Chapter 7

I arrived at the office before 8:00 a.m., freshly showered, perfectly dressed, and calm most terrifyingly.

I arrived early not because I had extra work to do, but because I wanted to be calm, composed, and fully in control before he walked through those doors.

Everything about me screamed unbothered. Composed. Ice.

The only proof of the emotional chaos still twisting in my gut was the way I pressed my nails into my palm beneath my desk.

I didn’t even look up when I heard the elevator doors slide open.

At 9:07 a.m., Matteo Russo stumbled into the office.

And I mean stumbled.

His tie was missing, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his eyes those sharp, calculating eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with fatigue. His jaw was tight, lips slightly parted like he hadn’t slept. Or maybe drank too much.

His gaze scanned the room like he was preparing for war.

And when he saw me at my desk?

He froze.

I didn’t.

I kept typing, eyes on my screen, like he was nothing more than a shadow crossing my periphery.

“Sarah,” he said, voice low, hoarse.

I didn’t look up.

“Sarah,” he repeated, stepping closer, the weight of his guilt pressing into the air between us. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy boss,” I replied flatly, fingers never pausing on the keyboard.

He stopped just beside my desk.

“About last night,” he tried again.

“There’s nothing to say,” I cut in.

Silence stretched.

“I shouldn’t have.”

“You did.” I finally looked up, locking eyes with him, cold and unreadable. “And I don’t need an apology you don’t mean.”

His expression flickered, guilt flashing across his features before he masked it again.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly”

“That much was obvious.”

“Sarah”

“I’m not your therapy boss,” I said calmly. “And I’m not your escape route.”

He opened his mouth, but the elevator dinged and just like that, the moment was gone.

She stepped out like a model on a runway, black heels clicking against the marble, blonde hair sleek, crimson lips curved in confidence.

Isabelle Laurent.

His ex.

The woman I’d seen wrapped around him yesterday.

Today she was dressed to kill and she knew it. A cream silk blouse hugged her curves, tucked into a tight black pencil skirt, her diamond earrings glittering like threats.

Her eyes found Matteo instantly.

And then she saw me.

“Darling,” she said sweetly, walking straight past me and into his personal space like I wasn’t even there. “You didn’t answer my text last night.”

Matteo stiffened. “I wasn’t”

“You were busy,” she finished for him. “I assumed. But I thought I’d come by… in case you needed a little pick-me-up.”

She leaned in, lips brushing his cheek, fingers sliding along the front of his open collar.

My stomach twisted.

Her hand stayed on his chest.

And Matteo didn’t move it.

I clenched my jaw and looked back at my screen.

“Oh,” Isabelle purred, glancing at me again. “Still at your desk, Sarah? Always so… professional.”

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t flinch.

But I saw her move.

One hand trailing down Matteo’s chest, her fingers slowly undoing another button. She smoothed the edge of his collar, leaned in, and kissed the side of his neck just under his jaw.

Deliberately.

Lingered there.

He let her.

His eyes, though they weren’t on her.

They were on me.

And that was what made it worse.

“You always look so tense, Matteo,” she whispered, lips brushing against his ear. “Why don’t you let me help you relax before your day gets ruined by emails and… distractions?”

Her hand was on his belt now, and I could hear the faint sound of her nails tapping against the buckle.

Click. Click. Click.

It was subtle. Teasing.

Lethal.

I stood.

Quietly. Calmly.

I straightened my skirt, grabbed the folder I needed for the meeting, and walked right past them.

“I’ll be in the conference room,” I said, without looking back. “Don’t worry. I’ll schedule your next performance for a bigger crowd.”

Matteo flinched.

Isabelle smiled.

I didn’t stop walking.

The conference room was cold. I welcomed it.

I sat at the far end, reviewing notes, pretending that my hands weren’t shaking.

But they were.

Not from sadness.

From fury.

I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t going to break.

And I sure as hell wasn’t going to compete with a woman who used seduction like a sport.

If Matteo wanted to let her touch him?

Let her kiss him?

Let her humiliate me in the place I worked?

Then he wasn’t a man I needed to protect my heart from.

He was a warning sign I’d ignored for too long.

Ten minutes later, Matteo walked in.

Alone.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even sit.

Just stood by the door, watching me with that unreadable expression.

Like he wanted to say something.

Like he couldn’t.

I didn’t give him the chance.

I slid the report toward the empty chair at the end of the table. “Your notes for the board meeting. Please review them before you open your mouth this time.”

He didn’t move.

“I said I’m busy, Mr. Russo,” I added, sharper now. “Unless you have something relevant to this company’s operations, I suggest you leave.”

His jaw clenched.

But he walked out.

No smug remark. No insult. No defense.

And that?

That told me everything.

**

The day was winding down, but the tension hadn’t left my shoulders.

I stepped into the hallway to get a moment to breathe, away from the endless shuffle of paper, keyboards, and Matteo’s ghost that seemed to linger in every corner of the office.

I wasn’t expecting her voice.

“Sarah.”

I turned slowly, already knowing who it was.

Isabelle Laurent.

