THE BULLY WHO WANTS MY HEART AND MY RUIN

(Sloane POV)

The coffee appeared on my desk at 7:15 AM, which meant someone had been in my office before I arrived.

I stared at the cup from the artisanal café three blocks away(the one that charged eight dollars for coffee and made you feel simultaneously sophisticated and financially irresponsible). A small card rested against it, expensive cardstock in cream:

Three sugars, excessive cream. Some things shouldn't change. -DM

My hands clenched into fists. I'd arrived early specifically to avoid unexpected encounters, to reclaim my space and establish control over my environment. Instead, Dante had already been here, invading my office, leaving evidence of his presence like a territorial marker.

The coffee was still hot.

Which meant he'd timed it perfectly:dropped it off recently enough that it wouldn't cool before I arrived, but early enough that he'd be gone before I walked in. He'd calculated my schedule, my habits, probably asked around about when the Communications Director typically showed up.

It was thoughtful and invasive in equal measure.

I should throw it away. Should march to wherever his temporary office was and make it clear that personal gifts were inappropriate and unwelcome.

Instead, I lifted the cup and took a sip.

Perfect. Exactly how I used to take it, sweet enough to make my teeth ache, creamy enough to barely taste the coffee.

I'd switched to black three years ago as part of reinventing myself:bitter coffee for a harder person, someone who didn't need sweetness to face the day.

But this tasted like Saturday mornings on my front steps, like being sixteen and hopeful, like a version of myself I'd thought I'd successfully buried.

I hated that it was delicious.

I hated more that some traitorous part of me was touched that he remembered.

My computer chimed with a new email. Company-wide distribution from Dante Moretti, sent at 6:47 AM:

Subject: Open Door Policy & Transition Meetings

Dear Colleagues,

As I settle into my role as VP of Operations, I want to establish clear communication channels across all departments. My door is always open for questions, concerns, or collaborative opportunities.

Over the next two weeks, I'll be conducting individual meetings with each department to understand current initiatives and identify areas for strategic alignment. My assistant will be reaching out to schedule these sessions.

Additionally, I'm implementing a new cross-functional task force focused on operational efficiency and client experience enhancement. Department heads interested in participating should contact me directly.

I look forward to working with all of you as we drive Moretti Holdings toward continued success.

Best regards,

Dante Moretti

Vice President of Operations

It was perfectly professional, appropriately collegial, exactly what you'd expect from a new executive establishing himself. Nothing in it warranted the unease settling in my stomach.

Except I knew Dante. Knew how he operated. And this email, combined with the coffee, sent a clear message: he was creating official channels to interact with me while simultaneously undermining my professional boundaries with personal gestures.

I was halfway through drafting a firm but polite email requesting he stop the coffee deliveries when my office phone rang.

"Sloane Rivera."

"Ms. Rivera, this is Catherine from Mr. Moretti's office." The voice was crisp, efficient, probably belonged to someone who'd been with the company for decades and could smell weakness through phone lines. "Mr. Moretti would like to schedule his Communications department review for tomorrow at 9 AM. Does that work with your calendar?"

Tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to prepare the comprehensive briefing he'd requested, when normally I'd have until Friday.

"I was under the impression I had until end of week to compile the materials," I said carefully.

"Mr. Moretti has decided to accelerate the timeline. He's prioritizing Communications given its strategic importance to his transition." A pause that felt loaded. "Is there a problem with tomorrow?"

There absolutely was, but saying so would make me look unprepared or difficult. Classic power move:change the parameters, watch your target scramble.

"Tomorrow at nine works fine," I said. "Please send a meeting invitation with the specific topics he'd like covered."

"Of course. And Ms. Rivera? Mr. Moretti mentioned he'd like the meeting in the executive conference room rather than your office. He'll be inviting several other stakeholders to observe Communications' strategic overview."

My stomach dropped. This wasn't a one-on-one review anymore. This was a performance, a test, a chance for me to fail publicly while Dante watched.

"Understood," I managed. "I'll prepare accordingly."

"Excellent. The invitation will be in your inbox within the hour."

She disconnected, leaving me staring at expensive coffee and contemplating murder.

Strategic. That's what he was being. Create official reasons to interact with me, escalate timelines to keep me off-balance, turn what should have been a private meeting into a public showcase where any misstep would be visible to company leadership.

I couldn't tell if he was trying to push me out or pull me closer.

Maybe both.

My desk phone rang again before I could spiral further.

"Please tell me you have good news," I answered, assuming it was my assistant Maya.

"I have terrible news, actually." Maya's voice carried the particular tension that meant someone had fucked up and it was about to become my problem. "The Castellano merger press release went out this morning with the wrong financial figures. Their legal team is furious."

Ice flooded my veins. "What do you mean wrong figures?"

"The revenue projections were off by forty million. Someone changed the numbers in the final draft after I approved it, but before it went to distribution." Papers rustled. "I'm looking at my approved version right now,the numbers were correct. But the version that went out is different."

"Who had access to the file between your approval and distribution?"

"Just IT for final formatting, and..." She hesitated. "And anyone with senior executive access to the shared drive. Which is basically all the VPs and C-suite."

The coffee on my desk suddenly felt like evidence rather than a gift.

"Pull the file history," I said, already standing, already moving toward my computer. "I need to know exactly who accessed that document and when. And get me a call with Castellano's communications lead immediately-we need to issue a correction before this becomes a story."

"On it. Sloane? This could be really bad."

"I know." I pulled up the shared drive, navigating to the press release folder. Sure enough, the file showed multiple access points over the past twelve hours. Most recent: 6:52 AM, user DMoretti.

Dante had accessed the file minutes after arriving this morning. Before company-wide business hours, before anyone else was in the office.

Right around the time he'd been delivering coffee to my desk.

Coincidence? Or something more calculated?

"Maya, add Dante Moretti to the list of people we need to interview about file access. And pull security footage from the twenty-seventh floor between 6 and 8 AM today."

"You think he had something to do with this?"

I thought Dante Moretti had made his career in hostile acquisitions across Europe, which meant he understood corporate warfare intimately. I thought he'd shown up in my life at the exact moment things started going wrong. And I thought the boy who'd orchestrated my teenage humiliation was absolutely capable of sophisticated professional sabotage.

But I couldn't say any of that without sounding paranoid or biased.

"I think we need to eliminate all possibilities," I said instead. "Just get me the information."