Chapter 19

Sarah's POV

The next morning started with golden light pouring into Mia’s kitchen and the comforting scent of vanilla coffee that made the hangover from yesterday’s emotions a little easier to stomach.

I sat cross-legged on the barstool in one of Mia’s oversized hoodies, hair messy, eyeliner smudged, with a story on the tip of my tongue and butterflies in my chest.

Mia leaned on the counter, arms crossed and a sly grin tugging at her lips, like she already knew the headline to the story I hadn’t dared to say aloud.

“So?” she prompted, handing me a steaming mug and arching one brow. “Are you going to keep acting like nothing happened, or do I have to interrogate you?”

I held the coffee close like it could shield me from the truth, biting my lip before the words finally spilled out like a confession I couldn’t stop.

“We had dinner,” I said quietly, voice barely more than a whisper, but the weight of those three words hung in the air like a thread snapping open.

“With Ryan,” Mia said flatly, eyes lighting up with the kind of dangerous curiosity only your best friend gets away with wielding without a license.

I nodded slowly, blushing. “It was supposed to be just a thank-you thing, but it turned into a lot more than I expected it to.”

Her grin widened, teeth flashing like a victory parade. “Girl, start from the beginning and do not skip the flirty details I want plot, character development, and emotional arcs.”

I laughed despite myself, tucking my knees up. “He was just… so kind. Like he wasn’t pretending, like he was interested in what I had to say.”

Mia poured syrup over her pancakes with slow, deliberate satisfaction. “Go on. Was there touching? Did he kiss you? Tell me someone kissed someone before I die of secondhand tension.”

“No kiss,” I admitted, though the memory of his eyes across the table was almost more intimate than any touch I’d had in months.

“But he made me laugh,” I added, “like really laugh the kind where you forget you’ve been carrying sadness like it’s stitched into your skin.”

Mia’s face softened. “That’s rare. Laughter that makes you forget you’re supposed to be protecting your heart is dangerous and delicious. I’m listening.”

“We shared dessert,” I said, barely above a whisper. “He took pictures. Not in a creepy way just… sweet. Like he wanted to remember the moment even if nothing followed.”

“He likes you,” Mia said confidently. “And if you like him, that’s okay. You’re not betraying anyone by healing forward, not backward.”

I looked down at my cup, watching the steam curl like the chaos in my chest. “I think I might be starting to like him.”

The words felt terrifying and freeing all at once, like I’d let a bird out of a cage I hadn’t realized I’d been keeping sealed inside my ribs.

Mia didn’t speak right away she just moved to the other side of the counter and hugged me from behind, chin resting on my shoulder like she’d been waiting forever.

“You deserve someone who chooses you every time,” she said gently. “Not someone who punishes you for making him feel something he’s too afraid to admit.”

I closed my eyes, letting her words settle, knowing exactly who she meant without either of us daring to say his name.

“Matteo hasn’t looked at me the same since the dinner,” I whispered, the name burning even without being spoken aloud. “It’s like I broke some invisible rule he never explained.”

“He’s jealous,” Mia said immediately. “But instead of saying so, he’s using control to remind you who writes the rules in his kingdom.”

I nodded slowly, the truth cutting sharper because it made too much sense. “I just don’t want to be someone’s emotional punching bag anymore.”

“You’re not,” Mia said firmly. “And Ryan sees you. He doesn’t try to control your light. He just sits beside it and enjoys the warmth.”

I smiled faintly, blinking away unexpected tears. “It’s weird, isn’t it? How something as small as shared laughter over tiramisu can feel more real than a thousand stolen glances.”

Mia raised her coffee in a toast. “To the men who let us shine, not shrink. And to tiramisu. The real MVP of emotional breakthroughs.”

We clinked our mugs together, and for the first time in days, my heart felt steady not because the confusion was gone, but because I was choosing clarity anyway.

I wasn’t in love with Ryan. Not yet. But the door was open, and the breeze drifting through it didn’t feel like fear it felt like maybe, finally, peace.

We finished breakfast in silence, the kind of silence that spoke volumes between best friends who had already said everything and didn’t need noise to fill the space anymore.

After I showered and changed, I stood in front of Mia’s mirror and stared at myself, wondering if I looked different now lighter, like someone ready to let go.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through the pictures Ryan had sent me the night before our faces squished together, laughing, caught mid-bite, messy, joyful, human.

I saved them all.

Because maybe happiness, however brief, deserved a place in my gallery too.

***

I stepped into the office that morning with an unfamiliar calm settling over me.

Not the calm of indifference no. I still felt things. Conflicting things. But I wasn’t drowning in them anymore.

Mia had helped me remember who I was. Ryan reminded me who I could be. And I decided, right then, I would not let Matteo Russo define my direction anymore.

I walked a little taller, carried my coffee like armor, and even greeted the front-desk intern who always looked too scared to meet anyone’s eyes.

But the universe never without a twisted sense of humor had other plans.

Because just as I rounded the corner toward the elevator, I collided straight into someone’s chest.

Hard.

“God, I’m so sorry ” I started, stepping back.

But the words dried in my throat the moment I looked up.

Matteo.

