Chapter 7 007
Rhea's POV
"Thanks for the hospitality, but I'm done here," I snapped. I didn't wait for an answer, I spun on my heel and headed for the door.
I didn't even make it two steps when his hand shot out, and his fingers locked around my wrist.
He yanked me back so hard I let out a sharp yelp, stumbling until I slammed right into his chest.
His arm hooked around my waist to keep me from face-planting, and my hand ended up flat against his chest.
I could feel the heat of him right through the fabric. We stayed like that, completely still, just breathing each other's air.
I hated how fast my heart started thumping. It was that same old pull—the one that always made me stupid.
His eyes went dark, shifting into something that I couldn't quite read. It looked like hunger, or maybe regret, like he was just as wrecked by our separation as I was.
"How often does it happen?"
"Huh?" I stuttered, my brain short-circuiting from the proximity.
His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my hip.
"Don't make me repeat myself, Rhea," he growled, the vibration humming through me.
"How often do men like that think they can touch you?"
I swallowed hard, the blood rushing so loud in my ears I could barely hear myself think.
Alejandro had always been like this; protective to the point of being possessive.
Back then, he'd started fights over a stray glance, leaving guys in the dirt just for looking at me in a lustful way.
That same energy was radiating off him now.
But it didn't make sense.
Why play the protector now, after he was the one who broke me? I couldn't figure out his endgame.
Was he trying to fix things, or was he just not finished tearing me apart?
"It's the first time," I mumbled, looking everywhere but at him.
That set him off. He lifted my chin with his free hand, holding me in place—not rough, not gentle either, just enough to remind me who was in control.
"You know I hate it when you lie to me, Rhea," he whispered. He was so close his breath ghosted against my lips.
For a split second, I felt my walls start to crumble. The pull was like a magnet, dragging every buried memory to the surface and making me want to just disappear into him.
But then the cold reality hit: the lies, the secrets, and the way he'd dismantled my life without a second thought.
I found a scrap of strength from within and shoved his chest, forcing some air between us.
"Look, I appreciate the help," I breathed, smoothing my hair. "But you're my boss. My life outside the office is none of your business."
"That's where you're wrong, Rhea."
He was on his feet now, his hands sliding into his pockets, exuding an effortless power.
"Excuse me?"
He chuckled again, stepping forward. I backed up instinctively.
"As my personal assistant, nothing you do exists outside my concern. Your time, your side work, your well-being—it all feeds into how you perform for me. You don't get to separate the two. Not here."
He paused. "If you walk into my office bruised, exhausted, or barely functioning because you're pouring drinks in some dive bar, that reflects on my company."
"Then fire me!" I challenged, my voice rising. "I already did enough today to earn it. Give me my pink slip and let me go."
A wicked, slow smile spread across his lips—the kind that made my blood run cold.
He stepped into my space until I was backed against the marble wall.
"Trust me, Rhea, there are far worse punishments than being fired. You'll keep working for me until I say you're done."
"And what if I say I no longer want to work for the company?" I raised a brow, trying to match his defiance.
He laughed, a deep, rich sound that shook his shoulders.
"Baby, you don't even have a choice. The moment you make that decision, get ready to sleep on the streets. No company, or even a small shop would employ you. I'm not talking just California; every damn corner of the world. It's up to you."
The rage boiled in my chest, rendering me helpless. He had the power to erase me, and he knew it. That stupid smirk said it all.
How did he get this powerful? I wondered.
He saw the defeat in my eyes and looked satisfied.
"That's more like it. My housekeeper will bring you clothes for the night. We leave for the meeting tomorrow at 11:00 AM sharp."
He turned his back on me and walked away, leaving me standing in his cold, beautiful palace, staring daggers at his retreating back.
^^^^^
A few minutes after Alejandro vanished into the shadows of his own house, a middle-aged woman in a crisp uniform appeared. She didn't say much, just offered a polite, practiced smile and led me up a grand staircase.
When she opened the door to the guest suite, I actually forgot to breathe for a second.
Even back when my parents were rich, before the bankruptcy, before the shame, I hadn't seen luxury like this.
The room was massive, decorated in soft creams and brushed gold, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the dark, restless ocean.
"—would you like anything to eat, ma'am?" the housekeeper's voice broke through my daze, soft and steady.
I shook my head, my belly feeling too full to swallow even a drop of water.
"No, thank you. I just... I need to sleep."
She gave a small, knowing nod and left, closing the heavy oak door with a soft thud.
I stood there for a moment, inhaling the faint, elegant scent of roses that lingered in the air.
Suddenly, my mood turned soured, and I couldn't stop the thought from creeping in: This could have been ours. If he hadn't lied. If I hadn't run. This life was supposed to be the "after" to our "once upon a time."
I shook the thought away before it could take root and headed for the bathroom.
I stayed under the hot spray of the shower until the steam filled the room, trying to wash away the feeling of Owen's hands on my skin.
When I finally stepped out, dripping and exhausted, I saw the nightgown the housekeeper had laid out on the bed.
My heart skipped a beat as I recognized it immediately.
It wasn't just any nightgown. It was mine.
A silk slip I'd bought years ago. I hadn't taken anything when I disappeared from his life; I had just evaporated, leaving my past behind in his drawers.
I was surprised he'd kept it.
My fingers trembled as I touched the fabric.
I brought it to my nose, and there it was—the faint, lingering scent of vanilla. It was the fragrance he used to obsess over, the one he'd buy me in every lotion and soap he could find because he said it made me smell like home.
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. I pulled the silk over my head and crawled into the impossibly soft bed.
I was just starting to drift off, my body finally sinking into the mattress, when my phone buzzed insistently on the armchair across the room.
Groaning, I dragged myself over and fished it out of the pocket.
My mother's name was blaring on the screen. I hesitated, a bad feeling churning in my gut, but I swiped to answer.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Her voice exploded through the speaker, laced with fury.
No hello, no concern—just straight to the attack.
I winced, and pulled the phone away from my ear.
"Mom, please—"
"Owen called us, Rhea! He's humiliated! He said some man attacked him because of you, and now he's pulling his support. Everything we worked for, every cent he promised to help with the debt... it's gone! He's out for blood, and it's your fault!"
"He was hurting me, Mom," I whispered, my voice trembling. "He was trying to force me into his car."
"He was trying to take care of you!" she shrieked, the venom in her voice shattering what was left of my heart. "We regret the day you were born. You've ruined us. You're so selfish. You should have died instead of her."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You don't know what Owen is capable of when he's angry," she added, her voice dropping to a cold, hateful hiss. "Don't look to us for help when he comes for you. We won't be saving you. Go find that 'hero' who saved you tonight and see if he'll pay your bills."
The line went dead. I stared at the dark screen, the silence of the luxurious room suddenly feeling like a tomb.
It's official; I am completely on my own now.
My parents had finally cut me off—not just a mere argument fight, but a total erasure. And worse? I had a miserable, obsessed widower hunting my life.