Page 45 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Neglected Wife
That word.
It lands between us, heavy as stone.
“Just let me explain—”
“It is too late. I made a promise to Sienah’s mother. If you hurt her daughter, she could ask to have her back.” A pause weighted with finality. “She has asked.”
No.
No.
No.
“And so I must keep my word.”
“I will never give Sienah up—”
“I know.” My father sighs, and in the background I can hear the helicopter rotors, can hear my whole life flying away. “Why do you think I’m flying her out myself?”
The line goes dead.
My phone screen cracks under the pressure of my grip. Or maybe that’s the sound of my ribs cracking, heart trying to beat its way free from the chest that’s caged it for thirty-eight years of emotional cowardice.
The concrete burns through my suit as I stand there. Watching. The helicopter is gone now, swallowed by sky and distance, but I keep staring at the empty blue like she might rematerialize.
She won’t.
Back through the lobby. The guard looks up this time, something like pity in his weathered face. Back up the elevator. The ghost of her still clings to the small space. Back to Adriano’s office where Myca is standing too close to my friend, probably already calculating her next move.
Her smile falters when she sees my face.
Good.
“You’re fired.”
The words come out arctic, final. Myca’s perfectly outlined mouth falls open.
“Excuse me? You can’t just—”
“I can. I am. HR will send your final check and a generous severance package.”
My voice sounds dead. Matches how I feel.
“This is about that little scene earlier, isn’t it?” She steps closer, swaying her hips in what she probably thinks is enticing. “I was only trying to help. You looked so tense in the limo, so I offered to...relax you. It’s not my fault your little wife got the wrong idea.”
Little wife.
The words echo in the space between us.
How dare she callmySienah like she’s something insignificant and disposable?
“Nothing happened,” I say flatly. “Because I don’t cheat on my wife. Not with you. Not with anyone.”
The truth of it sits heavy on my tongue. Ten years. Ten fucking years and not once did I stray. Not because of honor or love or any noble emotion.
Because no one else was her.
“You’re insane, you know that?” Myca spats. “That mouse of a wife obviously can’t keep you satisfied if you’re already filing for divorce after ten years.”
