I arrived at the office before 8:00 a.m., freshly showered, perfectly dressed, and, most terrifyingly, calm.
I arrived early not because I had extra work to do, but because I wanted to be calm, composed, and fully in control before he walked through those doors.
Everything about me screamed unbothered. Composed. Ice.
The only proof of the emotional chaos still twisting in my gut was the way I pressed my nails into my palm beneath my desk.
I didn’t even look up when I heard the elevator doors slide open.
At 9:07 a.m., Matteo Russo stumbled into the office.
And I mean stumbled.
His tie was missing, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his eyes those sharp, calculating eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with fatigue. His jaw was tight, his lips slightly parted like he hadn’t slept. Or
