Semua Bab Falling in Love with my cocky boss: Bab 21 - Bab 30

I had just finished typing up Matteo’s updated quarterly memo when Liana, one of the junior analysts, bounced over to my desk with a grin too wide to be casual.“You didn’t forget, did you?” she asked, eyes dancing with excitement as if the building wasn’t made of glass and spreadsheets and caffeine-fueled trauma on most days.I stared at her blankly, hovering between email tabs and lukewarm coffee. “Forget what? My will to live? Because I lose that every Monday.”She laughed so hard she snorted, then said, “No, Sarah. Today is the office tradition ‘Celebrate One Another Day.’ The CEO started it three years ago.”“Celebrate what now?” I asked, eyebrows knitting together as I tried to recall anything from the onboarding documents about a day that sounded like a rom-com masquerading as team-building.Liana plopped a glittery flyer onto my desk. “It’s corporate Valentine’s Day without HR violations gifts, games, team bonding, romantic confessions if you dare. It’s wild. And you’re coming

Matteo’s voice cracked through the intercom like thunder wrapped in silk, cold and calculated, every syllable punching through the quiet office like it belonged to a man built from walls.“Miss Hart. To my office. Now.”The word “now” wasn’t shouted, but it pressed on my chest like a warning, one that made my pulse kick up and my thoughts scatter in a hundred silent directions.I looked across the room at Ryan, who was staring at me, brows slightly furrowed, the kind of worry that could speak without saying anything at all.I tried to smile but didn’t manage it, just nodded once before standing, collecting myself, and walking that long hall like I was approaching a fire with no water.His door loomed like a secret I wasn’t ready to learn, polished wood and silver letters that suddenly felt like a closing chapter etched across my ribs.I knocked once, soft but sharp.“Enter,” he said, and I obeyed.The room was quiet, frozen, the blinds half drawn and his posture coiled like he had a t

Matteo's POVThe moment my office emptied, the silence fell thick and syrupy, dripping from the ceiling like the weight of every word I’d swallowed instead of saying what I felt.The screen glared up at me, not with numbers or strategy projections, but with a still frame of a photo of her lips against his, captured in a moment too perfect to ignore.I’d received it anonymously, probably from the same venomous source who once fed me Isabelle’s half-truths and made me believe I could ever control the wildfire I’d set between us.Her hand curled around his forearm in the photo like it belonged there soft, possessive, familiar nothing like the way she’d touched me with equal parts fire, fear, and unanswered longing.His body leaned toward hers without hesitation, no tension in his posture, just ease the kind of ease I had spent months denying I ever craved for myself.The ice in my glass had melted completely, my scotch diluted and forgotten on the table, but I didn’t move to replace it—I

Sarah's POVThe champagne clung to my scalp like insult dressed in perfume, cold and sticky, soaking through my dress until every inch of me felt as violated as my pride in that moment.I didn’t wait for reactions, explanations, apologies just turned on my heel and walked, heels clacking over marble like a war drum, chest tight, breath sharp, fury burning hotter than shame ever could.They didn’t follow.Not immediately.And that stung more than it should have.Not one hand reached for mine, not one voice called my name like I mattered more than what just happened in that room.I reached the hallway and leaned against the cold wall, trying to breathe through the adrenaline, the confusion, the weight of being pulled into a world I never asked to belong to.“Daughter-in-law,” I whispered aloud, the word tasting foreign on my tongue, like a lie someone else had wrapped around me without consent, expectation masquerading as a title I never earned.He didn’t correct it.Matteo.He stood th

Matteo's PovFlashbackI was seven years old when I first noticed the whispers soft, sharp fragments of conversation behind closed doors, the kind adults never wanted children to hear but somehow always leaked through shadows.My mother’s perfume had changed that summer, stronger, heavier, like she was hiding something behind flowers, and I remember how her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when she looked at me.My father worked late more often, his laughter thinner at breakfast, his hugs a little too stiff, like every gesture was rehearsed through clenched teeth he’d learned to grind in silence overnight.Then one day, she left.No warning.No explanation.Just a note on the counter and an empty ring dish by the sink, like love could be rinsed off and poured down the drain unnoticed.I didn’t understand at first how I could.I waited by the window every evening, convinced the sunset would carry her back with it, that she’d walk through the door like nothing had changed.But instead