Impeccable as always. Her heels clicked softly on the marble floor, her designer coat draped casually over her arm like it had never known a wrinkle. She looked like power with a side of cruelty and she was staring at me like I was gum stuck to her shoe.

“We need to talk,” she said with a syrupy smile.

“I don’t think we do,” I replied flatly.

Her smile widened, sharp and polished. “Oh, I think we very much do.”

I exhaled and crossed my arms. “Alright. Go ahead. Get whatever it is off your perfectly manicured chest.”

She stepped in closer, too close. Close enough for me to smell her expensive perfume and the entitlement clinging to every inch of her.

“I just wanted to remind you of your place,” she said softly, her tone laced with condescension. “You work under Matteo, not beside him. There’s a difference.”

I stared at her. “You tracked me down in the hallway just to tell me that?”

She leaned in. “You’ve been comfortable in his orbit lately. Acting like you matter. Like you belong. But let’s be honest you don’t.”

I let the words hit.

Then let them slide right off me.

“I know my place, Isabelle,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “It’s behind my desk, doing my job something you wouldn’t know much about.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m not here to argue,” she said, her voice suddenly icy. “I’m here to give you one chance to back off. Whatever you think is happening between you and Matteo it’s not. He’s mine. He always has been.”

My heart flickered in my chest, but I didn’t let it show.

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why he keeps looking at me like you’re not enough.”

Her nostrils flared, and for a second, the mask cracked.

“I’m warning you,” she hissed. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. Matteo isn’t some sweet, broken soul waiting to be saved. He’s a Russo. He’ll destroy you the second you outlive your usefulness.”

I stepped forward this time, chin lifted.

“Maybe. But at least I won’t destroy myself clinging to a man who only touches me when someone else is watching.”

That one hit her.

Hard.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. For the first time, Isabelle Laurent didn’t have a comeback.

I walked past her without waiting for one.

And this time, it was her heels echoing behind me retreating.

The elevator doors slid open in front of me, and I stepped in without looking back.

My heart was pounding, but my face stayed blank. Expressionless.

I wasn’t going to give Isabelle the satisfaction of knowing that her words had cut because they had. Not because I believed her. But because I hated that she felt entitled to say them in the first place.

Who was she to decide who belonged beside Matteo Russo?

And why did I still care what she thought?

I pulled my phone from my pocket the second the doors closed. My hands were shaking, but I needed to do something anything to remind myself that I still had people who saw me. Respected me. Loved me.

Just as I turned the corner toward the exit, my phone lit up.

Mia.

I exhaled slowly and answered. “Hey.”

“Sarah?” Mia’s voice was soft but alert. “You sound weird. Are you okay?”

I hesitated.

And that pause was all she needed.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said gently. “What happened?”

“I just got ambushed by a Chanel-wrapped hurricane in Louboutins,” I muttered.

Mia groaned. “Isabelle?”

“Who else?”

“What did she say?” Mia’s tone sharpened.

“The usual,” I replied. “That I’m a nobody. That's Matteo’s. That I should know my place.”

“She said that?” Mia nearly growled.

“Word for word.”

I could hear the silence on the other end the anger simmering.

“You know what?” she finally said. “You need a break. And a croissant.”

A small, tired smile tugged at my lips. “I could use both.”

“Meet me at Ella’s in twenty?” she asked.

Our spot. The cozy little coffee shop is tucked away from the noise of the city. Mismatched chairs, lopsided cupcakes, and strong coffee. It had been our haven since college.

“Make it fifteen,” I said.

She laughed. “You better be there, Hart. I’m bringing emotional support pastries.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I whispered.

I ended the call and slipped my phone back into my bag, finally letting myself exhale.

Matteo Russo could stay locked in his glass tower.

Isabelle could choke on her expensive perfume.

I had somewhere to be.

Somewhere warm.

Somewhere real.

I stepped outside into the cool evening air, letting it wrap around me like armor.

My legs felt heavy, but I kept walking, every step away from Isabelle making it easier to breathe. The words she’d hurled at me still clung to my skin like smoke but they no longer burned.

I was done letting her shake me.

Done letting him shake me.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

Mia.

I answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey yourself. I had a feeling you’d need me.”

I didn’t respond right away. I didn’t have to. Mia knew silence was its kind of confession.

“She came to me,” I finally said. “Cornered me in the hallway. Told me to stay away from Matteo.”

“Oh, hell no,” Mia snapped. “What did you say to her?”

I paused, then smiled faintly. “I told her to ask herself why he keeps looking at me like she’s not enough.”

There was a beat of silence and then Mia let out a proud, wicked laugh.

“Damn right you did.”

I stared across the street at the blur of headlights and pedestrians.

“I need a break,” I murmured.

“You’re getting one,” she said. “Meet me at Ella’s?”

That soft, familiar ache settled in my chest the ache of needing someone, and knowing they’d be there.

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting with extra whipped cream.”

The line went dead, but warmth lingered in its place.

And just like that, the noise of the day dulled.

Because no matter how chaotic things got, I still had her.

And that meant I wasn’t facing this alone.