Chapter 6

I barely remembered walking back to my desk.

The world felt muffled, like I was hearing everything from underwater. My vision had gone a little hazy too, though I couldn’t tell if that was from unshed tears or the way Matteo’s voice sharp and merciless kept replaying in my head on a cruel loop.

“You’re a replaceable piece of shit who got lucky…”

Every word lodged deeper than the last.

Not because I believed him deep down, I knew I was capable, I worked hard but because some small, fragile part of me had hoped I meant something more. Something real.

And that part? It was bleeding.

I stared at the glowing screen of my monitor. The blinking cursor on the open email mocked me.

I couldn’t type. Couldn’t move.

I just sat there, letting the echo of his voice unravel me in silence.

The worst part wasn’t even the insult it was the fact that he’d meant it. Every word. Cold and deliberate.

He’d looked me in the eyes like I was nothing.

And for a terrifying moment, I’d almost believed it.

Hours passed.

The sun dipped behind the city skyline, leaving the office in the soft, moody glow of floor lamps and computer screens. Most people had cleared out. Even the cleaning staff had come and gone.

But I stayed.

I told myself it was to catch up on the schedule Matteo had neglected all day. To clear emails. To prepare for the board meeting tomorrow.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

I didn’t want to go home.

Not yet.

Not like this.

Not when I still felt hollow.

So I stayed.

And that’s when I heard the door slam.

My head jerked up, heart stuttering.

Footsteps echoed from the front of the office. Heavy. Unsteady.

Then I heard his voice low, slurred, muttering something I couldn’t make out.

I stood slowly, every nerve on high alert, and stepped into the hallway.

And there he was.

Matteo Russo, in all his infuriating glory.

Only this time, his tie was loose, his shirt half unbuttoned, and his hair slightly disheveled.

And the unmistakable smell of scotch clung to him like cologne.

He was drunk.

Drunk.

He staggered slightly, leaning against the doorframe to his office before fumbling for the handle. It took him three tries to open it.

“Matteo?” I said, surprised by how soft my voice sounded.

He looked up slowly, eyes heavy and bloodshot but focused on me like I was the only person left in the universe.

“Miss Hart,” he said, voice low and raw. “Still working late?”

I swallowed. “I could ask you the same.”

He stepped into his office but didn’t close the door. Instead, he leaned on the desk, hands gripping the edge like he needed it to stay upright.

“You stayed because of what I said,” he murmured.

I didn’t answer.

“I shouldn’t have said it.” He looked away, then laughed bitterly. “No, that’s a lie. I meant it. At the time.”

“Wow,” I said, crossing my arms. “You are a charmer when you’re off the clock.”

His gaze snapped to mine. “You think you know me, Sarah?”

I flinched at the sound of my name on his lips. He rarely said it. Never like that. Never so quietly.

“You don’t,” he whispered. “You have no idea what I’ve had to become to survive in this world.”

“I’m not asking for your life story, Matteo,” I replied, voice tight. “I’m just your assistant, remember?”

He took a step toward me. Then another.

“You’re not just anything,” he said, voice low, dangerous, like a slow burn.

I didn’t know if it was the late hour, the alcohol in his veins, or the ache in my chest but I didn’t move away when he stepped close.

Too close.

His eyes met mine wild, raw, unreadable.

“Do you know what you did to me that night?” he murmured.

I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“The club,” he whispered, his breath ghosting against my cheek. “You kissed me. And for one second… one second, I wasn’t this cold bastard everyone sees.”

I should’ve walked away.

I should’ve said something smart and scathing, reminded him of every cruel thing he said to me just hours ago.

But I didn’t.

Because in that moment…

I didn’t want to be right.

I wanted him.

His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from my face, and I didn’t stop him.

“I tried to forget,” he said hoarsely. “I tried to bury it.”

And then his mouth was on mine.

Hot. Desperate.

Nothing like the kiss at the club.

This wasn’t reckless it was raw.

Wounded.

Wild.

I didn’t know who moved first, but we were stumbling into his office, bumping into furniture, hands everywhere. His mouth trailed fire down my neck, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of my blouse like he’d waited forever to do it.

“You drive me insane,” he groaned, backing me against the wall.

“Good,” I gasped, dragging him closer.

His hands gripped my waist, lifting me like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around him on instinct, and he cursed under his breath, mouth crashing back to mine.

I hated him.

God, I hated him.

But I wanted him more.

And when his hands slipped under my skirt and his mouth reached my collarbone, I stopped thinking altogether.

We moved like magnets angry, reckless magnets pulling each other apart and slamming back together again.

And for a while, there was no office. No insults. No history.

Just the sound of our breathing, the taste of regret on our lips, and the feeling of something we shouldn’t want but couldn’t stop chasing.

His lips crashed down on mine again, more desperate this time like he was trying to erase every cruel word he’d ever spoken with his mouth.

I should’ve stopped it right then.

But for a few seconds, I let myself fall.

Fall into the heat of his touch.

Fall into the ache of the moment.

Fall into the part of me that still remembered how it felt to be wanted even if it was all wrong.

