Chapter 15

Sarah's POV

I didn’t cry until the elevator doors closed.

And even then, it wasn’t pretty.

It wasn’t a soft, cinematic stream of tears or a dramatic sob into my palms. It was the kind that shakes your whole body shoulders trembling, hands fumbling for the wall as if it could hold you up when everything else was collapsing.

I hadn’t even bothered to change.

The sheet I’d wrapped around myself was clutched tightly to my chest, my discarded nightwear still clinging to my skin beneath it. His scent was everywhere. On me. In my hair. Beneath my fingernails.

I hated that.

I hated how I still wanted to turn around.

I still wanted him to stop me.

But he didn’t.

And that silence?

That was louder than anything he could’ve said.

When I stepped out onto the street, the cold air slapped me hard in the face. My legs wobbled. My mind spun. I stood there, barefoot in the middle of New York, wrapped in shame and heartbreak, wondering how I had let myself fall for the one man who never wanted to catch me.

I didn’t know where to go.

My apartment was gone.

My pride? Nonexistent.

So I did the only thing I could.

I called Mia.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Sarah? It’s late. Is everything?”

I didn’t let her finish.

“Mia,” I croaked. “I… I need you.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Where are you?”

“Outside Matteo’s building,” I whispered. “I left. For good.”

There was a pause.

A long, heavy pause.

Then: “I’m sending a car. Come here. I don’t care if Jacob’s here or not.”

I almost broke down again.

But instead, I whispered, “Thank you.”

_

When I arrived at Mia’s apartment, she didn’t speak.

She just wrapped a blanket around me and sat beside me on the couch, rubbing circles into my back like she had when we were nineteen and the world felt just as cruel.

“Talk to me,” she said gently.

I shook my head. “It was everything… and then it was nothing. One call from Isabelle, and he turned into someone I didn’t recognize. He told me to leave. No hesitation. No explanation.”

Mia exhaled slowly. “I knew that woman was dangerous.”

“I knew he was,” I whispered. “But I still… let him in.”

She leaned her head on mine. “You didn’t let him in. He forced his way into your heart and then left it in pieces.”

“I don’t want to cry over him anymore,” I said bitterly. “I want to win.”

She looked at me then, brows lifting. “Win how?”

I sat up straighter.

And for the first time since walking out of Matteo Russo’s room, I felt something steady under my ribs again.

Resolve.

“I’m taking the job with Damian.”

Mia blinked. “You’re what?”

“I’m saying yes,” I repeated. “He offered me more than a position. He offered me a future. One that doesn’t depend on someone else’s approval, or mood swings, or emotional whiplash.”

Mia bit her lip. “I don’t trust that man.”

“I don’t need to trust him,” I said. “I just need to stop letting Matteo dictate the story of my life.”

I stared at Damian’s business card resting on the nightstand, the edges sharp and tempting.

My phone was in my hand. My thumb hovered over the number.

I’d rehearsed what I’d say.

“Hi Mr. Damian, it’s Sarah Hart. I’ve thought about your offer, and I’m ready. Let’s talk terms.”

I was going to say it. I wanted to say it.

But before I could tap “call,” my screen lit up with a message from an unknown number one I vaguely recognized from the Thorne Enterprises group contact thread.

Reminder: All Thorne employees are required to attend the NY Exclusive Gala tomorrow evening. Attendance is mandatory for full-time staff, executives, assistants, and PR team members. Formal dress code. Transportation details to follow.

I blinked.

Heart stilled.

A gala?

Of course. Matteo’s world never lets you leave quietly.

I dropped Damian’s card back on the dresser, my stomach twisting.

I wasn’t done.

Not yet.

**

I didn’t sleep much.

Mia’s apartment was warm, quiet, and safe but my mind kept replaying every word Matteo had thrown at me like knives.

The silence still hurt more.

