Chapter 2

Matteo stiffened. He knew full well that this move of his would only make the Grahams dislike him even more. He stood up in silence and happened to meet Natasha's eyes.

Her gaze flickered, and her hands tightened on her cutlery. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Mom, I'm done eating."

Matteo chose to run, but the anger and resentment in his eyes didn't ease in the slightest. He simply refused to look at Natasha again and turned to leave.

Because with just that one look, he almost couldn't stop himself from demanding answers from her. After all, he'd been sure that the feelings they'd shared over the past three years were real. The soft things she'd whispered while curled up in his arms, the concern she'd shown him… Those moments tugged at his heart.

Natasha was lost in thought as she watched him leave. An odd irritation stirred in her chest.

She had never known there was any connection between Cameron and Matteo. Now that Matteo had seen her with Cameron, she had to find a chance to explain everything to him properly.

…

After leaving the Graham residence, Matteo grabbed a cab back to Natasha's villa. The housekeeper, Wanda Smith, saw him come back and hurried over. She handed him a pair of house slippers.

He looked around the familiar living room. Photos of him and Natasha were still on the wall, but the sight of them just felt like pure mockery now. The woman who once swore she would love only him had still chosen to betray what they had.

Matteo didn't bother changing his shoes. He went straight upstairs and started packing his things. He didn't have much—just a few changes of clothes. The custom suits Natasha had bought for him remained hanging neatly in the closet.

Wanda sensed something was off and blurted out, "Mr. Fulton, are you moving out? Does Ms. Wilde know about this?"

"Yeah, she does. I found a new job and rented a place near the office. It's closer to work," he answered.

It was reasonable enough that Wanda didn't press further, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong as she watched him leave with his suitcase in hand.

…

Natasha didn't come home till late. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked tipsy.

She'd knocked back quite a few glasses with Fred at the Graham residence. Cameron had also had a lot to drink, so she'd simply had her driver drop her off at this house, wanting to seize the chance to see Matteo.

But unlike usual, the living room was empty. There was no sign of him anywhere. The tea he always had ready for her was nowhere to be seen, either. The teapot on the coffee table sat completely dry.

"Where's Matteo?" Natasha asked drunkenly, looking annoyed.

"Mr. Fulton said he was moving out, Ms. Wilde. He said you already knew about it…" Wanda answered hesitantly.

Moving out?

Natasha's hands curled into fists, and she slammed them into a cushion on the couch. Did he think he could just walk out without a word? They hadn't broken up!

She pulled out her phone and texted Matteo. "Matteo, stop being dramatic. Let's go on a date this weekend."

But this time, there was no instant reply. That only irritated Natasha even more. She looked at Wanda and demanded, "Did he say where he was moving to?"

Wanda shook her head and repeated what little she'd been told.

Natasha knew Matteo had been looking for a new job, but she hadn't paid much attention then. Now, as she thought back, she realized she had no idea where he could be.

An inexplicable wave of anger surged in her chest, but she couldn't do anything to vent it. It almost felt like half her heart had left with Matteo.

…

Matteo had just moved into his cramped rental. He only saw Natasha's message after putting his things away. For once, he chose not to respond.

He was about to lie down when his copy of the marriage certificate fell out of his bag. He picked it up from the floor and zoned out as he remembered her cold, stunning face.

For a second, the urge to really get to know her rose in him. Maybe she wasn't the vicious, uncontrollable woman the rumors made her out to be at all.

Matteo sat there, still savoring the memory of their encounter. He only snapped out of it when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He instinctively thought it would be another text from Natasha, but when he checked the screen, it turned out to be from Abigail.

Abigail: "Come home with me this weekend. My dad wants to meet you."

Matteo: "Okay."

He locked his phone and closed his eyes.

That night, he dreamed again of the day he'd first met Natasha. Her white dress had swayed as she'd walked into his world; every promise she'd made back then had turned into fuel for him to keep going.

Then, the image of her kissing Cameron flashed before his eyes. He felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over his head, dousing every last bit of hope he'd been holding on to.

He'd thought he would lose it and fly off the handle, demanding to know why. Instead, he'd been disturbingly calm.

After all, he'd been disappointed so many times that he'd gotten used to it. Rather than having a meltdown and begging for an explanation, he'd chosen to let her go.

From now on, all he wanted was for him and Natasha to be no more than strangers.

…

When Matteo woke up early the next morning, his face was pale, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. With his unshaven stubble and messy hair, he looked like a drunken drifter.

But he quickly pulled himself together. After washing up, he grabbed his résumé and headed for Maven Group. As long as he nailed this interview, he could land a job there as a model designer.

He waited outside with the rest of the candidates, his palms slick with sweat as he clutched his résumé.

Just then, two people nearby started whispering.

"Hey, did you hear? Maven Group's CEO is personally interviewing us today. Word is she's notoriously strict. For all we know, this entire batch of applicants might just get wiped out!"

"You've gotta be kidding me. Just our luck to run into the devil incarnate herself!"

The others all looked miserable when they heard, but Matteo was more curious than anything about the woman they were talking about.

Ever since he'd left the Graham family, he'd barely paid attention to anything happening among the wealthy elite. The only reason he'd sent his résumé to Maven Group was that he wanted to make real money, marry Natasha, and give her a better life.

Now, though, he felt like this was his shot to bet on himself. After all, becoming a model designer and bringing the game worlds and characters in his imagination to life had been his dream from the start.

As Matteo's thoughts drifted, his turn finally came. He stepped into the interview room and gave the interviewer a polite nod, keeping his head down as he handed over his résumé with both hands. Then he spoke in a calm, confident tone.

"Good morning. My name is Matteo Fulton. I graduated from Westmont University…"

He lifted his head as he spoke and froze the moment he saw the interviewer's face. The person across from him wasn't some stranger at all. It was Abigail, the woman he'd just married yesterday!

She was the infamous devil incarnate the other candidates had been talking about?

But according to the rumors, the heiress he'd married was a spoiled brat who knew nothing about business, spent her days slacking off, and couldn't even read the most basic company reports.

Clearly, the rumors were garbage.

The Abigail sitting before him that day was nothing like that. She looked like an untouchable goddess in her simple tailored suit with her long hair loose around her shoulders. Her features were flawless, too.

For a split second, Matteo just stared at her, caught by how stunning she was.

Abigail raised a brow. She was all business as she said briskly, "Your résumé is impressive, but I care more about results. I keep things strictly professional in this company. You'll be on a three-month probation. If you don't deliver anything worthwhile during that time, I won't hesitate to fire you."

Her words were sharp, leaving no room for favoritism or excuses. But that was exactly what Matteo wanted. He didn't want special treatment or back-door favors. He wanted to claw his way up on his own.

A slow, genuine smile tugged at his lips as he answered with quiet confidence. "No problem, Ms. Pearce."