Dumped and Divorced, Renew to be Exclusive

Chapter 13

Liora

My first official day at work started far earlier than I expected.

Gina burst into my temporary bedroom at the apartment like a human alarm clock, already dressed in a crisp white blouse and black trousers, her hair in a sharp ponytail that bounced when she moved.

“Rise and shine, new corporate baby,” she announced, clapping her hands. “You’re about to meet the kingdom. And by kingdom, I mean half a dozen directors who pretend to be scarier than they are.”

I groaned into my pillow. “I liked you better last night when you were drunk.”

She gasped dramatically. “Wow. Hurtful. Get ready. We have ten minutes.”

Ten minutes. Great. My first day and I was already scrambling.

By the time I showered, dressed, and threw my hair into something halfway presentable, my nerves were a mess. The skirt I chose suddenly felt too tight, the blouse too formal, and the heels… well, the heels were going to be the death of me. But Gina insisted they were necessary because “presentation is power,” and at this point, survival meant obeying her.

The company building looked even more intimidating in the morning. Sleek glass, towering steel columns, everything polished to mirror perfection. I followed Gina through the lobby, trying not to look like a startled deer.

“Relax,” she whispered, bumping her shoulder into mine. “Everyone here acts like they own the world, but half of them cannot figure out the coffee machine.”

I forced a laugh and tried to breathe normally.

Our first stop was the eleventh floor. Gina swept me into a long hallway lined with offices and conference rooms, each door bearing a polished nameplate.

“This is the fun part,” she said. “Meet and greet time. Do your polite smile. The one you used in college when someone tried to flirt with you and you were pretending to be nice.”

I did not know which smile she meant, but apparently my default nervous expression worked.

She introduced me to the Director of Operations first. He was in his fifties, bald, with thick glasses and a deep frown carved into his face. For a terrifying moment, I thought he was going to interrogate me about my qualifications, but instead he shook my hand warmly.

“Ezra speaks highly of you,” he said. “We are glad to have you.”

Ezra speaks highly of me?

I managed a polite response, but internally I was spiraling. Ezra never said that. At least not to me.

Next were the Finance Director, the HR Deputy (who hugged Gina for far too long), the Head of Marketing, and two different managers overseeing corporate partnerships and investor relations.

Every introduction blurred into the next. Names, smiles, small talk, professional nods. Each handshake made my nerves buzz harder.

“Just breathe,” Gina whispered every few minutes when it looked like I was forgetting how to inhale.

I breathed. Sort of.

Eventually, she guided me to the legal department. The assistant I was replacing greeted me with a stiff smile, clearly relieved to hand over the workload.

“You’re taking over these files,” she said, sliding a thick stack into my arms. “Current cases, pending negotiations, contracts awaiting review, and a few internal compliance matters.”

I tried not to stagger under the weight.

She continued, flipping through the folders. “You have the Wyatt versus Carson intellectual property dispute, the McBain merger acquisition paperwork, the Stoneshore contractual breach case, a land zoning complaint for the East District project, and preliminary meetings for the SBE investor dispute.”

I blinked at her.

These were big cases. Major corporate battles. The kind people in law dramas break down crying over.

“You look terrified,” Gina murmured in my ear.

“I am,” I whispered.

“You’ll be fine.”

The legal assistant gave me a sympathetic look, then immediately turned to chat with a pair of interns who seemed equally relieved I had arrived.

“He really dumped everything on you,” one whispered as they passed.

“Of course he did,” the other muttered. “He always overloads new hires.”

Gina shot me a glare, silently warning me not to listen to gossip.

“We should go,” she said, steering me toward the hallway. “You have a full day with Ezra.”

My heart slammed into my ribs at the mention of his name.

Ezra.

After last night, just hearing it did something to my chest. I tried to ignore it.

The morning was a blur. Ezra had a schedule stacked so tightly I wondered when he found time to breathe. He moved through everything with sharp precision, almost too efficient, and I scrambled to keep up. Meetings, calls, contract reviews, signing documents, consultations with legal teams, updated reports, quick discussions with managers. Everything was fast, uninterrupted, and focused.

I barely sat at all.

Every time I tried to slip into a chair, Ezra would stand, and naturally I had to stand too. Every time I finally relaxed my feet, we were already heading to the next meeting.

I made notes, kept files organized, handed him the correct documents even when I was terrified I might mix them up. But he never snapped, never got impatient, never looked annoyed. He gave instructions calmly, and every so often, he glanced at me like he was checking if I was alright.

Once, when he paused at the window between meetings, he asked quietly, “Are you managing?”

I nodded quickly. “Yes.”

“You can ask for a break if you need one.”

“I am fine.”

He watched me for a second, eyes lingering on mine a little too long, but he let it go.

By lunchtime, my feet were throbbing so badly I could feel my pulse in my toes. By late afternoon, I was sure my skin was rubbing raw, but I refused to complain.

I did not want to look weak. Not on day one.

After the final meeting, Ezra straightened his jacket and nodded toward the elevator.

