CHAPTER 25
“Forgiveness isn’t for the weak, but for the brave at heart…”
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
Friday.
I’d spent the whole week trying to avoid Maria Gabriela, but the anger inside me refused to fade—it only grew stronger with each passing day.
And to make things worse, at the office she was the one person I actually had to talk to. She handled too many of the company’s key tasks to ignore. Still, every time I saw her, even for a second, the memory of what she’d said flashed in my mind—and it pissed me off all over again.
I was in my office, spinning a pen between my fingers, trying to focus on a client report, when three sharp knocks hit the door.
Before I could even answer, she walked in.
She stood there, trying to look composed, but I knew something was off. Her face was pale, and the dark circles under her eyes told me she hadn’t been sleeping. She held her folder so tightly that her knuckles turned white—like she was clinging to it for dear life.
“Diego,” she began, her voice tense but steady, “I did everything I could today, but I’m not going to finish it all by the end of the day. I’ll need more time—maybe until Monday.”
I sighed, feeling that familiar wave of anger rise again.
She still didn’t get it.
I was at my limit, and patience wasn’t an option anymore. I pushed back from my chair and crossed my arms, facing her head-on. She wasn’t getting away with this so easily.
“Maria Gabriela, I think you’re missing something,” I said, my voice cold and sharp, eyes locked on hers. “You’re not leaving this building today until the job is done.”
The air in the room shifted, heavy and suffocating.
She stepped back, caught off guard by the bite in my tone. Still, she straightened her shoulders and looked me dead in the eye with a kind of quiet defiance that, once upon a time, I would’ve admired.
“You can’t do that.” Her voice wasn’t firm anymore—it trembled, caught somewhere between fear and fury. “It’s inhumane to expect me to work all weekend without rest. I can’t do it.”
I stood up and took a step toward her, not bothering to hide the anger pulsing through me.
“Oh, I can,” I said, my tone low, controlled—but dripping with venom. “And I am. Believe me, I can make this much worse for you if I want to. And trust me, Gabriela… I want to.”
Her eyes widened for a split second, her expression torn between shock and frustration. But then, something flickered there—anger.
She wanted to fight back but knew she couldn’t. I could see her trying to hold on to her dignity, though it was obvious she was breaking inside.
Silence.
The only sound in the room was the ticking clock on the wall, each second stretching longer than the last as I stared her down, waiting for a reaction.
“You’re really going to keep me here all night?” she finally asked, exhaustion and disbelief dripping from every word.
I tilted my head, my gaze still locked on hers.
“Until you finish. Unless, of course, you’d rather I add more work to your list? Because honestly, I can do that too.”
Her face flushed red, and for a moment, I thought she was going to cry—but she didn’t give me that satisfaction. She just stared back at me, anger and determination flashing in her eyes. It stirred something in me—something I forced down before it could surface.
She turned away and walked slowly toward the door. I knew I’d pushed her to the edge.
And that was what I wanted, wasn’t it? I wanted to see how far she’d bend before she broke. But as she reached the door, something inside me twisted.
Maybe it was guilt.
Or maybe it was something deeper, something I didn’t want to name. For a second, I almost called her back—almost told her she could go home, that it was fine.
But pride won.
She’d made me furious with that ridiculous story about the pregnancy—that betrayal I couldn’t get out of my head. I needed control, and she was on the verge of taking it from me.
“Remember this,” I called out before she could leave. She stopped at the door and turned her head slightly toward me. “You still owe me five more months. Don’t think I’ll forget. And believe me, I’ll make sure every single one of them is… unforgettable.”
She didn’t answer. She just left, closing the door behind her—not slamming it, but firm enough to make a point.
When she was gone, I exhaled, long and heavy, collapsing into my chair. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the tension coiled in every muscle of my body.
Part of me said she deserved it—for trying to fool me.
But the other part—the one I didn’t want to listen to—whispered that I was only fooling myself.