Alessandro spent the next five days in a state of controlled panic.
Not the loud kind. Not the kind that showed on his face or slipped into his voice during meetings. He still signed contracts. Still made decisions worth millions. Still ran his company with the calm precision people expected from him.
But inside, he was unraveling in slow motion.
He stood in front of his closet Monday morning for nearly twenty minutes, staring at rows of suits that suddenly felt like costumes from a life he wasn't sure belonged to him anymore. Navy. Charcoal. Black. The uniform of a man who'd always hidden behind power and presentation.
Too formal.
Too intimidating.
Too much like the version of himself that had hurt her.
He pulled out a dark gray sweater instead. Soft. Simple. Something he'd bought months ago and never worn because it didn't feel impressive enough.
He ran his hand over the fabric, imagining her seeing him in it.
Imagining her noticing he'd changed.