By morning, I was exhausted but pretending not to be. I borrowed one of Mia’s blazers, pulled my hair into a sleek ponytail, and let the steam from the coffee cup soothe the swelling ache in my chest.

Mia leaned against the kitchen island, watching me with careful eyes.

“You sure you’re okay going in today?”

“No,” I said honestly. “But staying home would feel worse.”

She didn’t argue. Just handed me a protein bar and her spare lipstick.

“You’re strong,” she said. “But remember, strong people still get to fall apart.”

I smiled faintly. “Not today.”

I arrived at Thorne Enterprises just before nine.

The moment I stepped into the lobby, the scent of luxury and espresso wrapped around me like a memory I was trying hard to forget.

And then, as the elevator dinged open, I heard a voice behind me.

“Well, if it isn’t New York’s most resilient woman,” Ryan said, stepping beside me, holding two coffees like a peace offering.

I gave him a weak smile. “Don’t tell me I look that bad.”

He grinned. “No. You just look like someone who needs a win.”

I took the coffee. “Thanks.”

“You okay?”

I hesitated.

Then shrugged. “I’m surviving.”

He nodded, stepping into the elevator beside me. “That’s code for ‘I’m emotionally burned but still stylish.’”

I snorted, almost laughing. “Exactly.”

He nudged my arm. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not yet.”

He didn’t push.

Instead, he changed the subject entirely telling me about a presentation that bombed because someone used Comic Sans in the slides, and the time he got caught taking a nap in the wellness room and pretended it was a meditative HR training.

By the time we reached our floor, I was smiling for real.

“I owe you one,” I said as the doors slid open.

“Make it dinner sometime,” he said with a wink. “Just don’t ghost me for moody billionaires.”

I rolled my eyes. “No promises.”

As I walked through the hallway toward my desk, I overheard two junior PR associates whispering just loud enough for gossip to carry.

“…the gala’s been rescheduled, right? Two months from now?”

“Yeah. The venue renovations got delayed. Big thing though mandatory for everyone.”

I paused.

My fingers tightened slightly on the coffee cup.

Two months.

Not tomorrow.

Not even this week.

That changed things.

Because now I had time.

Time to plan.

Time to finish what I started.

Time to leave Matteo Russo behind for good.

I had just started digging into the morning reports when my phone buzzed.

A message.

Not from Mia. Not Ryan.

From Damian.

“Still waiting on your answer. Just a reminder offers like this don’t stay open forever. Think carefully, Sarah. You won’t get a second chance.”

My stomach tightened.

I stared at the words, my fingers frozen above my keyboard.

He wasn’t wrong.

The old me would’ve jumped at the opportunity power, control, and finally working under someone who saw me as more than an errand girl.

But now?

Now it felt like every decision was a test I hadn’t studied for.

I locked my phone without replying.

Not yet.

Not today.

**

The day wore on, and the usual buzz of office life returned. Phones ringing. Emails pinging. People shuffling to and from meetings with overpriced coffee cups and underwhelming attitudes.

And then came Lena.

She was from PR tall, sharp-cheeked, always dressed like she was walking a red carpet with a secret agenda. And she hated me.

Why? I didn’t know.

Maybe it was because I worked too closely with Matteo.

Maybe it was jealousy.

Or maybe some people just needed someone to hate to make their morning coffee go down smoother.

“Excuse me,” she said sweetly, approaching my desk with a steaming mug in hand, “Could you move your chair in a bit? I need to squeeze past.”

There was plenty of space.

But I moved in anyway.

And that’s when it happened.

The coffee slipped.

Or rather “slipped.”

Right onto my lap.

Scalding.

Burning.

I gasped, biting down a scream as the heat soaked through my skirt.

“Oh my gosh,” Lena gasped dramatically. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see your knee there.”

I looked up, locking eyes with her.

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t smirk.

Didn’t need to.

She knew what she did.

The room went quiet.

People were watching.

Waiting for me to explode.

But I didn’t.

