Chapter 6 - The Uninvited GuestThe honeymoon phase of our corporate takeover—and our very public, entirely fake marriage—lasted exactly three days before reality came knocking on our penthouse door in the form of a heavily guarded town car and an angry patriarch.
It was a rainy Thursday evening when the intercom chimed. Luca answered it, his expression hardening instantly as he muted the audio and looked at Matteo.
"It's Richard Laurent," Luca said. "He brought company lawyers. And he brought the press."
I froze, standing by the kitchen island with a cup of tea. "Richard? But Matteo, you said he resigned—"
"He resigned under corporate pressure," Matteo replied, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "He thinks he can bully his way back in by weaponizing public opinion. He’s brought reporters to catch us off guard, hoping to paint our 'marriage' as a fraudulent hostile takeover."
Before Matteo could reach the door, the private elevator chime chimed, and the heavy oak door of the penthouse swung open.
Richard Laurent marched inside, his face purple with rage, flanked by two aggressive-looking attorneys carrying briefcases. Behind them, flashing camera lights flickered from the hallway outside.
"Matteo!" Richard barked, stepping into the minimalist living room. "This farce has gone far enough! You orchestrated a fraudulent buyout using a fabricated personal relationship with a low-level employee as a smoke-screen! The SEC is going to have a field day with—"
"Cut the theater, Richard," Matteo interrupted, not even bothering to stand up from his armchair. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes like chips of black obsidian. "Your embezzlement logs are already sitting on the desk of the Manhattan District Attorney. You want to talk about the SEC? Be my guest. Let's talk about the three million dollars you siphoned from the shipping subsidies last quarter."
Richard’s face drained of color, his lawyer stepping forward quickly to whisper something in his ear.
"You—you have no proof," Richard stammered, though his voice lacked conviction.
"I have Ayla," Matteo said softly, standing up to his full, imposing height. "Every single ledger discrepancy, every falsified invoice, every stolen account—she cataloged all of it six months ago before Jean even knew she had administrative access."
Richard turned his bloodshot eyes toward me, a look of pure, unadulterated venom twisting his features. "You," he hissed. "You little parasite. You think you've won? You think a billionaire playboy is actually going to stay married to a nobody from T.J. Maxx once the tabloids get bored?"
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Before I could speak, Matteo crossed the room in two strides. The sheer cold fury radiating from him made Richard’s attorneys instinctively step back.
"Get out of my home," Matteo whispered, his voice dangerously low. "Before I stop being civil."
