Chapter 22

The morning sunlight cut through Mia’s curtains in sharp gold slants, landing across my face like a silent alarm clock, unforgiving and far too honest for the emotions still tangled inside me.

I blinked against it, eyes gritty from lack of sleep, and shifted beneath the throw blanket on the couch, the memory of last night crashing down like waves over everything calm.

Ryan’s kiss.

My confession.

Matteo’s lie.

Isabelle’s hands are on his chest.

That kiss that performance it wasn’t just passionate, it was pointed, like a blade aimed right at my heart with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

I rubbed my hands over my face, still wrapped in Mia’s old hoodie, feeling like I had lived a decade in the span of a single office celebration gone wrong.

The floor creaked and Mia padded into the living room with two mugs of coffee, her hair wild, eyes already narrowed with best-friend concern as she handed me one without a word.

“You didn’t sleep,” she said simply, sitting down beside me, pulling her legs under herself like a therapist about to crack open my soul before breakfast.

I exhaled slowly, the warmth of the mug grounding me as I whispered, “I don’t even know what last night was.”

“A disaster,” Mia replied bluntly, “with cupcakes.”

She nudged me. “And also a confession that was sweet as hell. Ryan looked like you had handed him the moon. Matteo looked like someone snatched it out of his damn hands.”

I stared at the coffee. “He said he loved Isabelle. That he wanted to marry her.”

Mia scoffed. “Girl, that was a performance. You know it. I know it. Even Isabelle knew it. She just happened to enjoy the spotlight.”

My throat tightened. “But what if he meant it?”

Mia’s voice softened, her hand landing on mine. “Do you want him to mean it?”

Silence.

That was the real question, wasn’t it?

Because deep down, some broken part of me still cared what Matteo Russo thought even after everything.

“I want peace,” I said finally. “And Ryan… gives me that.”

Mia smiled. “Then hold on to him. Because if Matteo wants something else, let him go chase it without dragging you through hell for it.”

I nodded, trying to believe it would be that easy.

**

Work was a quiet storm that day, humming beneath fluorescent lights and polite nods from coworkers who remembered everything that had happened at the party.

The stares weren’t cruel they were curious, entertained, maybe even supportive but they still made my chest ache like I was standing in front of a jury with no defense.

I kept my head down, moved through emails and project drafts like a machine, hoping to survive until lunch without combusting.

And then the elevator opened.

And there he was.

Matteo.

Alone.

I almost turned back.

Almost ran.

But the doors were already closing behind me and there was no escape now, only the tight space between us and the ghosts of everything we hadn’t said.

He didn’t look at me at first.

Just hit the button for his floor and stood in silence, jaw tight, eyes forward, like we were strangers instead of fragments of each other’s worst timing.

“You’re quiet today,” I said finally, unable to help the ice in my tone.

He glanced at me, just once. “Celebrations are noisy. Silence has its uses.”

I folded my arms. “So does honesty.”

His jaw flexed. “And yet, you seemed happy to parade yours around in front of everyone.”

I stared at him. “You mean telling the truth?”

“I mean performing,” he snapped. “Like it was all some fairytale ending.”

My breath hitched.

Because there it was.

The jealousy.

The pain.

The mask cracking.

I stood tall. “At least I wasn’t pretending to love someone I don’t.”

That shut him up.

And when the doors opened, neither of us moved for a moment, like stepping out would make whatever this was too real.

He finally turned and walked out first.

And I stayed.

Frozen.

Shaking.

—

Back at my desk, Ryan passed by with two coffees, dropping one in front of me with a smile so soft I nearly cried.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Rough morning?”

I nodded. “Rough year.”

He leaned closer. “We’ll get through it.”

And for the first time that day, my heart slowed down.

I watched him walk away, grateful.

And then my phone buzzed.

A message.

No name.

Just a photo attachment.

I opened it.

It was me and Ryan.

At the celebration.

Kissing.

The lighting was dim, the angle blurry but it was unmistakable.

And below it, one sentence.

“Hope HR doesn’t mind dating rumors. Better watch your back.”

My blood went cold.

Because this wasn’t over.

Someone wanted to burn everything down.

And I had no idea who would light the next match.

My fingers trembled as I held the phone, the photo burning into my retinas like a brand I hadn’t asked for.

Me and Ryan.

Kissing.

The room was dark and glowing with party lights, a moment that felt private and soft now reduced to proof in someone’s game.

And the message that came with it? Sharp and cold.

“Hope HR doesn’t mind dating rumors. Better watch your back.”

I stared at the screen, unable to blink, unable to breathe. For a second, I thought maybe I was imagining it. That the champagne and emotions from last night were playing tricks on me.

But no.

It was real.

The threat. The intention. The malice behind it.

Someone wanted to ruin me.

“Sarah?” Mia’s voice came from behind me, gentle but alert. “What is it?”

I couldn’t answer. I just turned the screen toward her and let her read it for herself.

The second her eyes scanned the message, the air around her changed.

She went still.

Then deadly calm.

“Who the hell”  she started, but caught herself. “Okay. Okay. We’re not panicking. You’re okay.”

