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 bynotmaking 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 DOORof 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.
