Chapter 4
Well… that was a disaster.
I knew the interviews would be rough, but I didn’t expect that.
Every single candidate felt like a walking headache.
The first woman sat at a desk that wasn’t even hers yet—my desk—and started touching everything on it like a raccoon.
What if a contract had been lying out? What if confidential reports were there?
She wasn’t even an employee. She had no right to flip things over like she owned the place.
The next one practically fogged the hallway with her perfume. And her barely-there outfit? “Office vixen” wasn’t the job description, but she clearly hadn’t bothered reading the email. Or she just didn’t care.
And the third… God. She walked in lecturing me about how the company needed a “full overhaul” and how she had ideas that would “redefine the workplace”—before she was even remotely close to being hired.
By the time she leaves, I sink into my chair and swallow two more painkillers. I honestly don’t know what will get me first: period pain or the overdose I’m inching toward.
Two more candidates are still left to interview. And I need at least a week to train whoever gets the job. A week of pretending my chest isn’t splitting open at the thought of someone else sitting beside Enzo every morning.
I just need him to choose one of them. Just one.
Even though their first impressions aren’t great, I still think we should’ve given them a chance. People screw up. They adjust. If we fire everyone after one mistake, nobody survives long enough to become good at this job.
I press my fingers to my temple, pushing down the pain—physical and the other kind. The ugly jealousy. The dread. The fact that, after everything, I’m really leaving this company. Leaving him.
I wipe a tear away quickly. I don’t cry at work. It’s unprofessional, and Enzo hates emotion that can’t be controlled.
I force myself to focus on the list of things left for the day: inputting the new meeting schedule, preparing notes for the conference, checking the marketing team’s report—
Movement catches my eye.
Enzo steps out of his office with that cold aura he carries like a second skin.
I grab my tablet, ignore the throb in my abdomen, and hurry after him.
“Sir, we have a meeting in an hour with the—”
“Cancel it.”
“Sir? That’s extremely short notice—”
“Cancel everything.” He doesn’t slow down. “Reschedule my entire day. I’ll handle the conference myself.”
“What?” My pace quickens automatically. “Sir, that’s not—”
“Mila,” he says, low and flat, “go home.”
He’s already detaching. Already practicing life without me. And here I am, trying not to fall apart over the idea of leaving, and he’s… adjusting. Effortlessly. As if I’m just another administrative detail he can erase and reorganize.
“Okay, Sir,” I manage quietly.
I stop walking. He doesn’t. He disappears down the hallway without a single backward glance.
Three years, and that’s all I get.
This job gave me structure, purpose… and it also ruined me, because now every man I meet feels like a placeholder for the shadow of Enzo Morelli. He sits in the center of my mind like some dark star everything else orbits.
I need space. I need distance.
I grab my purse, my keys, offer a quick wave to the coworkers who actually care that I exist, and head to the parking lot.
I manage to hold myself together until I close my car door. Then it breaks. I cry the entire drive home.
Why couldn’t I be Enzo Morelli’s curse? His brothers found theirs. That strange family affliction that makes them lose their minds with obsession for the one woman they’re meant to have.
Why not me?
The thought makes me cringe at myself. Pathetic. Delusional.
I park in front of my apartment building and force the crying to stop. I won’t torture myself like this. Enough of this one-sided obsession. It has to end.
By the time I reach my apartment, my uterus is tearing itself apart, and the inside of my chest feels scraped raw.
I drop my purse on the couch, kick off my heels, and head straight for the shower. When I’m done, I throw on an oversized shirt, plug in my heating pad, and curl on my bed with it pressed tight to my stomach. I can’t stand being alone with my thoughts, so I call my sister.
Lilly picks up on the third ring.
“Hold on—HOLD ON, LEO—God, Mila, give me a second.” There’s frantic rustling; my newborn nephew is giving her hell. Poor thing has a digestion issue and is gassy all the time. “Okay, tell me.”
“I quit.”
“You—wait, what?” Another baby scream pierces through. “Leo, sweetheart, please—Mila, QUIT what?”
“My job.” I squeeze the heating pad harder against my stomach. “Enzo. The company. All of it. I’m done.”
She goes silent for a full two seconds, which is the longest she’s ever been quiet in her life.
“You quit Enzo Morelli,” she repeats slowly, making sure she heard right and not hallucinating from sleep deprivation. “Why? What happened? Did he finally combust from being emotionally constipated?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “No. I’m just—I can’t do it anymore. I can’t work next to a man who doesn’t even notice I exist unless he needs something typed. A man that doesn’t realize how in love with him I am.”
“Mila, you’ve been in love with that man for three damn years.”
“I know. And he’s never going to look at me the way I—it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” I hear her shifting, probably rocking the baby.
“It’s painful. And it’s… toxic as hell. But you did the right thing,” she continues.
“You should have left a long time ago. You deserve to breathe without wondering if he’s going to notice you today or ignore you tomorrow.
You deserve… hell, you deserve someone who actually sees you.
He’s not in the wrong for not feeling anything towards you, but you’re also not in the wrong for wanting something safer for your heart. It’s just an ugly situation.”
“I feel like I’m going to fall apart,” I whisper.
“Good, let yourself fall apart. Then get up. And go live. Go out. Go dancing. Go kiss someone who looks at you like you’re a miracle, not like you’re another item on his damn schedule.”
She’s right, it’s about time I lived a little.
“And Mila,” she adds, “you’re not cheating on Enzo by moving on. He never gave you anything to be loyal to. You’re free. It’s time to start acting like it.”
She hit the nail right on the head. For whatever psychological reason I don’t want to get into, I feel guilty for trying to move on…like I’m cheating on Enzo. Which is insane, because we’re absolutely nothing more than the office.
“I hate how right you are,” I murmur.
“I know. I also know you’re heartbroken. But staying stuck on a man who only sees your back as you walk out of his office? Is that what you really want?”
Just like always, she’s right.
I try to imagine what freedom even feels like. It doesn't come. But I’m sure it will. Eventually.