Valerio's Secretary

Chapter Eleven: The Warning

Zara's POV

The morning light feels annoying.

I barely slept after getting home from the office. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Valerio’s body pressing me against the elevator wall, his breath on my lips, the hard evidence of how much he wanted me. My skin still tingles where his thumb had traced under my breast, and my mind keeps replaying the way he’d shoved himself away, as if touching me physically hurt him.

By six-thirty, I’m already dressed and kissing Liam’s forehead as he eats breakfast. He looks up at me with those big eyes that are so much like his father’s.

“Mommy, you look tired,” he says, syrup dripping down his chin.

I force a smile and wipe his face. “Mommy had a long night at the big building. But I’ll be home earlier tonight, okay?”

He nods, but I see the doubt flicker across his little face. Three years old and he’s already learning that Mommy’s promises sometimes get swallowed by work. The guilt sits heavily in my chest as I drive to Cruz Holdings.

The executive floor feels different today; charged, like the entire building knew what almost happened in that elevator. Maybe it’s all in my head.

I settle at my desk and try to focus. Valerio’s door is closed for once. Good, I need the distance. My body still hasn’t recovered from last night, and I don’t trust myself around him.

At nine-fifteen, the elevator dings, and I look up out of habit.

Clara Harrington steps onto the floor like she owns it.

She is everything the tabloids say — tall, elegant, with porcelain skin and perfectly highlighted blonde hair that falls in soft waves around her shoulders. Her cream designer dress hugs her figure like a second skin, and a diamond ring flashes on her finger as she walks straight toward Valerio’s office like she belongs.

Well…she does, and the thought makes my heart twist.

Her eyes land on me as she passes my desk, and she slows down, a polite smile curving her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You must be the new assistant,” she says, voice smooth as silk. “Zara, right?”

I stand up, keeping my tone professional. “Yes, Miss Harington. Good morning.”

She studies me openly, her gaze sliding from my simple black blouse down to my pencil skirt and back up again. There’s nothing rude about it, but I feel stripped bare.

“Valerio mentioned he hired someone new,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “He usually goes through at least five candidates before settling. You must be quite… capable.”

The subtle dig lands perfectly, the implication clear: What makes you so special?

I keep my smile in place. “I try to be efficient.”

Her eyes narrow just a fraction, like she is reading between every line I’m not saying. “Efficient,” she repeats, tasting the word. “Interesting. Most of the women who’ve sat at that desk were efficient too. For a week or two.”

She leans in slightly, voice dropping to something almost friendly.

“Just a little advice, Zara. Valerio works best when things stay… professional. He’s very particular about his rules. You understand, don’t you?”

My stomach tightens. She knows, or at least she suspects something. The way she says “rules” carries weight, like she is warning me off her territory.

Before I can respond, Valerio’s office door opens.

He steps out, sleeves already rolled up, looking every bit the powerful CEO. His eyes find me first, then shift to Clara, and something flickers across his face. “Clara,” he says, voice neutral. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

She turns toward him with a bright smile, stepping close and placing a hand on his arm. The possessive touch makes my chest ache. “I brought the finalized merger documents from my father. Thought we could go over them before your ten o’clock.” She glances back at me. “Unless your new assistant has already handled everything?”

Valerio’s gaze returns to me, heavy and unsettled. The memory of last night hangs between us heavy like smoke.

“Zara handled the Harrington proposal last night,” he says. “She’s more than capable.”

Clara’s smile doesn’t waver, but her eyes sharpen. “Of course she is. How wonderful to have someone so… intuitive on the team.” She turns back to Valerio, sliding her arm through his. “Shall we?”

They disappear into his office, and the door clicks shut.

I sit back down slowly, hands trembling slightly as I open my laptop. The subtle digs keep echoing in my head. Efficient. Intuitive. Most women only last a week or two.

She sees me as a threat already, and she’s not wrong.

For the next hour, I try to focus on work while their muffled voices drift through the glass wall. Clara’s laugh comes too often and too loudly. At one point, I look up and catch her leaning over his desk, pointing at something on his screen, her body angled close to his.

Valerio’s eyes meet mine through the glass.

He doesn’t smile, and doesn’t look away. The tension from the elevator is still there, simmering under everything, and I look down first.

My phone buzzes quietly.

Luca: Clara’s here. Watch yourself. She’s sharper than she looks.

I delete the message quickly.

At eleven-thirty, the office door opens again. Clara steps out first, Valerio right behind her. She stops at my desk on her way out, the same polished smile plastered on her face.

“Zara, darling,” she says sweetly, loud enough for Valerio to hear. “Valerio mentioned you worked very late last night. You poor thing. It must be so hard balancing a career like this with… other responsibilities.”