“I’m not,” I whispered. “I mean, it’s just a photo, but… the message.”

“It’s a threat,” Mia said, setting her coffee down hard. “Someone wants to scare you into silence.”

I nodded, throat tight.

She glanced around. “Do you think it was Isabelle?”

“She was too busy kissing Matteo in public,” I muttered bitterly. “But I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Mia frowned. “You think Matteo saw this too?”

I hadn’t even considered that.

The idea sent a new kind of chill through me.

Because if he had…

What would he do?

Would he fire me?

Or worse believe I was leaking our drama to humiliate him?

I pressed a hand to my chest, willing my pulse to slow.

“I should delete it,” I whispered. “I should pretend I never saw it.”

“No,” Mia snapped, grabbing my wrist. “You screenshot it. You forward it to yourself. You protect yourself. Do not let someone erase what they did to you.”

Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door.

We both jumped.

But it was just Ryan.

Still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled, holding another two coffees and a nervous, hopeful smile.

“Hey,” he said, eyes flicking between us. “Am I interrupting something?”

Mia answered quickly. “She got a message. A photo.”

Ryan’s smile faded instantly.

I handed him the phone.

His jaw tightened as he read the text. Then he let out a breath like he was holding in something volcanic.

“They’re trying to scare you,” he said.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “And it’s working.”

Ryan sat beside me, setting the coffee down. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were honest. Brave. This isn’t your shame to carry.”

My eyes stung. “But what if Matteo”

“Screw Matteo,” Mia said.

Ryan didn’t speak for a beat.

But when he did, his voice was softer. “If he believes this over what he knows of you… Then he never really saw you at all.”

I closed my eyes.

And for a moment, I let Ryan’s words wrap around me like armor.

But deep inside, I knew this wasn’t over.

Whoever sent that photo?

They weren’t done yet.

And I wasn’t sure what would break first:

My job.

My heart.

Or Matteo’s silence.

**

I stared down at the coffee on the table, untouched and rapidly cooling, my appetite for anything sweet completely erased by the bitter warning still burned into the back of my mind.

Mia paced like a storm cloud on legs, muttering under her breath, fists clenched at her sides, occasionally shooting glares toward the window as if the message’s sender might be watching from across the street.

Ryan, however, stayed still right beside me his hand resting near mine, not touching unless I invited it, but close enough that I felt the safety tucked in his silence.

“I’ve had enough of secrets,” I whispered eventually, voice cracking like the surface of a frozen lake ready to split apart and swallow something I wasn’t prepared to lose.

Ryan turned his full attention on me, soft eyes gone sharp with quiet fury, his voice even. “Then don’t carry this alone. If someone’s playing dirty, we fight clean together.”

I nodded because that’s all I could manage, a fragile agreement barely held together by caffeine, exhaustion, and the warmth of the man beside me who looked at me like I was still worth protecting.

“Do you think Matteo knows?” Mia asked again, pacing slower now, her voice a little gentler, but still clipped with suspicion and worry etched in her every word.

I didn’t answer, because I couldn’t decide what was worse Matteo knowing and saying nothing, or Matteo not knowing and hearing it from someone who wanted me to break completely.

The thought of him opening that message seeing me wrapped in Ryan’s arms, lips pressed in the kind of kiss that could only come from comfort, not conquest made my heart lurch.

If Matteo saw it, would he feel regret, or would he twist it into something sharp, another reason to push me away while Isabelle clung to his side with red-lacquered certainty?

Ryan reached over and gently closed the space between our hands, fingers brushing together first, then linking fully, anchoring me when my thoughts tried to spin away from what mattered.

“Whatever happens next,” he said quietly, “I don’t want you to face it thinking you’re alone. I meant every word I said… last night, and every minute after.”

Tears pricked my eyes again, but I blinked them back, because there was strength in this moment an invisible string pulled taut between who I used to be and who I was becoming.

“I think,” I murmured, “it’s time I stopped reacting and started fighting back.”

Mia grinned like the chaotic little sister I’d never had, pointing dramatically at me with both hands. “That’s the energy. Let’s burn the building down metaphorically, of course.”

Ryan smiled, clearly used to Mia’s outbursts by now, but his eyes stayed on me, searching, steady, the kind of gaze that made it impossible to pretend he was just a friend.

“Let’s start by figuring out who sent it,” he offered, already pulling out his phone like a detective who moonlighted as a graphic designer with access to metadata and forensic tricks.

Mia clapped her hands. “And I’ll question everyone in that damn building. Stealth interrogation is my middle name after ‘Extra’ and ‘Coffee.’”

I laughed, the sound short but real, and for the first time all day, I felt like maybe just maybe I could breathe without choking on guilt or fear.

But even as we planned, a shadow still loomed in the corner of my mind, tall and proud and devastatingly familiar, and it wore Matteo Russo’s smirk like armor and sin.

Because if he did see the photo…

If Isabelle showed it to him…

Then this wasn’t just about scandal.

It was war.

And I wasn’t sure either of us knew how to win without losing everything.