Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
VIOLET
Before I know it, somehow it's Monday. A mixture of anticipation and dread settles in my stomach like lead. I'm finally going back to work after nearly five days away, and everything feels different. Hell, I feel different.
Santiago's arm tightens around my waist as my alarm goes off, pulling me closer to his warm chest.
"You sure you're ready for this?" he asks, his voice rough with sleep.
"No," I admit, turning in his arms to face him. "But I can't hide forever. Besides, I have something I need to do."
His dark eyes search mine. "The conversation with Victorio?"
I nod, anxiety fluttering in my chest. "My birthday is Friday. If I'm going to tell him, it needs to be soon."
Santiago cups my face gently, thumb tracing my cheekbone where the last traces of the bruise have faded to a barely visible yellow. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
"I know. But I am ready. For the first time in my life, I feel strong enough to handle whatever happens."
He kisses me softly. "That's my girl."
The possessive warmth in his voice sends heat through me, reminding me of everything that's changed between us. I'm his now, officially. His old lady, his submissive, his woman. The thought should terrify me, but instead it makes me feel powerful.
"Help me pick out what to wear?" I ask.
Santiago's eyes darken. "Stand up."
The command in his voice makes my pulse quicken. I climb out of bed, completely naked from our activities last night, and stand beside the bed with my hands at my sides. He studies me for a moment, and I feel that familiar thrill of being assessed by him.
"The black dress," he says finally. "The one that hits just above your knees. With the black heels. No panties."
My breath catches. "Santiago—"
"Sir," he corrects, sitting up in bed. "When I'm giving you instructions, it's Sir."
"Sir," I correct myself, heat pooling between my thighs. "I can't go to work without underwear."
"You can, and you will. Every time you move, every time you sit down, you'll remember who you belong to. You'll remember that I could command you to come to the bathroom and fuck you against the sink, and you'd do it without question."
The thought makes me squeeze my thighs together. "Yes, Sir."
"Good girl. Now get dressed. And Violet?"
"Yes?"
"When you talk to Victorio today, remember that you're not the same woman who started working there over a year ago. You're stronger now. You're mine now. And no matter what happens, you're coming home to me."
His words stay with me as I shower and get ready. The black dress fits like a second skin, professional but sexy. Without panties, I'm hyper aware of every single movement, every brush of fabric against my skin. I know it's exactly what Santiago intended.
By the time I arrive at Season's offices downtown, I've managed to compartmentalize my nerves. I can do this. I need to do this.
"Violet!" Jessie practically launches herself at me as soon as I step off the elevator. "Oh my God, I was so worried about you. Are you okay? What happened? Holy shit, you look amazing."
I hug her back, grateful for her friendship. "I'm okay. Really. Just had some personal stuff to deal with."
She pulls back, studying my face. "You do look different. Good different. Like... confident different."
"A lot has happened," I admit. "But we can't talk about it here. Lunch today?"
"Absolutely. Oh, and heads up—everyone's been asking about you. Especially Victorio. He kept asking Jennifer when you'd be back."
My stomach flips. "Really?"
"Yeah. I think he's got some big project he wants you to lead. You've been making quite the impression."
I settle back into my workspace, catching up on emails and reviewing the social media campaigns that ran while I was away. Everything seems to have run smoothly in my absence, which is both relieving and slightly concerning.
Around ten, my phone buzzes with a text from Santiago:
How's my good girl doing?
I glance around to make sure no one's watching before typing back:
Thinking about what you made me do this morning.
It's not even a minute before he's responded back.
Good. Remember who you belong to.
The exchange leaves me flushed and distracted. I force myself to focus on work, diving into analytics reports and planning content for the rest of the week.
Just before lunch, Clarise from Victorio's office appears at my desk. "Hi Violet. Mr. Ramirez would like to see you in his office when you have a moment."
My heart starts pounding. "Did he say what about?"
"Just that he wanted to welcome you back and discuss some upcoming projects."
I take a deep breath, checking my appearance in my phone's camera. My makeup is perfect, covering any trace of what happened last week. I look professional, put-together, confident.
I can do this.
