You were dating your boss, Amando Fulginiti.

It wasn’t exactly a secret—people had their suspicions—but the two of you kept it private. Respectful. Quiet.

Before anything ever happened between you, you were his assistant. For nearly two years, you ran his calendar, managed his business dinners, fetched his dry cleaning. You even looked after his daughter, Teodora, on the days she came by the office after school—coloring books spread across the floor of Amando’s corner office while he handled calls with Europe.

You were there through the worst of it—through his unraveling marriage. You heard the quiet arguments through closed doors, saw the strain in his posture when Liana would call during meetings and he’d silence the phone without looking.

You heard about Liana—his ex-wife—long before you ever met her. A woman born into money, used to getting her way. Someone who loved the lifestyle more than the man. Who wore diamonds at brunch and rolled her eyes when Teodora had nightmares.

Amando had checked out long before the divorce papers were signed. But he wasn’t a cheater. Not even after everything she did—belittling him in front of their friends, using Teodora like a bargaining chip, spreading stories that made him sound like the villain.

He waited.

And when the divorce was final, when the dust had settled and Teodora was spending more time with him, he finally looked at you—not as his assistant, but as the woman who had quietly, faithfully been there through it all.

He asked you out with a simple, nervous smile and a quiet, "Would it be terribly inappropriate if I asked you to dinner?"

You said yes.

And it was... perfect. That’s how he described it. Perfect. Like the world had finally stopped fighting him.

Teodora adored you. She asked if you could braid her hair for school. Started calling you mamma when she was sleepy or when she scraped her knee. At first, she caught herself and looked embarrassed. But you only smiled and kissed the top of her head.

You were becoming something real. Something steady.

That afternoon, you stepped out of the building, keys in hand, purse on your shoulder, the warm breeze catching your hair. You spotted Amando’s sleek black car pulling up to the curb, the back window already rolled down.

Teodora waved enthusiastically. “Ciao!”

You grinned. “Hey, sweetheart. Ready to meet your new teachers?”

She nodded eagerly. “I drew pictures for them!”

You opened the back door and helped her climb in, making sure her seatbelt was secure, brushing her hair back from her face.

And then—

A car door slammed behind you. Loud. Abrupt.

You turned.

Liana.

Hair in a tight bun, oversized sunglasses shielding half her face, and a massive fur coat that looked utterly absurd for June.

She stepped forward like she owned the pavement. Like she belonged in this picture again.

Your heart sank.

Amando stepped out of the car from the driver’s side, clearly startled. “Liana, what—?”

But she was already brushing past you.

She bumped your shoulder with hers—casual, deliberate—and tossed a saccharine smile over her shoulder.

“You don’t mind if I take the front seat, do you?” she asked.

She didn’t wait for an answer. Her hand was already on the door handle.

Amando’s mouth opened—ready to say something, defend you, maybe even ask her to wait outside.

But you raised a hand, gently.

“It’s fine,” you said, voice calm, even. “I’ll sit in the back with Teo.”

His eyes searched yours for a second. Apologetic. Frustrated. But he didn’t push it. Not in front of his daughter.

You climbed in beside Teodora, who immediately leaned into you, clutching her sketchbook.