Juliet’s POV
I stared at the card for a long time, longer than made sense.
Ryan LaRusso — Private Line.
Even the handwriting carried confidence. The letters were clean and firm, like the person who wrote them never hesitated or doubted himself. The short message beneath his name made my chest tighten.
We’re not finished, Miss Romano.
The words stayed with me, pressing under my skin, sending a strange awareness through my body. I stood there with a towel wrapped loosely around me, my hair still damp, my heart beating so loudly I could feel it in my throat. Outside, the city continued as usual, cars passing, distant voices, the low hum of life, but inside my room, everything felt still.
What did he mean by we’re not finished?
Nothing had even started. We had barely spoken. And yet the words felt final, deliberate, like a door being closed behind me without my permission.
I placed the card on my nightstand, hoping distance would make it feel harmless. It didn’t. Under the soft yellow glow of the lamp, it looked important. Dangerous. Like a decision waiting to be made.
Maybe this was a tactic. Maybe this was how the LaRussos operated, subtle pressure, quiet control, forcing people into situations they never agreed to. My father had once been confident too, until that family took everything he built.
I pressed my hand against my chest and took a deep breath, trying to calm the uncomfortable warmth spreading through me.
I hated that my body reacted to him at all.
I should have destroyed the card immediately. That would have been the sensible thing to do. Tear it up. Throw it away. End whatever this was before it began.
Instead, I opened the drawer beside my bed and slid the card inside.
Just in case, I told myself, though I wasn’t sure what I was preparing for.
I stared at the closed drawer afterward, my stomach tight, as if I had just hidden something that could explode at any moment.
The city noises filtered in through the window, sirens, distant laughter, an impatient car horn. Everything sounded normal, but I didn’t feel normal at all. It felt like I had stepped onto unfamiliar ground, unsure where it would lead.
Then my phone vibrated.
Mia: You alive?
Mia: Or did the billionaire eat you for breakfast?
Mia: Actually don’t answer that
Despite everything, a small smile tugged at my lips. Mia had always been like this—lighthearted, even when things were serious.
I called her.
“Finally,” she said. “You disappeared. I was starting to think he fired you or kissed you.”
“Mia,” I warned.
“That’s still not a denial.”
I sighed and sat on the edge of my bed. “He didn’t do either.”
There was a pause. “Okay… that’s worse. What happened?”
“He left his card,” I said.
“And?”
“It said, We’re not finished.”
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
“Oh no,” Mia said firmly. “Juliet, absolutely not. That family ruins people. Don’t forget what they did to your dad.”
Her words landed hard because they were true. I remembered every detail, the anger, the drinking, the way my father slowly became someone I barely recognized.
“I remember,” I whispered.
“Then don’t contact him. Burn the card. Promise me.”
I glanced toward the drawer. I hadn’t burned it. I hadn’t even considered it seriously.
“I promise,” I said anyway.
Mia sighed. “Good. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we go back to pretending rich men don’t control the world.”
When the call ended, the apartment felt too quiet.
I stood and faced the mirror. The woman looking back at me didn’t look steady or confident. My hair was messy, dark circles sat under my eyes, and there was tension written across my face.
This wasn’t who I wanted to be.
I walked to my desk, determined to focus on work. My sketchpad lay open, the building plans faint under the light. I stared at them, trying to concentrate.
Instead, my hand turned the page.
Without thinking, I started to draw.
Not buildings. Not layouts.
Ryan.
The sharp line of his jaw. The calm, unreadable look in his eyes. The way he spoke like he was always in control of the situation. I didn’t plan it. My hand moved on its own.
When I finally realized what I was doing, my heart was racing.
“What are you doing?” I muttered, snapping the sketchpad shut.
The sound echoed in the apartment.
From the living room, I heard my father shift on the couch, mumbling in his sleep.
Guilt rushed through me.
He had lost everything to the LaRussos. And here I was, thinking about one of them in ways I shouldn’t.
I rubbed my temples. “Get yourself together, Juliet.”
My eyes drifted back to the drawer.
I should throw the card away.
I didn’t.
Instead, I opened the window. Cool night air rushed in as rain began to fall, tapping against the glass. Somewhere out there, Ryan LaRusso was likely calm, confident, fully aware of the impact he had on people.
I had a feeling he knew exactly what he was doing.
When I finally lay down, my last thought before sleep took me wasn’t anger or fear.
It was the way his voice sounded when he said my name, steady, sure, like it mattered.
Morning came too quickly.
Sunlight cut through my curtains, harsh and unforgiving, reminding me that yesterday wasn’t a dream.
I arrived at work early, hoping the quiet would help me think. It didn’t. The office buzzed with energy, whispers moving quickly between desks.
“Did you hear?” Mia whispered. “He’s back.”
My stomach tightened. “Who?”
She gave me a look. “Ryan LaRusso.”
Before I could respond, the elevator doors opened.
He stepped out.
The room fell silent.
Ryan moved with confidence, like he owned the space simply by standing in it. My boss followed closely behind, smiling nervously.
“Mr. LaRusso will be overseeing the architecture expansion,” my boss announced. “He also has leadership updates to share.”
Ryan’s eyes found mine immediately.
“Miss Romano,” he said calmly. “You made an impression yesterday.”
“Did I?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
“Your design stood out,” he replied. “The only one worth remembering.”
Then he turned to my boss. “I want her on my team. Effective immediately.”
Shock rippled through the room.
“You’ll report directly to me,” he continued, his gaze steady on mine. “I believe we’ll work well together.”
I forced myself to respond. “Is this company procedure, Mr. LaRusso? Or your personal decision?”
A slight smile touched his lips. “Does it matter if the results speak for themselves?”
“My office,” he said. “Ten minutes.”
His office was quiet, polished, intimidating.
He stood near the window when I entered.
“Close the door,” he said.
I did.
“You seem to enjoy making scenes,” I said, folding my arms.
“I enjoy efficiency,” he replied.
He stepped closer, studying me carefully. “You think this has anything to do with your last name?”
“I think it has everything to do with power.”
For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his face.
“You’re not something I can control,” he said calmly. “That’s why you interest me.”
My breath caught despite myself.
“We have an investor meeting tonight,” he continued. “Eight o’clock. Be ready.”
I left his office with one clear understanding:
Working under Ryan LaRusso wasn’t just risky.
It was dangerous.
And whatever this was between us had only just begun.
