Chapter Two: The Rule

Zara’s POV

I managed to make it to the ladies’ room on the executive floor before my legs gave out. I lock myself in the last stall, press my forehead against the cool metal door, and take in deep breaths.  I’ve got this. I won’t falter.

Welcome back.

The bastard has no idea what those two words did to me.

I straighten after a minute, check my reflection in the mirror; clear eyes, no tears. Good. I touch up my lipstick with a steady hand, even though my stomach twists in knots. This is what I came for. Answers and financial stability for Liam. Not whatever storm was brewing behind his eyes.

When I step out, I see the same silver-haired man from earlier in his coat walking past the hallway. He’s fixed on his tablet, scrolling through something that makes his mouth tighten, while he passes by me. I catch his name embroidered on his coat: Dr. J. Arnolds, Corporate Health. I watch him disappear around the corner, wondering why a corporate physician is on the executive floor.

Then a young lady with a severe ponytail calls out my name, and I forget about him. How’s she not down with a headache? The sight of her ponytail is giving me one already.

“Miss Matthews? I’m Sarah from HR. Mr. Cruz wants you to start right away. He doesn’t believe in orientation periods.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “Most new assistants don’t make it past week one.”

I almost smile. “I’m not most.”

Sarah leads me to a sleek desk positioned directly outside Valerio’s glass-walled office. He could see my every move, and I can see him right back if the curtains aren’t drawn like old times. I shake the memory away; they belong in the past.

The desk is already stocked with a new laptop, a leather notebook, and a telephone. Everything pristine. I sit down and open the laptop, the login credentials already waiting in my email. I type them in, fingers flying across the keys like muscle memory that never left.  I miss doing this.

It takes me approximately forty minutes to reorganize his entire schedule for the next two weeks. I flagged three conflicts, moved the Tokyo call, and attached corrected financial notes to the quarterly report. Then I pull up the latest merger files and start highlighting red flags the way I used to. Argh, old habits die hard.

I turn to look at his office, then I see it, and my hand pauses on the mouse.

There’s a small orange bottle on the corner of his desk, visible through the glass well, but I can’t read the label from here. But it looks a lot like a prescription medication.

Valerio never takes anything strong, except for whiskey for a headache. Well, it’s been three years, and people change.

My phone buzzes, and it’s from an unknown number. Unknown: My office. Now.

No greeting, no please, arrogant as always. I stare at it for a moment, set my phone face down on the desk, and finish the paragraph I’m reading before I stand. I don’t rush; I’ve made up my mind that I won’t be someone who rushes for him.

I square my shoulders and walk in head held high.

He stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands in his pockets, staring out at the city as if he owned it. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The same forearms that used to pin my wrists above my head while he—

“Close the door,” he says without turning around.

I do, and he finally faces me, the same unsettled look from the interview is still there, but sharper now. Like I am an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch.

“You restructured my entire week,” he says, a hint of slight anger in his tone.

“You told me to impress you.”

He stares at me for a long moment. Then he laughs, but there is no warmth in it, and it breaks my heart. “You think moving a few meetings impresses me? That is what assistants do; that’s literally the job description. Do you want a gold star for reading a calendar?”

I sigh. “The Nakamura call was going to overlap with the board briefing. You would’ve lost face. I fixed it.”

He takes slow steps towards me and stops just inside my personal space, close enough that I have to tilt my head to meet his eyes. The tension in the room gets heavier by the minute. 

“You anticipate me,” he says quietly. “Why?”

“Because I’m good at my job.”

“Cazzate! (Bullshit!).” The word comes out low, almost intimate. “You walk in here knowing things you shouldn’t and look at me like—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight.

“Like what, Mr. Cruz?”

His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers. “Like you’re waiting for something.”

My heart slams against my ribs, his familiar cologne invading my senses. I can feel the heat radiating off him. Three years of nothing, and my body still remembers exactly how it felt when he used to back me up against this same desk and kiss me until I forgot my own name.

I take one careful step back, needing the space to think clearly. “I’m waiting for instructions. That’s all.”

