10
The ride home felt like a blur.
I stared out the car window, watching the city rush past in a haze of lights and movement, but I couldn't focus on anything.
My chest still felt heavy, my breathing shallow.
I was thankful Luca had insisted on sending me home in the company car because I wasn't sure I could navigate the subway in this state.
His words echoed in my head, cutting deep and reopening wounds I thought had healed.
"You might as well have invited him to continue."
"That's not good enough."
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. Why did he have to be so cruel? I had done nothing wrong. Mr. Becker's behavior had made me uncomfortable, but I didn't know how to stop it without causing a scene. And yet, somehow, I was the one being blamed, as if I'd encouraged it.
Gosh he's so rude!
It wasn't just Luca's anger that hurt. It was the way it mirrored voices from my past.
Growing up, my father's temper had been a constant shadow in my life.
He was never physically abusive, but his words were sharp, his disappointment always looming.
If I spilled a drink, it was, "Why can't you be more careful?
" If I brought home a less-than-perfect grade, it was, "You're not trying hard enough. "
And then there was the move at fifteen which made it all worse. No matter what I did, it was never enough.
I thought I'd escaped that suffocating cycle when I left England for a fresh start, but today proved that the past wasn't so easily left behind.
By the time I arrived home, I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally.
I kicked off my heels and sank onto the couch, pulling a blanket around me like a shield.
My thoughts raced, bouncing between anger at Luca, shame for how I'd reacted, and sadness for the way I'd let it all affect me.
And it wasn't long before I let the tears I'd been holding.
A part of me wanted to confront him, to tell him how unfair his accusations were, but another part of me was too afraid. He was my boss, after all. What if standing up for myself made things worse? This job meant a lot to me.
I curled up tighter on the couch, letting the familiar ache of loneliness settle over me. The feeling wasn't new, but it was heavier tonight, dragging me down like an anchor as the only sound was my own sobs echoing through the apartment.
All I could do was breathe through it, piece myself back together, and hope tomorrow would be kinder.
I paced my office, the tension in my chest coiled so tightly it felt like it might snap.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I replayed the scene in my head—the way I'd lashed out at Lenora, the look of hurt and fear in her eyes as my words tore into her, the way her lips shook. I'd been cruel, harsher than necessary, and for what? To soothe my bruised ego?
Sweet innocent Lenora. And all I did was hurt her every time
I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself.
Lenora was innocent in all this. She hadn't encouraged Beckers's flirtation—if anything, she'd looked uncomfortable, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she tried to navigate the situation.
But the moment I saw him leaning in, whispering to her like she was his to charm, something inside me snapped.
I'd felt a surge of jealousy so intense it bordered on rage.
She was mine and no motherfucker had the right to think anything about her.
I hated the way Becker had looked at her, like she was a prize to be won. I hated the way she hadn't immediately shut him down—not because it meant she was interested, but because it made me feel powerless.
And I hated the way that feeling had spilled over, leading me to take it out on her.
You're a bastard Luca. The biggest bastard.
I sank into my chair, resting my elbows on the desk and burying my face in my hands.
This wasn't like me. I prided myself on control, on keeping my emotions in check. But something about Lenora unraveled that control, exposing parts of myself I didn't even want to acknowledge.
She was too sweet, too vulnerable, too... perfect.
And that terrified me.
I didn't know when it had started—this obsession with her.
At first, she was just another assistant, competent and quiet.
But over time, I found myself noticing the little things: the way her mismatched eyes sparkled when she was focused, the nervous way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the soft blush that spread across her cheeks whenever I spoke to her.
I'd told myself it was nothing, just a passing fascination. But it wasn't.
It was dangerous.
And today had proven that.
When she'd had that panic attack in my office, I felt like the worst kind of monster. Watching her struggle to breathe, her eyes wide with fear, had been a sobering reminder of how much damage my words could do. She doesn't deserve it.
God she deserved to be protected.
I should have apologized. I should have comforted her. But instead, I'd sent her away, too afraid to face the consequences of my actions.
Coward. My subconscious mocked.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair and staring at the ceiling. I couldn't keep doing this—tearing her down one moment and obsessing over her the next. It wasn't fair to her, and it wasn't healthy for me.
But how could I let go of something—or someone—who had burrowed so deeply under my skin?
My phone buzzed on the desk, pulling me from my thoughts. It was a message from one of the German clients, thanking me for the meeting and subtly hinting at Becker's interest in Lenora.
My jaw clenched, the surge of jealousy returning with a vengeance.
I needed to get a grip.
Tomorrow, I'd find a way to fix this—to fix us. But for now, all I could do was sit in the dark, wrestling with the mess I'd made and the feelings I couldn't control. Those mismatched eyes staring into mine with fear and so much innocence.