Victorio's office is on the top floor, all glass and steel with a stunning view of the city. He's standing by the windows when I knock on the open door.
"Violet, come in. Close the door behind you."
I do as he asks, my palms slightly damp as I approach his desk. "You wanted to see me?"
He turns, and for a moment I just study his face, looking for any resemblance to my own. He's in his late forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and kind brown eyes. His skin is olive-toned, like mine, and there's something about the shape of his nose that reminds me of looking in the mirror.
"First, I wanted to make sure you're okay," he says, gesturing for me to sit. "Jennifer mentioned you had a family emergency."
"I'm fine now, thank you. Ready to get back to work."
"Good. Because I have something I wanted to discuss with you." He sits behind his desk, pulling out a folder. "Your work over the past year has been exceptional. The social media campaigns you've developed have significantly increased our engagement in addition to our overall brand recognition."
"Thank you. I love what I do here."
"It shows. Which is why I'd like to offer you a promotion. Senior Digital Marketing Manager, with a team of your own and a substantial salary increase."
The offer should make me ecstatic, but all I can think about is the conversation I need to have with him. The secret I've been carrying for over a year.
"That's... that's incredible. Thank you."
"You seem hesitant. Is there something else on your mind?"
This is it. The moment I've been both dreading and hoping for.
"Actually, there is something I need to tell you. Something personal."
Victorio's eyebrows rise slightly. "Of course. What is it?"
I take a deep breath, all my carefully rehearsed words evaporating. "I need to ask you about someone you might have known. About twenty-five years ago. In northern Florida."
His expression shifts, becoming more guarded. "Go on."
"Elena Martinez. She was a journalism student at the University of Florida. She was... she was a beautiful. Latina. She interviewed you for a piece she was writing about up-and-coming journalists."
The color drains from Victorio's face. "Elena," he whispers. "How do you know Elena?"
"Because she's my mother."
The words hang in the air between us like a bomb waiting to explode. Victorio stares at me, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide with shock.
"Your mother," he repeats slowly.
"She never told you about me. She made that choice, and I respect it. But I needed you to know. I needed to know."
He's quiet for so long I start to worry he's having some kind of medical episode. Finally, he speaks.
"You're twenty-four?"
"I'll be twenty-five on Friday."
"Elena." He says my mother's name like a prayer. "I haven't spoken that name in... God, in decades. How is she?"
My throat tightens. "She passed away three years ago. Cancer."
The news hits him hard, like he wasn't expecting it. He sinks back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"She spoke about you," I say softly. "Not often, but when she did, it was with fondness. She said you were brilliant, passionate about your work. She said she knew you weren't the settling down type, so she never told you."
"She was right," he admits. "Back then, all I cared about was chasing the next story, making a name for myself. I was selfish. Reckless." He looks at me again, really looks at me. "But if I had known..."
"What? Would you have stayed? Given up your dreams?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Probably not, if I'm being honest. But I would have wanted to be part of your life somehow."
We sit in silence, the weight of years of missed opportunities settling between us.
"Why now?" he asks. "Why tell me this now?"
"Because I almost lost the chance. Because I learned recently that life is too short to live with regrets. And because..." I pause, thinking of Santiago, of how he's taught me to be brave. "Because I deserved to know who my father was."
The word 'father' seems to break something in him. His eyes fill with tears, and for a moment, the powerful CEO facade crumbles, revealing a middle-aged man confronting the biggest surprise of his life.
"I have a daughter," he says wonderfully. "All this time, I had a daughter, and I didn't know."
"You do. And she turned out okay, in case you were wondering."
He laughs, a sound caught between joy and sorrow. "More than okay. Elena would be so proud of you. You're brilliant, talented, successful. You have her strength."
"And your stubbornness, apparently."
This makes him smile. "I can see that. God, Violet. I don't even know where to begin. There's so much I want to ask you, so much I want to know."
"We have time," I say. "That is, if you want to. I understand if this is too much, if you need space to process—"
"No." His voice is firm. "No, I don't want space. I want to know everything. I want to know about your childhood, your education, your dreams. I want to know what Elena was like as a mother. I want to..." He breaks off, overwhelmed.