Cruel Boss, You Are My Destiny

Fate or coincidence?

Valeria’s POV

I leave the club after a few hours with my friends and get into my car, a little dizzy. What can a woman do after everything that’s happening to her? I really want to be strong, to make a clear decision about this, but I feel so weak and alone that all I can do is grab a bottle of vodka to ease the overwhelming urge I have to just die right now.

“It’s immature, I know,” but it’s the only thing that relieves the feeling of vulnerability I’m experiencing. I wish I could talk to Paula, one of my best friends at the publishing house, but I don’t want to disturb the peace I know she has in her life right now.

I drive home, my blue eyes clouded from the alcohol I drank, while thinking about reporting William for rape. That would be the solution to my problems, but I’m also aware of the power he has and that, compared to him, I’m a nobody. I’m just the submissive wife he keeps at home for show.

I stop at a traffic light and cup my face in my hands, then grab my phone. A notification pops up, and I immediately open it when I realize who it’s from.

“My dear husband.”

He’s in a magazine with Laura by his side. I frown and press my lips together, trying to contain the rage this is generating in me, the rage I feel because he’s making their relationship public without caring that he’s still married to me.

“He has no respect.”

I look for his number and start calling him, but it goes straight to voicemail. I send him a message, insulting him and telling him what a degenerate he is, and then I drive to a cafe.

“I need to get something to sober up.”

As soon as I park on the street, I get out with my purse in my left hand. I smooth down my dress and fix my messy hair, then look around and hurry into the cafe.

“I feel like I’m being watched.”

The cafe is usually empty at this hour, so there are several empty tables. I sit down at one and look at the menu the waiter immediately hands me.

“I’ll have a double espresso, please, and a cappuccino” I look at the pastries on the menu, “and a dozen of these pastries, too.”

I hand it to him with a smile and take a book by one of my authors to see how it turned out after the editing. Twenty minutes later, the waiter brings me my order. I take the black coffee and start drinking it while slowly turning the pages, feeling the effects of the alcohol slowly leave my body. More relaxed now, I take the cappuccino and drink it faster, along with the pastries, since it’s warm. I eat everything desperately, feeling as if someone is watching me, but hey, anyone could be watching me; there are several people around.

“Excuse me,” I raise my hand to call the waiter, “check, please.”

He immediately brings me the bill. I smile and search my purse for some cash, but then I realize…

“It’s not there. I left it all in my other bag.”

I swallow hard and exclaim, my cheeks flushed, “I think I’ll pay with a card,” I tell him, noticing the young man giving me a less-than-friendly look.

“Does he think I don’t have money to pay?”

“Follow me, please,” he says.

I stand up and follow him to the cashier, where he announces what I’m going to pay. I take out my gold card and hand it to the girl, arms crossed, truly offended.

“I have money to pay you.”

“Ma’am, it’s been declined,” she says, making me go pale.

“Impossible! Run it again, please. You must be entering something wrong,” I insist.

The girl runs it again and then announces, “It’s been declined.” She looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

I take out another one of my cards and hand it to her, embarrassed, but she says the same thing, and the same thing with the next one.

“Damn you, William, I’m going to kill you and hide your body in my backyard.” Well, not in the backyard…

“Can I go home and come back later with the payment?” I ask hopefully.

“Seriously, miss?! If you don’t have money to pay, you’ll have to find a way to get it.” I clench my jaw.

“I do have money; I just switched purses. My husband is William Cruz, the millionaire owner of the textile company, you know? He blocked my cards, but I can…” The woman smiles mockingly, along with the waiter.

“Right, and I’m the First Lady,” she replies sarcastically.

“You don’t believe me?” I glare at her. “It’s the truth. I’m William Cruz’s wife, and if you let me go home, I’ll pay the bill right away. In fact, with interest.”

“Call the police,” she says immediately.

“The police? Over some pastries and coffee? Don’t be so miserly, miss.” The woman puts her hands on the counter and gets up from her seat angrily.

I’m about to hit her when I hear a deep, electrifying voice say, “How much does the lady owe?” I turn around in slow motion to get a good look at the man from this morning.

“Swallow me whole.”

He’s wearing the same clothes as earlier, only his hair is messier, as if he’s been stressed for quite some time.

“$11.50,” the woman replies, annoyed.

I see him take out a fifty dollar bill and hand it to her, then say, “Keep the change.” He turns and walks out as if nothing happened.

I follow him outside, and as soon as I see him trying to get into his car, I stop him by grabbing his arm.

“Wait, wait. I’ll pay you what I owe you. Just give me your account number and I’ll…”

“Just like you paid for the damage you did to my car?” he asks, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“He’s so handsome, and so sarcastic at the same time.”

“I gave you my card and you didn’t want to take it, but I promise to pay you everything, just…”

“Are you going to call your husband to pay me?” he asks, his jaw clenched. “Because you have a husband, don’t you?” I try to open my mouth, but he stops me. “I heard you tell the cashier.” He frowns.

“Were you spying on me?” I narrow my eyes, confused.

I see him chuckle, then pull a card out of his shirt pocket and hold it out to me as he steps closer and says, “Call me when you have my money, okay?” he says, close to my lips.

I try to speak, but the jerk gets into his car and drives off with his bodyguards behind him. I put the card in my purse without looking at it and get into my car to drive home.

As soon as I get inside, I walk to the stairs without turning on the lights. It’s nighttime, and from what I’ve seen, William hasn’t come home.

“He must still be with that Laura.”

I clench my fists and climb the stairs, then go into my room. I throw my purse on the bed and kick off my heels at the entrance, then lock the door behind me. I look at myself in the mirror and undress, my heart heavy. I can’t help but remember his hands on me, can’t help but feel the humiliation rising up inside me. I shake my head and walk naked to the shower. As always, I bathe with jasmine water and then apply my simple routine: wash, moisturize, and leave a mask on my face, then put on my teddy bear pajamas and lie down in the fetal position.

As soon as I close my eyes, the Italian’s face comes to mind, sending shivers down my spine. His gray eyes are deep, as if hiding a painful past. And don’t even get me started on his aura—he’s one of those men who act like they’re good but are really the opposite.

I sit up in bed and take the card out of my purse to make out the name on it.

“Mattia Morgan,” I read softly.

“Where?” “Where have I seen that last name?”