His eyes, sharp and unreadable. His suit, tailored to the inch. His presence, annoyingly overwhelming as always.

“You should watch where you’re going,” he said flatly.

My chin lifted. “Maybe you should announce your presence with a little more warning.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something sharper. “Is that how you greet your boss now?”

I shrugged. “Only the ones who glare more than they manage.”

He blinked.

Just once.

But I saw the flicker of surprise.

I wasn’t shaking this time. I wasn’t shrinking.

“Miss Hart,” he said finally, voice low. “You’ve been…different lately.”

I nodded. “Maybe I got tired of walking on eggshells.”

A pause.

His jaw clenched. “Is this about your friend from the restaurant?”

I arched an eyebrow. “You mean Ryan?”

His nostrils flared. “I mean the employee you were laughing with like a schoolgirl on a company night.”

And there it was.

Not professionalism. Not concerned.

Jealousy.

I could’ve responded a hundred ways. Could’ve defended myself. Explained. Lied.

Instead, I smiled.

A small, quiet, devastating smile.

“Some laughter,” I said softly, “is earned.”

I walked past him before he could speak.

And this time, he was the one left standing still.

As I walked away from Matteo, I felt his eyes follow me hot, heavy, unreadable.

But I didn’t stop.

I kept walking like his words hadn’t curled around my ribs, like they didn’t still sit beneath my skin.

I turned the corner, and there he was.

Ryan.

Leaning casually against the wall by the break room, holding two cups of coffee like fate was finally feeling merciful for once.

He smiled when he saw me. “You look like someone who just walked through a storm.”

I grinned despite the heat still blooming in my chest. “Let’s just say the weather around here’s unpredictable.”

“Let me guess,” he said, handing me the second cup. “Category Five Russo?”

I choked on a laugh. “Something like that.”

His smile didn’t falter. “Well, lucky for you, I make a decent human umbrella.”

He walked beside me as we moved down the hall, our shoulders brushing once twice until I didn’t feel quite so shaken anymore.

We passed Matteo’s office window.

I didn’t need to look to know he was watching.

But this time?

I didn’t care.

Because Ryan looked at me like I was a choice, not a problem.

And that feeling?

It was dangerous in the best way.

_

We slipped out during lunch, opting for a quiet café down the block instead of the bustling company cafeteria.

The air smelled like roasted tomatoes and rosemary bread, and the sun made everything feel a little more golden than it should’ve on a weekday.

We sat by the window.

Ryan ordered something with extra cheese. I went for my usual avocado-and-lemon sandwich, trying not to overthink the butterflies still lingering in my stomach.

“So,” he said, unwrapping his utensils, “what’s the smile about?”

I blinked. “Smile?”

“Yeah. That one you just tried to hide behind your napkin.”

I chuckled, resting my chin on my palm. “I think I’m just… glad to breathe again.”

Ryan nodded. “He gets to you. Matteo.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

Ryan didn’t press.

Instead, he passed me the pepper shaker and said, “Well, if you ever need a distraction, I’m professionally trained in making horrible puns and stealing the last French fry.”

I laughed, maybe louder than I should have.

And that’s when we heard the heels.

Click. Click. Click.

Isabelle Laurent.

Dressed like a Chanel advertisement and looking at me like I was dirt on her red bottoms.

“Well, well,” she purred, eyeing our table. “Lunch dates now, Sarah? How… bold.”

I stiffened, but Ryan calmly leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable.

“Just lunch,” I said evenly. “Feel free to call the press.”

She leaned in slightly. “Oh, I don’t need the press, darling. This company already has plenty of eyes.”

Her gaze flicked between us.

Then she smiled slowly, venom-laced.

“You’ll want to be careful who you share your fries with. Matteo doesn’t like… disloyalty.”

She turned on her heel and walked out without another word.

Ryan didn’t say anything for a beat.

Then he passed me the last fry.

And said, “I like your disloyalty.”

I laughed so hard, I almost cried.

I stared at the door after Isabelle left, the air still tinged with her perfume and whatever lingering threat she thought she’d left behind.

Ryan leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You okay?”

I nodded slowly. “She just… always knows how to find a bruise and poke it.”

“She’s trying to get in your head,” he said, gently tapping his temple. “Don’t give her the keys.”

I smiled faintly. “That’s easier when she’s not dragging Matteo’s name into every sentence like some power card.”

Ryan hesitated, then said, “He’s letting her.”

That landed harder than I expected.

Because it was true.

Matteo wasn’t stopping her. He wasn’t defending me.

And somewhere inside me, a small voice whispered: because maybe he doesn’t want to.

I looked at Ryan steady, warm, present and something in me began to settle again.

“Thanks for lunch,” I said, softer now.

He gave me a look like I was being ridiculous. “Thanks for letting me crash your spiral.”

I laughed again, and this time, it felt lighter.

But as we walked back to the office, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Isabelle’s words weren’t just a warning.

They were a promise of something worse to come.

As we stepped back into the building, the lightness from lunch began to fade, replaced by a quiet tension. I glanced over my shoulder once, heart tightening. Somewhere upstairs, Matteo waited brooding, watching, dangerous. And deep down, i knew this fragile peace wasn’t going to last much longer.