How Could I Bear You Sad

"March!" A furious shout pierced the air behind me. I turned and saw Matteo storming toward me. Only then did I realize I had just unwittingly become part of a staged performance—one I hadn’t even initiated. I hadn’t touched Sandra. “Why are you here?” Matteo demanded. Inwardly, I scoffed. Wasn’t it you who claimed you were too drunk and asked me to pick you up? Matteo pushed past me, his attention entirely focused on helping Sandra up from the ground. His dark eyes were clouded with displeasure as they flicked back to me. “Why are you picking fights with a girl like her?” “Mr. Mendez, Ms. Argento didn’t push me. I just lost my balance,” Sandra said softly, her voice dripping with false humility. Once, I had believed Sandra to be a meek and well-behaved girl. Now, all I saw was the insincerity behind her sweet facade. Matteo pulled out a cartoon-themed band-aid from his pocket and carefully pressed it onto Sandra’s palm. His voice was gentle as he instructed, “Try not to let it get wet for a few days.” “Thank you, Mr. Mendez,” Sandra murmured, her gaze full of gratitude. I watched in silence, my eyes fixed on the cartoon band-aid. Once, that simple act of care had been mine alone. Now, memory and reality collided painfully, leaving me adrift. I remembered our first encounter on the grapevine path at Milan University’s School of Economics and Management. A girl had confessed her feelings to him, but he had rejected her by pointing to me and saying, “It’s her I like.” He hadn’t been lying. For me, it was love at first sight. After that, Matteo found every excuse to be near me—inviting me out for meals, helping me with studies, waiting outside the café where I worked part-time just to walk me back to my dorm. One evening, I teased him, “Is your finance program really this laid-back?” Matteo had looked at me seriously. “March, are you that slow to catch on? I’m chasing you.” We became a couple soon after. He begged me to move in with him, promising earnestly, “I’ll cherish you for the rest of my life.” Three days after we moved into our apartment in the elite Centrale area of Milan, Matteo had the entire second floor covered in plush carpet because I liked walking barefoot. He never wanted me to feel the cold. In the early days, he was always busy with business, often compressing week-long trips into five days so he could rush back and watch the first snowfall of the year with me in Rome City. Even our arguments never lasted long—he would extend his stay during my business trips just to make amends. I had truly believed Matteo loved me. But everything changed once the Argento Family acknowledged me. Though my family didn’t hold the same status as the Mendez Family, we were still wealthy and respected. Somehow, that recognition twisted Matteo’s feelings. He began to despise me, yet refused to let me go. Instead, he kept me around as a tool to manage his affairs and mistresses. When I finally snapped and suggested separation, his response was cold and dismissive. “Don’t even think about it.” By then, I couldn’t just walk away. I still couldn’t understand how someone’s heart could change so drastically and so suddenly. And now, here I was, accompanying him as he escorted Sandra home. I watched helplessly as he sent her upstairs with care, only to return with me to Centrale. The moment we stepped inside, Matteo cornered me against the wall. His touch was a mix of roughness and longing and his kisses came fast and suffocating, leaving no room for words—or escape.