Valerio’s eyes darken. He doesn’t believe me, but he lets it slide, for now.

“Fine. You want instructions?” He grabs a thick folder from his desk and shoves it at me. “The Harrington proposal. Tear it apart and find every weakness. I want it on my desk in two hours.” But he doesn’t let the folder go immediately; he holds it long enough. “Do not waste my time with surface-level observations. I could have an intern do that. If you bring me something obvious, I will hand you your termination papers before lunch tomorrow. Are we clear?

“Understood.” He releases the folder.

I turn to leave. “Zara.”

The sound of my name in his deep, rough voice stops me cold. He’d said it casually during the interview, but this time it felt different. It tasted familiar on his tongue like it used to.

“Don’t make me regret hiring you on the spot,” he says.

I look back at him over my shoulder. “I won’t.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of emails, calls, and the constant weight of his attention. He’s summoned me three more times. One for coffee—black, two sugars, exactly how he liked it. I delivered it without being told, and his fingers brushed mine when he took the mug. Neither of us said anything, but my hands trembled slightly

By eleven-thirty, my feet ache, and my nerves are frayed. I slip into the break room for water and find Luca leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says.

I fill my glass and take a long sip. “I’m not playing anything. You know I need the job, and I need answers.”

Luca rubs the back of his neck. He looks tired and older than he should. “He’s different now. Colder. Whatever they did to him while he was under… it stuck. If you push too hard—”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Luca’s voice drops. “Because he’s already watching you like you’re the only thing in the room. Clara’s going to notice. And when she does—”

The break room door swings open. Valerio stands there, eyes narrowing when he sees the two of us. “Am I interrupting something?”

Luca straightens. “Just giving the new assistant the lay of the land, bro.”

His gaze slides to me. “My office. Bring the Harrington file.”

I follow him back and grab the folder. The moment the door shuts behind us, the air changes again, thicker. He takes the file, flips through my notes, then tosses it onto the desk.

“Impressive,” he said. “Too impressive.”

I stay quiet.

He steps closer. “Who are you, really?”

The question lands heavily, and for a second, I consider telling him everything. The accident, the baby, and the nights I spent alone, wondering if he would ever look at me the way he is looking at me right now.

Instead, I say, “Your new secretary.”

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Right.” He reaches out like he’s going to touch my arm, then catches himself and drops his hand. “You’re dismissed. For now.”

I turn to go, but his voice stops me again.

“Zara.”

I pause at the door.

“Whatever you’re hiding,” he says dangerously, “I’ll find out. I always do.”

I don’t answer. Just walk out and close the door behind me with a soft click. Back at my desk, my hands shake as I open my personal phone. One new message from the nanny.

Mrs. Rivera: Liam had a nightmare during nap time. Kept calling for Daddy. He’s okay now, but…you might want to come home early if you can.

I stare at the screen until the words blur, and type back quickly.

Me: I’ll try. Tell him Mommy’s coming soon.

I set the phone down and look up. My eyes meet the watching eyes of Valerio through the glass wall. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes…his eyes held a lot of questions.

I look away first. It’s only the first day, and I already feel like I’m drowning.

By six-thirty in the evening, the office is mostly empty. I’m packing up to leave when Valerio’s door opens again.

“Working late already?” he asks.

“Finishing a few things, I’m leaving soon.”

He nods once. Then, almost reluctantly, “You did good today.”

The praise shouldn’t warm, but it does. This is getting dangerous. “Thank you,” I mutter.

He lingers in his doorway, watching me gather my things, and for a moment, it feels like the old days—him waiting for me to finish up so we could steal some minutes together before the cleaning crew arrived.

But those days were gone, erased just like me.

“Goodnight, Mr. Cruz.”

I make it to the elevator before the first tear slips, and I wipe it away angrily.

Behind me, I hear his office door close, but I can still feel him. And somewhere across the city, his son is waiting for a father who doesn’t even know he exists. I press the parking lot button and let the doors close, my heart aching.

This is going to destroy us all.