Page 39 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
The boss was Rafael Pérez.
Three weeks ago, he had walked into my life like a storm.
He had saved me from Bruno—his vile, reckless younger brother.
He had sat in my messy apartment with effortless authority.
Then told me, in that low, controlled voice of his, to report to his office at nine the next morning.
I went to Rafael Pérez’s office the following morning exactly as instructed.
He wasn’t there.
I tried again the next day. Then again after that. And again.
Each visit met with the same polite dismissal, delivered in carefully neutral tones:
“Mr. Pérez is not on site.”
Of course he wasn’t.
A man like Rafael Pérez didn’t sit behind a desk waiting for anyone—especially not an intern.
He moved in a different world.
Forbes had ranked him as the wealthiest man in Spain—by a margin so wide it bordered on absurd. Twice the net worth of the next billionaire.
Power clung to him like a second skin.
And now...
Just when I had started believing Rafael Pérez had probably forgotten about the blind intern he had summoned to his office three weeks ago, he was suddenly calling for me.
Immediately.
“Miss Loretta?”
The assistant’s voice broke through again, softer this time.
I realized I hadn’t moved.
“I’m coming,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.
I exhaled slowly and pushed back my chair, letting the familiar scrape ground me in the present.
Rising to my feet, I reached instinctively for my cane, fingers curling around its smooth handle.
The world sharpened the moment I stepped forward.
My cane swept in practiced arcs across the polished floor, mapping the space with quiet precision.
The low hum of computers faded slightly as I moved away from my desk.
Voices blurred into indistinct murmurs behind me..
A subtle change in airflow brushed against my cheek—the open pathway leading toward the elevators.
I stopped exactly where I knew the call button would be, pressing it without hesitation.