Her eyes flick to the small photo frame I placed on my desk this morning, a candid shot of Liam and me at the park, his face slightly turned away from the camera.

My blood runs cold.

“I manage,” I say evenly.

“I’m sure you do.” She adjusts the strap of her designer bag. “Women like us always do. But don’t worry. Valerio values loyalty above everything.” Her smile turns sharper, and her voice drops lower. “He mentioned he's been having headaches again. Dr. Arnolds adjusted his medication last week. Stress, apparently." She smiles. "You should try not to add to it.”

Valerio stands a few feet away, watching the exchange with a frown.

Clara leans in closer to me, voice dropping so only I can hear. “Be careful, Zara. This empire doesn’t forgive mistakes. And neither does he.”

She straightens up, flashing Valerio a perfect smile. “I’ll see you tonight for the gala, darling. Wear the black Tom Ford. It looks incredible on you.”

She walks away without another glance.

He steps closer to my desk, voice low. “What did she say to you?”

“Nothing important,” I reply, keeping my tone light even though my hands are shaking under the desk.

His eyes search my face the way they always do now, like he is trying to pull secrets out of my skin. For a moment, I think he might push, might demand answers right here in the tension of it all.

Instead, he says, “We have the Nakamura call in twenty minutes. Be in the conference room early.”

“Yes, Mr. Cruz.”

He lingers another second, jaw tight, before walking back into his office.

I let out a shaky breath and press my fingers to my temples.

I spend the rest of the morning moving through meetings on autopilot, taking notes, anticipating Valerio’s needs before he voices them. The Nakamura call went smoothly. Valerio’s eyes kept finding mine across the conference table, dark and unsettled, like he was looking through me.

By two o’clock, I needed air and answers.

While Valerio is tied up in a board briefing, I slip into the records room on the twenty-first floor. The door requires executive access, and luckily for me, my new credentials still work in places Luca has quietly left open for me.

The room smells of old paper and stale air. Rows of servers hum softly. I sit at one of the terminals and start digging carefully, not deep enough to trigger alerts, but enough to test the waters.

Project Sentinel.

I type it in, eager to see what’s on the other side.

Most files are gone, mostly deleted or corrupted, but one folder remains partially intact, internal memos dating three years ago. I open the first one, and my breath catches.

There I was, in a photo attached to an old email. Younger Zara, but my face was blurred out, laughing beside Valerio in this very building, his arm around my waist in a way that was anything but professional. The timestamp was two weeks before the accident.

Valerio’s hands sliding up my thighs in his office after everyone had left. “Mia fiamma,” he’d whispered against my neck (my flame). “You’re going to be the death of me with these reports.” Then he’d lifted me onto the desk, papers scattering, and kissed me like the fraud case and the world outside didn’t exist.

I copy what I can onto an encrypted USB and slip it into my bag before wiping the search history. As I stand up, the door opens, and one of the junior analysts, Marcus, steps in. Friendly face, with an easy smile. “Hey, new assistant. Zara, right? Need help finding something?”

“Just familiarizing myself with the archives,” I say smoothly.

He leans against the doorframe, chatting about how brutal Valerio’s standards are. Normal conversation, nothing harmless.

Until Valerio appears behind him like a shadow.

“Marcus.” Valerio’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp. “Don’t you have the quarterly projections due in thirty minutes?”

Marcus straightens instantly. “Yes, sir. Just helping the new assistant—”

“She doesn’t need help,” Valerio says, stepping into the room. His eyes lock on me, possessive in a way that makes my stomach flip. “Back to your desk.”

Marcus leaves quickly, and Valerio closes the door behind him. “What are you doing down here, Zara?” he asks, voice very calm.

“Researching past projects. Trying to be useful.”

He walks closer, stopping just short of touching me. “Useful,” he repeats. The word sounds dangerous on his tongue. “Or looking for something specific?”

My pulse quickens. “Just doing my job.”

Valerio’s hand comes up, tilting my chin so I have to meet his eyes. “You keep saying that. But every time I turn around, you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be. Talking to people you shouldn’t. Digging into things that don’t concern a new assistant.”

His thumb brushes my lower lip, once, slowly.

“Tell me, cara,” he murmurs (darling). “What are you really after?”

The flashback hits me again—him pinning me against these same shelves three years ago, mouth on mine, hand under my skirt, whispering how he couldn’t wait until we got home.

I step back. “I should get back to my desk.”

He lets me go, but his eyes follow me the entire way out.

The rest of the afternoon passes in heavy silence.

By six, I am exhausted, and I need to get home to Liam

But as I pack up, his door opens. “Stay late tonight,” he says. “We have more to go over.”

I meet his eyes across the floor, and feel like screaming my head off.

Looks like he’s not done testing me yet…he’s just beginning.