Chapter 7 - Shattered GlassRichard Laurent retreated, dragging his panicked lawyers back into the elevator as the flashbulbs continued to pop in the hallway. Luca slammed the heavy oak door shut, sealing us back inside the quiet sanctuary of the penthouse.
I let out a shaky breath, setting my teacup down on the counter before my hands gave way entirely. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a hollow, cold ache in my chest.
"You didn't have to do that," I said quietly, staring at the polished wood of the kitchen island.
"Do what?" Matteo asked, walking over and stopping just inches away.
"Risk your reputation, buy a multi-million-dollar company, turn your entire social circle upside down just to fight my battles." I looked up, meeting his dark eyes. "Matteo... why? Really. We both know this marriage isn't real. Sooner or later, the press is going to demand proof, the lawyers are going to ask questions, and this whole charade is going to collapse."
Matteo was silent for a long moment. He reached out, his warm fingers gently catching my chin, tilting my face upward so I had no choice but to look at him.
"Who said it was a charade?" he asked softly.
My breath caught. "Matteo..."
"From the moment I saw that sticky note on my desk, Ayla, I didn't just see an employee who knew how to balance a ledger," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intense rumble that vibrated straight through my soul. "I saw someone who was brilliant, fierce, and entirely undervalued by every pathetic excuse for a man in this city. When I walked into that ballroom and saw Mabel Laurent humiliating you, something snapped in me. I didn't claim you to make a corporate point."
His thumb brushed gently across my lower lip.
"I claimed you because I realized I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else ever making you feel small again."
The air between us felt heavy, electric, and dangerously real. All the defenses I had spent a lifetime building up—the armor of cynicism, the fear of rejection, the certainty that people like Matteo Cipriani only played games—began to crumble.
Before I could answer, my phone—which I had finally plugged in earlier that evening—suddenly buzzed violently on the kitchen counter.
May you like
I glanced down. The screen lit up with a breaking news notification from a major financial wire service: BENNETT & CIPRIANI ANNOUNCES SURPRISE MERGER; MYSTERY WIFE IDENTIFIED AS SOLE CONTROLLING SHAREHOLDER.
And right beneath it, a text message from an unknown number: You think you won everything, Ayla? Check your company email box.
