And for the first time, I didn't get mad or make a fuss. I just started drafting my formal severance of allegiance on my phone. The language was careful, clinical. In this world, you didn't simply leave. You documented your departure in terms that couldn't be mistaken for betrayal, even when betrayal was exactly what it was.
When he reached for his water glass, likely expecting the chamomile I used to prepare for him every night, he paused, noticing it wasn't there.
Finally, he spared me a glance.
"I showed your CT scan to a specialist. He said it was just a minor injury, nothing serious. Just keep the wound dry."
"Alright," I said without looking up, still typing.
This afternoon, I'd had eight stitches in my leg from the wreck. Worse still, I had just found out I was four weeks pregnant and already showing signs of miscarriage.
The doctor had apologized, saying that if I had been brought to the hospital sooner, the baby might have been saved.
If I had been brought sooner. If the Don of the Sloane family had stopped his car instead of shielding his aide's eyes from the sight of me bleeding on the pavement. If he had carried me to the back seat the way he carried Penelope's shopping bags and dry-cleaning and whatever else she needed ferried from place to place. If he had done any single thing differently.
But he hadn't. And the baby was gone.
Seeing the blank expression on my face, Dominic frowned and started walking over to check what I was doing.
But just then, his phone buzzed.
His lips curved into a smile, and without a second thought, he turned and disappeared into his study. The door closed with the soft, definitive click of a man entering the only room in the house where he actually wanted to be.
Once he was out of sight, I opened up my private account and scrolled through his feed. Sure enough, there was a new post, visible to everyone but me. He had blocked me from seeing it. The Don of one of the most powerful syndicates on the Eastern Seaboard, and he was hiding social media posts from the woman who shared his bed like a teenager with a secret.
It was an apology letter.
I shouldn't have let the cutest aide in the world down. Promised her dinner after the sit-down, but business got in the way, and I made her wait a whole ten minutes. Totally my fault. I'll do better from now on, be a good boss.