CHAPTER 27
“Pain can be the bridge that leads us to a new beginning…”
MARIA GAbrIELA
I’d managed to stay free of Diego for two weeks—but that ended today.
It was almost strange how much lighter the office had felt while he was gone. He’d been away on a business trip—one he’d chosen to take alone—and the whole company had seemed to breathe easier in his absence.
Even I’d managed to keep my head on straight for once. But I knew that peace had an expiration date, and, of course, today was the day everything would go back to normal.
Or… almost.
When Diego walked into the office after lunch, the change in the air was immediate.
He always had a way of making the atmosphere feel heavier, but today, there was something darker about him. His stride was sharp, his gaze fixed straight ahead. He didn’t greet anyone, didn’t smile—just threw me a brief, unreadable look before disappearing into his office.
Be professional, Maria Gabriela. Just go with the flow, and everything will be fine.
That hope didn’t last long. Barely twenty minutes later, a message popped up on my computer: “Come to my office. Now.”
I swallowed hard and stood up.
I wasn’t ready to deal with him—but there was no avoiding it.
He was at his desk, as usual, but the hardness in his expression made it clear that patience wasn’t something he had today.
“Maria Gabriela,” he began, not even looking up from the papers in front of him. “I trust things didn’t fall apart while I was gone.”
There was something in his tone—rigid, clipped—that made me feel small. I forced my voice to stay steady, keeping my professional mask in place even as my heart started pounding like it always did when I faced him.
“Everything went as planned, Mr. Bittencourt.” I stood straight, but it felt like walking on eggshells.
He finally lifted his eyes to meet mine, and that look—intense, assessing—sent a chill through me. But it wasn’t the same as usual. There was something colder there. Calculated. Like he was studying me, searching for a crack.
“Good,” he said. “Now, about the report I asked you to finish…” He stood, moving around his desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing in front of me. “Is it done?”
I froze for a moment. It wasn’t.
The deadline he’d given me had been impossible, and we both knew it. He’d done it on purpose.
“Not yet,” I said firmly, trying not to let my growing anxiety show. “I’ll need more time to complete it properly.”
He stopped right in front of me, folding his arms across his chest, tilting his head slightly as if he were dissecting my every word. The silence between us thickened, heavy and oppressive.
“More time?” he repeated, tasting the words like a challenge. “I don’t recall saying that was optional. When I assign a task, I expect it to be done—no excuses.”
“I’m not making excuses, Diego,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. The boldness of using his name surprised even me, but I was tired—tired of always having to defend myself. “You know the deadline was unrealistic. If you want it done right, I need more time.”
His eyes flashed—somewhere between irritation and… was that satisfaction?
It was hard to tell. He was playing a game, and I knew it.
“Realistic?” he said, stepping closer until his presence filled the space between us.
“Being realistic would mean understanding that if you don’t meet the deadline I gave you, you won’t need to come back to this office.
And I’m not talking about the end of your six months. I’m talking about tomorrow.”
The air left my lungs. The threat in his voice was unmistakable.
“Diego, that’s not fair,” I said, my voice softer than I intended but still firm. “You know I’ve always done my job. This isn’t about work—this is you testing me, punishing me for—”
“Oh, please.” He laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “You really think this is punishment? I told you things would be different.”
“You can’t—” I started, but he cut me off.
“I can—and I will,” he snapped, his tone slicing through the room. “And don’t think this ends here. From now on, you don’t leave this building until your work is finished, no matter how late it gets. And trust me—I can make this a lot worse for you if I want to.”
The words hung in the air like a verdict.
The Diego I’d known before—the one who provoked and teased—was gone. This version was colder, crueler. The old games almost seemed kind in comparison.
“You wouldn’t do that to me…” I whispered, not sure I even believed my own words.
He leaned back slightly, tilting his head like he was already bored.
“I already am. And if you think I’m bluffing, I suggest you start paying closer attention.”
He shot me one last look, then turned back to his desk, signaling that our conversation was over.
I stood there for a moment, stunned, trying to process what had just happened. He was really going to treat me like this—and once again, I had no choice but to bow my head and take it.
“You can go back to work, Maria Gabriela,” he said finally, his voice cold, devoid of emotion.
Without a word, I turned and left the office, my chest tight with anger and frustration.
Diego Bittencourt was determined to make the next six months a living hell.
And somehow, I was going to have to survive it.
I came home exhausted, but Max’s boundless energy snapped me out of my daze within seconds. He greeted me at the door, tail wagging, those bright brown eyes full of life and warmth.
It was almost as if he knew my day had been a complete disaster—and he was there, ready to fix it in his own way.
“Hey, Max!” I smiled, crouching down to scratch his head. “I think you’re the only good thing that’s happened to me these past few days, you know that?”
He barked happily and started spinning in circles, making me laugh for the first time that day. I let myself sink into that simple joy, so different from everything I felt at work.
Max bounced around me, determined to play, like he wanted to chase away the dark thoughts clouding my mind—and I was grateful for it.
I walked to the kitchen, and, as always, he followed close behind, his excited paws clicking against the floor of the small apartment. I opened the cabinet, grabbed his food, and poured it into his bowl. He waited patiently—or at least tried to—his eyes practically begging me to hurry.
“Hungry, huh, buddy?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
The second I set the bowl down, he dove in. While he ate, I leaned against the counter, finally letting the fatigue sink in.
“Max…” I murmured, watching him finish his food. “You’re gonna love the baby, you know that? You two are going to be inseparable.”
That night, it was just me, Max, and this quiet little feeling that somehow, things were going to be okay.
I picked up the ball from the corner of the living room and tossed it to him. He ran after it with his usual enthusiasm, and for a moment, I managed to forget everything that had been weighing me down.
I knew I needed moments like this—moments of peace, of normalcy—before facing the storm that was Diego.
After a few rounds of fetch, Max finally started to tire out. He flopped down, panting, clearly ready to call it a night.
I collapsed onto the couch, and he immediately jumped up, resting his head on my lap, silently demanding affection. My fingers moved through his fur almost automatically as my thoughts drifted back—to work, to Diego, to the baby.
“What am I going to do?” I whispered softly, more to myself than to him. “How am I supposed to handle all of this alone?”
He just looked up at me with those honest eyes, as if to say I could do it—that everything would turn out fine.
I got up, ready to call it a night. My body was begging for rest. I guided him to his bed next to mine, and he curled up without a fight, clearly content.
“Goodnight, boy,” I whispered, turning off the light and crawling into bed.