“We are going home.”

Home. For him, the luxury penthouse with immaculate marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. For me, just a temporary place to stay until I figured out my own life.

Still, the word warmed something inside me.

When we arrived, the elevator opened into the private foyer and I stepped out, expecting the quiet to swallow us like usual. Instead, a man I didn’t recognize was already waiting, standing with the composed stillness of someone trained never to take up unnecessary space.

He looked to be in his early fifties, dressed in a perfectly tailored butler’s suit, white gloves immaculate, posture straight but never stiff. His expression was calm, neutral, and observant in a way that made me instantly aware of every scuff on my shoes and every strand of hair out of place.

He bowed his head respectfully. “Good evening, sir. Miss Liora.”

Ezra glanced at me, then back at him. “Liora, this is Bob,” he said. “He oversees the household. If something functions around here, it’s because he makes sure it does.”

A butler.

Ezra had an actual butler.

For a moment I could only stare, because I had never been this close to someone who looked like they belonged in a mansion from a historical drama.

Bob turned to me with a gentle, practiced courtesy that somehow didn’t feel fake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Liora. Mr Reeve has mentioned you will be assisting with several upcoming events.”

“Oh,” I said before I could stop myself. “Right. Yes. That’s me.” Smooth. Very smooth.

He gave the faintest hint of a kindly smile, the kind only someone who had mastered subtlety over decades could offer. “Welcome. If you need anything during your work here, I am at your service.”

Then he turned to Ezra, hands folded behind his back. “Sir, the documents from the property division have been delivered to your study. I have arranged them in order of priority. Additionally, Chef has confirmed availability for the gala tasting.”

Ezra nodded. “Good. And the list for Liora?”

Bob shifted his attention back to me, offering a thick folder with the quiet precision of someone who had rehearsed every motion. “Miss Liora, I have compiled the necessary details for the upcoming banquets, conferences, and receptions. This includes guest itineraries, security schedules, vendor contacts, dietary arrangements, and transportation notes.”

I blinked at the folder’s weight. It could have doubled as a shield.

“I… will look through it tonight,” I managed.

“If there is anything that requires clarification,” Bob said, “you may inform me at any time. I am here to ensure your responsibilities proceed as smoothly as Mr Reeve expects.”

There was no judgment in his voice, no coldness—just a quiet efficiency and surprising warmth beneath the formality.

He stepped back, giving us space as Ezra motioned for me to walk toward the apartment.

And as I followed Ezra inside, I couldn’t help feeling that Bob was the kind of man who could run an entire mansion, organize a gala, and prevent three crises simultaneously… all without ever raising his voice.

Once inside he handed me another folder. Slightly smaller than the ones from earlier, but still heavy.

Bob continued, “You will need to coordinate guest lists, dietary restrictions, venue preparations, security confirmations, gift arrangements, schedules, transportation, arrival order, and press guidelines.”

My head spun a little.

Ezra glanced at me. “If it is too much, tell me.”

“I can handle it,” I said automatically.

Bob nodded approvingly. “Very good. If you have any questions, I am available.”

After Bob walked away, I exhaled slowly. Finally, I could sit.

I sank into a chair in the corner of the grand living room, slipping my heels off the moment Ezra turned his back. The cool marble floor felt like heaven against my burning skin. I rubbed my feet gently, wincing when my fingers found a raw spot near the back of my heel.

A strip of skin had rubbed completely off. My other foot wasn’t much better, red and swollen from the endless walking.

I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the sting.

“Liora?”

My eyes snapped open.

Ezra stood just a few steps away, jacket off, sleeves rolled, watching me with a crease between his brows.

He must have walked back in quietly.

I sat up quickly and tucked my feet under the chair. “I’m fine.”

“You are not,” he said calmly. “You’ve barely sat all day.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt work.” My voice came out smaller than I meant it to.

He looked at the shoes on the floor, then at the way I was trying to hide the damage. A flash of something concern, irritation, protectiveness passed through his expression.

“You should have told me,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to endure pain to prove yourself.”

“I’m okay,” I insisted, even though the throbbing was getting worse.

He didn’t argue. But he didn’t look away either.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, watching me like he was trying to understand something he couldn’t ask out loud.

Finally, he spoke again. “I’ll have Bob bring a first-aid kit.”

“You don’t need to do that,” I said quickly.

“I do,” he replied, already turning toward the hallway. “Wait here.”

As he walked away, the apartment fell silent again, warm and soft and far too intimate for my heartbeat.

I leaned back in the chair, letting the quiet settle around me.

The ache in my feet pulsed, but the ache in my chest was worse, complicated, unfamiliar, and growing stronger with every moment he showed even the smallest bit of care.

I didn’t know what I was stepping into.

I didn’t know what he felt.

I didn’t even know what I wanted.

But sitting there, barefoot in his home, watching him move with quiet determination to help me…

For the first time since everything in my life fell apart, I felt something close to safe.

And that scared me more than anything.