Chapter 3 - The Reversal
Ayla’s breath hitched. She stared into Matteo’s dark, fathomless eyes, completely paralyzed.
"M-Mr. Cipriani?" Jean Dubois choked out, his confident posture collapsing into nervous sweating. "You... you know our junior assistant?"
Matteo finally turned his head. The warmth he had shown Ayla evaporated, replaced by a coldness that made the temperature in the room plummet.
"Assistant?" Matteo repeated, the word sounding like a curse in his mouth. He laced his fingers through Ayla’s and pulled her flush against his side, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. "You are speaking to my wife."
A collective gasp echoed through the immediate crowd.
Mabel’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief. She looked from Ayla's simple black dress to the staggering wealth and power of the man holding her.
"Your... your wife?" Mabel whispered, her voice shaking violently. "But she... we didn't know."
"Ignorance is a poor excuse for cruelty," Matteo stated smoothly, his gaze pinning Mabel to the floor. "You value appearances, Miss Laurent. You judge a woman's worth by the labels on her clothing, while possessing none of the grace or genuine kindness that she carries effortlessly."
Matteo looked back at Jean Dubois, who looked as though he might faint.
"Mr. Dubois," Matteo said calmly. "Your company, Laurent Inc., leases its primary office space in the financial district. A building owned by Cipriani Holdings. Furthermore, fifty percent of your luxury clients rely on my shipping lanes to import their goods."
Jean’s knees visibly buckled. "Please, Mr. Cipriani. It was a misunderstanding. Ayla is a highly valued member of our team—"
"She was," Matteo corrected him. "She no longer works for you. And as of tomorrow morning, your lease is terminated. Your shipping contracts are voided. Let us see how elite your company appears when you are operating out of a basement and your clients abandon you."
"No!" Mabel cried out, tears ruining her perfectly applied makeup. "You can't do that!"
Matteo ignored her. He looked down at Ayla, the lethal edge in his expression softening entirely.
"This atmosphere is toxic, and the company is beneath you," he said gently, ignoring the dozens of cell phones and wide eyes pointed in their direction. "Shall we go home?"
May you like
Ayla couldn't speak. She could only nod.
Matteo kept her hand securely in his, leading her through the parting sea of the city's elite. No one dared to speak. No one dared to breathe too heavily. Mabel and Jean were left standing in the ruins of their careers, destroyed in less than three minutes.
