All Chapters of Tempted by my Godlike boss: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

ROSELINE’S POVClara got up slowly and moved toward a small cabinet in the corner of the room, pulling out an old shoebox covered in dust. She carried it back carefully and set it on her lap.“I kept a few things,” she said quietly. “From back then. I never really knew why. I guess some part of me needed to hold onto it.”She lifted the lid and sorted through a few faded photographs before pulling one out and handing it to me. It showed the restaurant, warm light spilling out from its windows, a small group of staff standing out front, smiling for the camera.“That’s her,” Clara said gently, pointing to a woman standing near the edge of the group. “Eleanor. She used to come by sometimes, even though she didn’t work there. She was close with a few of the staff.”I stared at the photograph, my mother’s face young and full of life, nothing like the vague, faded memories I carried of her. “She looks happy,” I said softly.“She was,” Clara said. “Always laughing about something. She used t

FLORIAN’S POVThe office became my refuge over the following weeks, though refuge wasn’t quite the right word for it. It was more like a hiding place, somewhere I could bury myself in spreadsheets and meetings and anything else that kept my mind too occupied to circle back toward the guilt steadily eating away at me.I started arriving earlier each morning, staying later each night, filling my calendar with meetings that didn’t really need to happen, reviewing reports that could easily have waited until the following week. Anything to avoid going home to Roseline’s gentle, worried questions I didn’t know how to answer honestly.Gabriel noticed quickly, of course. He always did.“You’ve been here until nearly midnight three nights this week,” he said, stepping into my office one evening, closing the door quietly behind him.“Lot of work to catch up on,” I said, not looking up from the report in front of me.“Florian,” Gabriel said, his voice firm enough that I finally glanced up. “This

ROSELINE’S POVDays passed slowly, each one feeling heavier than the last, Florian’s silence stretching painfully onward with no sign of ending. I called him every day at first, leaving message after message, though eventually, the calls started going unanswered entirely, not even reaching his voicemail anymore.Gabriel checked in regularly, offering quiet updates, confirming only that Florian remained in New York, staying at his parents’ estate, apparently working from there instead of returning to the office at all.“He’s not ready to talk yet,” Gabriel told me gently one afternoon, though the words offered little real comfort against the growing ache of his absence.“It’s been two weeks,” I said softly, exhaustion heavy in my voice. “How much longer is he going to hide from this?”“I wish I knew,” Gabriel admitted quietly.The house felt unbearably empty without him, every room echoing painfully with memories of the life we’d built together, now suddenly fractured by his sudden, un

ROSELINE’S POVThe following week passed in a blur of exhaustion and quiet dread, my body adjusting slowly to the pregnancy while my mind remained fixed constantly on Florian’s continued silence. I threw myself into the rebuilding work anyway, desperate for distraction, though my attention clearly wasn’t where it needed to be.Mistakes started slipping through that normally never would have happened. A shipment of imported tile arrived in the wrong color because I’d approved the order without double-checking the sample. A contractor showed up on the wrong day because I’d forgotten to confirm the schedule change. Small things at first, easily dismissed, though they steadily accumulated as the days wore on.“We’re behind on the kitchen installation again,” the lead contractor told me one afternoon, frustration evident in his tired voice. “That’s the second delay this week because nobody confirmed the equipment delivery properly.”“I’ll call the supplier,” I said quickly, though exhausti

FLORIAN’S POVDespite my decision to finally go back, the following days passed slowly, uncertainty and lingering guilt still weighing heavily enough that I found myself delaying, burying myself once again in work instead of booking the flight home I kept telling myself I would take.My mother noticed almost immediately.“You said you were going back,” she said one morning, finding me hunched over my laptop at the kitchen table, papers scattered around me despite the early hour.“I am,” I said quickly, not looking up from the screen. “I just need to finish a few things here first.”“Florian,” she said gently, though there was a firmness beneath her tone now. “You’ve said that every day this week.”I sighed, finally glancing up at her, guilt and exhaustion both clear in my expression. “I know,” I admitted quietly. “I just, every time I think about actually going, about facing her properly, the guilt comes rushing back in, and work feels easier somehow. Safer.”“Work isn’t going to fix