I stood slowly, grabbing a few tissues and blotting the mess like it didn’t matter. Like the sting on my skin didn’t make me want to scream.

Then I looked at her.

Calm. Collected.

“Next time,” I said softly, “be more careful. You’re better than petty games. Right?”

She blinked.

I smiled.

And walked away burned, but not broken.

I slipped into the restroom before anyone else could follow, shutting the door behind me and locking it with a quiet snap. My skirt clung to my thigh, damp and still burning slightly from the spill.

I peeled the fabric away carefully, wincing as I dabbed the skin with a cool paper towel.

I wasn’t going to cry. Not over a cup of coffee. Not over Lena. Not over anyone.

I looked up at my reflection hair neat, lips pressed together, eyes holding just a touch too much fire.

I’m not the same girl who started here, I thought. That girl would’ve cried. Apologized. Curled inward.

Not me. Not anymore.

The bathroom door creaked open. I stiffened.

But it wasn’t Lena.

It was Cara, one of the quieter design assistants from marketing. She had short curls and a nervous energy, like someone always trying not to take up space.

“I saw what she did,” she said softly. “Lena. It wasn’t an accident.”

I looked at her, surprised. “You sure?”

Cara nodded. “I sit two desks behind you. She aimed for you, Sarah.”

For a moment, I just stared at her. Then I nodded. “Thanks, Cara. I won’t forget that.”

As I walked back to my desk, I didn’t feel small.

I felt… focused.

The message from Damian. The whispered gala conversations. Lena’s petty sabotage.

It was all noise.

Because the decision was already made.

I’d attend the gala.

I’d smile. I’d shine.

And then I’d walk away from all of it.

On my terms.

**

I had just returned from the restroom, back in my chair and pretending to focus on a report I hadn’t truly read, when the office went quiet. Not a natural lull, but the kind that meant someone important had arrived.

I glanced up.

And there they were.

Matteo Russo in a steel-gray suit that made him look carved from ice. And beside him, Isabelle was glowing, poised, her hand lightly on his arm like she was trying to brand herself into his skin.

My stomach twisted.

Their eyes swept across the room like royalty acknowledging a kingdom.

Matteo’s gaze lingered on me for half a second. It was cold. Unreadable.

“Miss Hart,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Bring two cappuccinos. One for me. One for Ms. Laurent.”

I stood. “Of course, sir.”

Whispers followed me to the break room, but I ignored them. I’d already been burned today literally and emotionally. I wasn’t about to break in front of them now.

I returned minutes later, tray balanced in my hands.

I handed Matteo his first. He didn’t even glance at me.

And as I turned to Isabelle.

She gasped. Loud.

Hot liquid splashed across her cream blouse.

The entire room turned toward us.

“You clumsy little!” she shrieked. “You poured it on me!”

“I….. I didn’t”

“She did,” Isabelle snapped, clutching her shirt dramatically. “Right in front of everyone. You saw it, didn’t you?”

No one moved. No one spoke.

Matteo set his coffee down with a sigh. “Come on. Let’s get that cleaned up.”

And just like that, he was leading her toward the restroom.

She looked back once over her shoulder, meeting my eyes.

And smiled.

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

Too long.

I wasn’t trying to listen. I wasn’t. But when I passed the hallway near the executive restroom to file a document, I heard it.

A sound.

Then another.

Soft. Sharp. Feminine.

Moaning.

Isabelle.

I froze.

I didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to hear the sounds I’d once made echoing out of that same man’s mouth.

But they were real.

And they broke something in me I hadn’t realized was still holding on.

“Don’t,” a voice said gently behind me.

I turned.

Ryan.

He didn’t ask what I’d heard. Didn’t need to.

“Don’t let it in,” he whispered. “Don’t let something that’s already over shatter you twice.”

I blinked hard, my vision swimming.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded slowly, though my chest said otherwise. “No. But I will be.”