But then he pushed further. His hands slid under my blouse, fingers trailing over skin that suddenly felt naked in the worst way.

I froze.

This wasn’t passion anymore.

This was him, drunk and bitter, trying to escape whatever demons were clawing at him tonight and using me as the nearest exit.

“Stop,” I breathed, pushing against his chest.

He didn’t.

Not right away.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, hands roaming, grip tightening like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go.

I shoved harder.

“I said stop.”

This time, he stilled.

His head rested against my shoulder, his breath warm and unsteady against my collarbone. “Sarah…”

“No.” My voice came out firmer, colder than I expected. “You don’t get to do this.”

His eyes lifted to mine, clouded with confusion and whiskey. “What?”

“You don’t get to spend the day calling me worthless and then try to crawl between my legs because you’re too drunk to feel your damn guilt.”

He flinched like I’d slapped him already.

I shook my head, trembling. “I’m not some distraction, Matteo. I’m not a therapy session you can unzip.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t move.

“You think you can hurt me all day, call me names, make me feel like I’m nothing, and then come in here wasted and screw the pain away with me?”

Silence.

His expression hardened, walls going up again like that one soft part of him I’d seen was gone in an instant.

“Maybe I just wanted something that felt good for once,” he muttered.

I stared at him, stunned. “And you thought I was just… available for that?”

He opened his mouth to answer maybe to apologize, maybe to deny it but I didn’t wait.

I slapped him.

Hard.

His face snapped to the side, and I instantly felt my hand sting but I didn’t regret it.

Not even for a second.

His fingers slowly came up to touch his cheek, his breath catching like he hadn’t expected it.

“Don’t ever touch me like that again,” I whispered, voice shaking. “Not when you’re drunk. Not when you’re angry. Not when you’re trying to forget someone else.”

He didn’t speak. Just stood there, staring at me like he didn’t recognize the woman in front of him.

Maybe he didn’t.

Maybe for once, he saw me not as the assistant he could push around but as someone who wouldn’t tolerate his damage anymore.

“You’re a mess tonight,” I said, stepping away. “But I won’t let you turn me into one too.”

I walked to the door, grabbing my bag from the corner of his desk without looking at him again.

“You think I don’t matter,” I added, hand on the door. “Fine. Then let me show you how little I care by walking out of here before I become one more regret on your never-ending list.”

And then I left.

Without looking back.

Without letting myself cry.

Without letting him see that I was shaking inside.

Because if I stayed one more second, I might’ve let him kiss me again.

And this time, I wouldn’t have had the strength to stop it.

**

The elevator doors closed behind me with a soft hiss, sealing in the silence I needed but couldn’t find.

My heart was still thudding like it was trying to break out of my chest. My hand ached from the slap. My lungs refused to breathe properly, like they couldn’t keep up with the mess of thoughts spiraling through my head.

I didn’t regret what I did.

I regretted that it even had to happen.

Matteo Russo was a walking contradiction cold and cruel in the boardroom, reckless and raw behind closed doors. He pushed, pulled, insulted, kissed, then pushed again like he didn’t know who he wanted me to be.

But I did.

I was done being his emotional punching bag.

Done being the girl he treated like dirt by day and craved by night.

The streetlights flickered above as I stepped out into the evening air. The city buzzed around me cars honking, people laughing, music spilling from the bar across the street but inside me, everything was still.

Still and strangely numb.

I walked for blocks.

No direction. No destination.

Just movement. Just noise to drown out his voice in my head.

“You’re nothing more than an assistant…”

“Replaceable…”

“Piece of shit…”

No.

Not anymore.

I finally stopped walking when I found myself in front of a coffee shop that had long since closed. The dark windows reflected my tired face, hair a mess, eyes shadowed with something I didn’t want to name.

I pulled out my phone.

One new message.

Mia:

Where are you? Are you okay? Please tell me you didn’t kill him.

A weak smile tugged at my lips. Leave it to Mia to be worried and sarcastic in the same breath.

I didn’t reply.

Not yet.

I wasn’t sure what I’d say.

Because how do you explain the way someone can slice you open with their words… and still make your heart skip when they whisper your name?

When I got home, I didn’t cry.

I didn’t scream or throw things or call Mia sobbing like I normally would.

I just showered, changed into my oldest t-shirt, and crawled into bed.

And then I stared at the ceiling for what felt like forever, Matteo’s face haunting every corner of the dark room.

The worst part wasn’t that he tried to sleep with me.

It was that a part of me some reckless, bruised, broken piece wanted to let him.

But not like that.

Not drunk. Not angry. Not to forget someone else.

I wanted it to mean something.

And after everything he said to me today…

It didn’t.

Not to him

Somewhere around 3 a.m., I made a decision.

I would go to work the next morning.

I’d show up early, look put together, and act like nothing had happened.

I would smile, file paperwork, coordinate his schedule, and ignore his existence with the same sharp professionalism he claimed I lacked.

If he wanted cold? I’d give him ice.

If he wanted distance? I’d build a damn wall.

But what I wouldn’t do ever again was let him confuse me.

Because I wasn’t his to break.

And he was never mine to save.