Page 9 of His Little Angel

And the third… God. She walked in lecturing me about how the company needed a “full overhaul” and how she had ideas that would “redefine the workplace”—before she was even remotely close to being hired.

By the time she leaves, I sink into my chair and swallow two more painkillers. I honestly don’t know what will get me first: period pain or the overdose I’m inching toward.

Two more candidates are still left to interview. And I need at least a week to train whoever gets the job. A week of pretending my chest isn’t splitting open at the thought of someone else sitting beside Enzo every morning.

I just need him to choose one of them.Just one.

Even though their first impressions aren’t great, I still think we should’ve given them a chance. People screw up. They adjust. If we fire everyone after one mistake, nobody survives long enough to become good at this job.

I press my fingers to my temple, pushing down the pain—physical and the other kind. The ugly jealousy. The dread. The fact that, after everything, I’m really leaving this company. Leavinghim.

I wipe a tear away quickly. I don’t cry at work. It’s unprofessional, and Enzo hates emotion that can’t be controlled.

I force myself to focus on the list of things left for the day: inputting the new meeting schedule, preparing notes for the conference, checking the marketing team’s report—

Movement catches my eye.

Enzo steps out of his office with that cold aura he carries like a second skin.

I grab my tablet, ignore the throb in my abdomen, and hurry after him.

“Sir, we have a meeting in an hour with the—”

“Cancel it.”

“Sir? That’s extremely short notice—”

“Cancel everything.” He doesn’t slow down. “Reschedule my entire day. I’ll handle the conference myself.”

“What?” My pace quickens automatically. “Sir, that’s not—”

“Mila,” he says, low and flat, “go home.”

He’s already detaching. Already practicing life without me. And here I am, trying not to fall apart over the idea of leaving, and he’s… adjusting. Effortlessly. As if I’m just another administrative detail he can erase and reorganize.

“Okay, Sir,” I manage quietly.

I stop walking. He doesn’t. He disappears down the hallway without a single backward glance.

Three years, and that’s all I get.

This job gave me structure, purpose… and it also ruined me, because now every man I meet feels like a placeholder for the shadow of Enzo Morelli. He sits in the center of my mind like some dark star everything else orbits.

I need space. I need distance.

I grab my purse, my keys, offer a quick wave to the coworkers who actually care that I exist, and head to the parking lot.

I manage to hold myself together until I close my car door. Then it breaks. I cry the entire drive home.

Why couldn’t I be Enzo Morelli’s curse? His brothers found theirs. That strange family affliction that makes them lose their minds with obsession for the one woman they’re meant to have.

Why not me?

The thought makes me cringe at myself.Pathetic. Delusional.

I park in front of my apartment building and force the crying to stop. I won’t torture myself like this. Enough of this one-sided obsession. It has to end.

By the time I reach my apartment, my uterus is tearing itself apart, and the inside of my chest feels scraped raw.