Chapter 7 Headache

**MATEO'S POV**

Isabella.

That girl has no idea what she does to me.

Since that night in the Velvet Room, she's lived rent-free in my head. Every curve, every gasp, every time she looked up at me like I was the only thing that existed. When I learned she was Nathan's daughter, it felt like fate handed me the perfect excuse to pull her close. To keep her. To make sure no one else ever touched what was already mine.

I went to her apartment that day telling myself it was just concern-she looked wrecked at work, pale and unsteady. But the second I saw her in that towel, hair dripping, skin flushed... all restraint vanished. I told myself she was too drunk that first night to remember me. That's why she never brought it up. That's why I never pushed. I wanted her to come to me on her own. Wanted her to crave it the way I did.

Dang it. I shouldn't have gone.

Shouldn't have looked at her body.

Shouldn't have touched her.

Her soft, wet heat under my tongue. Her lips parting on a moan. Those wide eyes locked on mine while she came apart.

I was asking too much and I knew it. Seem I always had Oliver's Twist after all.

I've barely slept since. Every night I watch the feeds-her office camera, the hallway ones, even the building entrance. I sit in this chair and stare like a goddamn addict. Today was worse. Seeing her talk to one of the junior analysts, laughing at something he said... it clawed at me. I don't even know the guy's name. Doesn't matter. No one gets to make her smile like that except me.

Then she left her office. Walked down the hall for water. My dispenser on her floor had been empty for days-I'd meant to have it fixed. She stopped at the main one. Filled her cup. Drank. Filled it again.

That's when he appeared behind her.

Ethan.

His hand landed on her ass like he had the right.

Rage hit me so fast my vision tunneled. That perfect curve belonged to me. Only me.

I watched her flinch. Watched her try to step away. Watched him crowd her against the wall, whispering something that made her face drain of color. She looked terrified. Small. Like she knew exactly what he was capable of.

I slammed my palm on the desk.

"I'll fucking kill him."

I grabbed my phone. Dialed her extension. It rang out. Dialed again.

Finally she answered, voice small. "Hello, Mr...?"

"Get to my office. Now."

I kept the feed open while she hurried down the hall. Derrick watched her go, that smug tilt to his mouth. I zoomed in. Couldn't read his expression clearly, but I didn't need to. I knew men like him.

A knock. I barked for her to enter.

Aisha stepped in first. "Sir, you have the board meeting in an hour, and-"

"I know. I'll handle it." I waved her out.

She gave a quick bow and a professional smile, then paused at the door. Isabella was approaching. They exchanged a few quiet words-Aisha said something that made Isabella laugh. A real laugh. Soft. Bright. The sound hit me like sunlight after weeks of dark.

Then she was inside.

She stood in front of my desk, eyes glued to the floor. Hands trembling at her sides. That cheap dress clung where the water had soaked through. Shoes scuffed. Hair falling out of its tie. She looked fragile. Exhausted. Nothing like the woman who'd begged under me days ago.

It hurt to see her like this.

"What happened to your dress?" I asked, keeping my voice flat.

She hesitated. Eyes darted everywhere but my face.

"I... I went to get water. Almost tripped on the way back. It spilled."

Bullshit.

"You almost tripped."

She swallowed hard.

"I'm talking to you, Angioletto."

The nickname slipped out sharper than I meant. She flinched.

"There was no water in my office dispenser," she tried again. "I got thirsty. Tripped coming back."

Still lying. Still refusing to meet my eyes. What was she hiding?

I leaned forward. "Look at me."

She did-finally. Those big eyes glassy, scared. Like she thought I was about to fire her. I feel like she always assumed the worse.

"I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again."

She sat when I nodded toward the chair. Good girl. Always so quick to obey.

I studied her. The way she held herself together even when she was falling apart. The night in New York she hadn't taken a single bill from the nightstand, even when hundreds were scattered like trash. She could've grabbed my watch. My black card. Anything. She didn't. That kind of honesty is rare. It makes me want to wrap her up and never let the world touch her again.

"I have a headache," I said.

She stood immediately. Uncertain.

"Aren't you going to check?"

She nodded. Rushed around the desk. Stood between my knees. Her small hands settled on my head-gentle, careful. She drew me closer until my forehead rested against her stomach. Fingers threaded through my hair, massaging slow circles over my scalp.

Christ.

I closed my eyes. Let myself feel it. Her warmth. Her scent-clean soap and faint vanilla. My cock twitched. I ignored it. Focused on the soft pressure of her fingertips. On the way she didn't pull away.

Her phone buzzed on the chair across the room.

She didn't move.

"You going to get that?"

She smiled faintly. Stepped back. Picked it up. The screen lit her face for a second before she angled it away-but not fast enough.

Ethan.

The name burned into my brain.

She ended the call without answering. Walked back. Hesitated.

"I should get something for your headache, Sir."

I rolled my eyes. Stood. Pointed near the mini fridge in the corner.

"Stay here the rest of the day. Drinks are in there. My head's fine."

She looked like she might argue-then thought better of it. Walked slowly back to the chair. Sat.

"Yes, Sir," she whispered.

The saddest sound I'd ever heard from her.

I straightened my tie. Grabbed my tablet. I should attend my Meeting first. Then I deal with Ethan.

And after that... I deal with her.

No more hiding. No more pretending she doesn't remember.

She's mine.

She just doesn't know it yet.

And the message? I knew she remembered me .