now not fear.

Something deeper.

Something I didn’t have a name for.

Matteo’s hands stilled at my waist.

He looked at me like I was something precious.

And dangerous.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered. “And that scares me more than I want to admit.”

His breath was warm against my skin, his hands still hovering just above my waist like he was afraid one wrong move would shatter the fragile line we were toeing.

“Say something,” he whispered, his voice low, rough, but soft in a way I hadn’t heard before.

I looked up at him, water still dripping from my hair, my chest rising and falling too fast to hide it. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing what?” he asked, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

“Looking at me like I’m everything you want,” I whispered, “and then pretending I’m nothing.”

His jaw tensed. “Because if I start, I don’t know how to stop.”

I didn’t have time to breathe before his mouth crashed into mine urgent, fierce, and hungry, like weeks of tension finally tore through his walls. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me into his soaked chest, our skin meeting in heated contact that sent a shiver down my spine.

I kissed him back with everything I had every unsaid word, every swallowed feeling, every time he made me feel like I mattered and didn’t at the same time.

And in that moment, I didn’t care about the consequences.

I just wanted him.