Page 61 of Please, Forgive Me
I stared at the stack of papers in front of me, feeling crushed under an emotional weight I hadn’t anticipated. He wasn’t the same Diego who had hired me—the man who, for all his flaws, could be funny, even oddly tender.
Now he was just the ruthless boss, the CEO who saw me as a piece of the machine. Nothing more.
My fingers tightened around the papers before I let go, trying to steady myself. But when the door closed behind him, it felt like the weight of the entire world landed on my shoulders. My breathing grew heavier, my eyes burning with the threat of tears.
The pain was real.
His rejection, his indifference—it all piled on at once. Now he was treating me like a robot, someone without feelings, without limits.
I turned to the computer screen, trying to focus on work, but all I could think about was how much Diego had changed—how he now seemed like someone I barely knew.
After a few minutes, I finally let out a long sigh and leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes for a moment.
“You’ve got this, Maria Gabriela,” I murmured to myself, trying to summon what little strength I had left.
I had to get the work done, no matter how I felt.
Life went on.
But inside me, a small piece kept breaking—a part he’d helped shatter with his indifference.
It was painful to realize that the man I’d fallen for, the man who held a piece of my soul, wasn’t willing to believe me.
And worse, he wasn’t willing to see me as anything but a tool.
CHAPTER 25
“Forgiveness isn’t for the weak, but for the brave at heart…”
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
Friday.
I’d spent the whole week trying to avoid Maria Gabriela, but the anger inside me refused to fade—it only grew stronger with each passing day.
And to make things worse, at the office she was the one person I actually had to talk to. She handled too many of the company’s key tasks to ignore. Still, every time I saw her, even for a second, the memory of what she’d said flashed in my mind—and it pissed me off all over again.
I was in my office, spinning a pen between my fingers, trying to focus on a client report, when three sharp knocks hit the door.
Before I could even answer, she walked in.
She stood there, trying to look composed, but I knew something was off. Her face was pale, and the dark circles under her eyes told me she hadn’t been sleeping. She held her folder so tightly that her knuckles turned white—like she was clinging to it for dear life.
“Diego,” she began, her voice tense but steady, “I did everything I could today, but I’m not going to finish it all by the end of the day. I’ll need more time—maybe until Monday.”
I sighed, feeling that familiar wave of anger rise again.
She still didn’t get it.
I was at my limit, and patience wasn’t an option anymore. I pushed back from my chair and crossed my arms, facing her head-on. She wasn’t getting away with this so easily.
“Maria Gabriela, I think you’re missing something,” I said, my voice cold and sharp, eyes locked on hers. “You’re not leaving this building today until the job is done.”
The air in the room shifted, heavy and suffocating.
She stepped back, caught off guard by the bite in my tone. Still, she straightened her shoulders and looked me dead in the eye with a kind of quiet defiance that, once upon a time, I would’ve admired.
“You can’t do that.” Her voice wasn’t firm anymore—it trembled, caught somewhere between fear and fury. “It’s inhumane to expect me to work all weekend without rest. I can’t do it.”
