Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 44860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry, Chelsea...”
She nearly threw up the moment she heard the words.
God, oh God.
Because she knew Edgar, and she knew he was a problem solver. She knew he wasn’t the type to just say things without thinking them through, and so for him to start with an apology—
Oh God.
It was akin to Edgar admitting that her marriage, oh God...
“S-So it’s true then?”
“It...could be.”
Oh, the heaviness in his tone.
It was terrible to hear, so, so hopelessly terrible that it caused her phone to slip from her suddenly nerveless fingers before landing face-up on the table.
Memories hit her, not in order, and not gently either. They came the way pain came, all at once, from everywhere, with no regard for what she could bear.
She remembered the dinner from three nights ago, and the older couple who’d welcomed her with incredible warmth. She remembered feeling shy but also giddy, with how Olivio had his arm around her waist as he introduced her to their hosts. Their names meant nothing out of the ordinary back then.
But it did so now, for the couple was none other than Jun and Miriam...Marquez.
“Are you still there, Chelsea?”
The worry drew her out of her thoughts, but it was just like leaving one hurtful world for another. “Y-Yes. I’m still here.”
“Talk to him about it, Chelsea,” the older man urged. “I’m not lying when I say I can’t be sure. The topic never came up. I only say it’s possible because everyone knows about the Marquezes—”
Edgar broke off, no longer able to speak because of the sound coming from the other end of the line.
Oh, child.
It was his worst fears come true.
His goddaughter, innocent, earnest, and so terribly in love with Olivio Cannizzaro, was crying, and the sound of her sobs could only come from a girl whose heart had just shattered.
Kelly had watched everything unfold from a distance, and it was like waiting for a train wreck to happen. It was only out of respect for Chelsea’s unspoken request that she hadn’t interfered, had even gone against the very protocols Chelsea’s own husband had established by not making a call to let the billionaire know what was happening.
But the moment she saw the younger woman start to cry—
“Chelsea, tell me what’s wrong.”
Kelly was by her side in an instant, and this close, it just hurt even more, being this near and no longer being able to hear anything. It was as if the pain was too much that Chelsea couldn’t even make a sound.
It was only over a week ago that Kelly had been assigned to handle Chelsea’s schedule, but in that short span of time, she had already seen everything there was to see with the billionaire’s wife. Because Chelsea was the type to wear her heart on her sleeve, the type whose kindness was instinctive rather than a choice, and so, to see this girl who seemed to wake up each day with this joyful need to help others—
It hurt to feel this helpless, to just stand there and watch because Kelly instinctively knew there truly was nothing she could do.
And then her gaze fell on the phone lying face-up on the table, its screen still lit, and the five words glowing there told her everything she needed to know.
How is your day, tesoro?
It was Olivio who broke Chelsea’s heart. And Kelly didn’t know if a man who didn’t have one could ever put the pieces back together.
Chapter One
THE REVOLVING DOOR of Cannizzaro Tower deposited Chelsea Regis into the lobby on a Tuesday morning, and she stood still for just a moment, letting her body catch up.
Three steps in. Then reassess.
Her physiotherapist had taught her that, back when three steps was genuinely the whole achievement. These days it was more habit than necessity, a small private rhythm she'd carried out of the rehabilitation ward the way you carried certain things, not because you still needed them exactly, but because they'd become part of how you moved through the world.
So...one, two, three.
Then reassess.
So far, so good.
The lobby was vast and pale and very intentional, the kind of space that had opinions about itself. All soaring glass and stone the color of January, with a ceiling so far overhead it stopped being a ceiling and became something more like a weather system. The flower arrangement on the central table was sculptural and severe: white blooms she couldn't name, arranged to be impressive rather than loved. She found herself wondering, briefly, who watered them, and whether the person who did had any feelings about it either way.
Movement was everywhere.
Not the gentle kind, either. Not the kind she'd grown used to in the ward, where nurses moved with careful softness and the loudest sound was the squeak of sensible shoes on linoleum. This was a different animal entirely. People cut across the lobby floor in sharp diagonals, phones pressed to ears or eyes locked on tablets, walking at the speed of people who had somewhere extremely important to be and would really prefer it if Chelsea could figure out what she was doing before they had to walk around her.