Selene Alvaroz’s POV
“Ms. Alvarez, the CEO will see you now.”
The receptionist’s voice barely registers. My pulse is pounding too loud, and my thoughts are racing too fast. I nod stiffly, forcing myself to move, but then the receptionist speaks again, her tone apologetic.
“I’m afraid I can’t bring the children into the office,” she says gently. “But here, these should keep them entertained.” She hands me two wrapped candies, one for each of them.
I glance down at Rafael and Rosalie, their wide eyes brimming with innocent curiosity. The receptionist beams as I hand over the treats, my reluctance evident in every hesitant movement.
“Sit tight, okay?” I tell them softly, feeling a pang in my chest as they take the candy without protest. They’re too young to understand the gravity of the situation, but I can tell they sense my unease.
I cast one final, lingering glance at them before I pivot towards the office door, my chest constricting with an unspoken dread. They’ll be fine for a few minutes, I tell myself, trying to focus.
I step into the room, my heart racing, struggling to quell the surging anxiety. The office is sleek, polished, every inch of it carefully curated. I glance around, trying to focus, but it’s hard to ignore the sudden tightness in my chest.
He stands up from behind the massive desk, a commanding presence filling the space.
Dominic Castellano.
The name alone carries weight—too much weight. But it’s not just the name that throws me off; it’s the way he looks.
His eyes. That jawline. The sharp, intense gaze. It’s impossible, but I see it. I see him. Rafael. In Dominic’s face.
I blink rapidly, seeking to dispel the thought, to loosen the grip of the sudden, irrational paranoia that binds me. This is crazy.
No. Focus. I’m here for the job.
Dominic’s voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts. “You’ve got an impressive resume. Five years as an executive assistant.”
“Thank you,” I manage, forcing my tone steady, keeping my eyes on his.
“Why did you leave your job, then?”
I swallow, trying to keep my expression neutral. “I didn’t. My boss retired, and there wasn’t much work left for me.”
He nods, his gaze never leaving me. “Single mother…” He says it casually, almost as an afterthought, and I can feel the weight of his scrutiny.
I nod, but my mind is still racing, trying to sort through the sudden confusion swirling inside me. Without another word, he puts my resume down on the desk, the edges of the paper meeting the surface with a soft thud.
“I’ll inform you of my decision within a couple of days,” he states, his voice resonating with confidence. “Wait for our call.”
“Alright,” I responded promptly, endeavoring to keep my voice even. “I’ll await your call.”
“Thanks for coming in today.” He extends his hand across the desk, a gesture that feels almost too formal, too deliberate.
I hesitate for a moment, a flicker of unease running through me, but I brush it off. This is business. It’s just a handshake.
I take his hand.
The moment our palms meet, a rush of memories floods my mind—wild, fleeting, tangled with the taste of alcohol and the hum of excitement. I remember the way he held me, the sharpness of his touch, how he made me feel like I was flying, untethered, in the chaos of the night.
It wasn’t supposed to have happened like that. I was drunk. He was there.
And yet, even as the memories surge, I realize something else—he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t take anything I didn’t want to give. I needed escape, and he provided it. But then... he was gone.
I glance at him now, the same man, standing here before me. The jolt of recognition hits harder than I expected, pulling me back into that night, into the storm of emotions I thought I’d left behind.
My hand stiffens in his, and I pull it away suddenly, too fast. I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts down, but it’s no use. The past has a way of finding its way back.
He watches me, a sharp look in his eyes. “You’re pale. Is everything okay?”
I gulp, trying to hide the sudden rush of dizziness. “Yeah, just really grateful for your time,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “I’ll wait for the result.”
I turn, fingers crossed, the smile holds, only to hear the pattering of tiny feet behind me as I near the door.
“Mom, Rosie took my candy!” Rafael’s voice rings out, followed by the sound of Rosalie’s giggle.
We both freeze, rooted to the spot.
I turn, slowly, and look down at my twins. Rafael and Rosalie stop just inside the door, their faces bright, unaware of the tension thick in the room. But Dominic is staring at Rafael. His gaze is fixed, unwavering, scanning him like he’s seeing something… more.
He’s not just looking at my son—he’s studying him. Analyzing him.
Dominic’s voice is low, almost too calm. “Are they your kids?”
I nod, a sudden wave of nervousness washing over me, my pulse racing. “Yes,” I say, my voice unsteady. “They are.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just watches them. Then, finally, his gaze returns to me, but this time it’s sharp, piercing.
“Who is their father?” His question slices through the silence, making my throat tightens.
Before I can answer, Rafael steps forward, his small chin lifted in defiance, his eyes meeting Dominic’s with an expression that matches mine.
“I don’t have one,” he says firmly, his voice steady.