My body still responded to him, every nerve awakened and sensitive. Entangled breaths filled the room, but once the passion ebbed, a familiar emptiness began creeping in. Matteo stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a cigarette between his fingers. Still caught in the remnants of our intimacy, I asked tentatively, “So, Sandra couldn’t satisfy you?” He paused mid-drag, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “She’s too well-behaved to give up.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; he just couldn’t let her go. His words were like a punch to the gut, each syllable plunging me deeper into a cold abyss. I stood there, stunned and empty, as Matteo dressed quickly. Without sparing me another glance, he walked out the door. The click of it closing resonated like a gavel. Moments later, the distant roar of his car's engine signaled his departure. Before tonight, part of me still held onto hope, clinging to the fragments of our past. But now? I realized Matteo’s father had been right all along: when love is gone, why hold on to something rotten? With trembling fingers, I picked up my phone and dialed. When the line connected, I spoke calmly, “I accept. I’ll divorce Matteo.” I set the phone down, surprised by the weight that lifted from my chest. This was not the life I wanted—a marriage built on deceit and mockery. I craved a life that moved forward, one with a clear heart and unshackled freedom. The next day, I went to the Mendez Group offices, my mind clear and resolute. As I approached the entrance, I overheard whispers from the secretaries’ office. “Have you noticed how Mr. Mendez treats her differently? The project Ms. Argento was managing is nearly complete and yet it’s being handed to the new girl. Isn’t that giving away credit for free?” “Why else? The boss obviously likes her.” “I know! But poor Ms. Argento… I always rooted for her and Mr. Mendez.” “Typical. The new girl gets all the smiles while the old ones are left with tears.” The chatter abruptly halted when they noticed me. One of them, clearly uncomfortable, greeted me weakly, “Good morning, Ms. Argento.” “Good morning,” I replied evenly. My marriage to Matteo had never been publicly acknowledged; the Mendez Family had refused to recognize it. There had been no wedding ceremony, no fanfare. Even after joining the Mendez Group, I had kept our relationship under wraps to avoid rumors. In hindsight, I realized how fortunate it was that it never became public gossip. Now, my private anguish remained just that—private. Settling at my desk, I noticed the project folder was gone from its usual place. The workstation opposite mine was also conspicuously empty. I asked, “Is Sandra not here today?” A coworker replied, “She’s with Mr. Mendez.” My eyes drifted to Matteo’s office. The blinds were closed tightly, but muted laughter seeped through. I recalled when Sandra first joined. With her warm smile and slight resemblance to me, she had been treated generously, even welcomed as an alum from the same university. In retrospect, it all seemed like a cruel irony. Determined not to dwell on it, I focused on wrapping up my work. Since I was leaving both my marriage and this job, there was no point in lingering any longer than necessary. I began organizing and documenting my current projects for a smooth handover. Then, the phone on my desk buzzed. Matteo’s voice came through, commanding as ever. “Come to my office.” When I entered, the sight before me was almost laughable. Sandra sat at Matteo’s computer and he leaned over her shoulder, their hands almost touching on the mouse. “Oh no, Mr. Mendez! I accidentally deleted everything!” Sandra exclaimed, feigning distress. “Don’t worry,” Matteo replied smoothly. “I’ll help you.” The scene was painfully familiar—a spectacle of calculated naivety and indulgence, like watching an old script play out once more.

Sandra turned to Matteo, her eyes wide and shimmering, as if in awe. “Really?” He reached over, ruffling her hair with a practiced ease that spoke of familiarity. “When have I ever lied to you?” They acted as if I wasn’t even there, their closeness deliberated. I knew all too well that this was Sandra’s way of flaunting. Once, I might have fought back, retaliated against her calculated sweetness and challenged Matteo for his disrespect. But now, I had resolved to move on. Neither their petty games nor any semblance of love mattered anymore. I cleared my throat with a deliberate cough. “Mr. Mendez.” Both of them turned to look at me. “I’d like to transfer the project to Sandra,” I said. “Fine,” Matteo replied easily, as if it were nothing. “And from now on,” I continued, “I’ll personally supervise her. We’ll switch seats.” My current spot had a view straight into Matteo’s office, a place I’d occupied since day one at the Mendez Group. It had plenty of sunlight and a good breeze—a place I once enjoyed. Now, any seat would do. I was already halfway out the door. “Understood,” I said without hesitation. “I’ll make the switch today.” My easy compliance seemed to unsettle Matteo. His gaze darkened, assessing my reaction. But I remained indifferent. “Is there anything else, Mr. Mendez? If not, I’ll see myself out.” As I turned to leave, Sandra’s voice followed me. “Is Ms. Argento upset?” “Don’t worry about it,” Matteo dismissed, his attention already back on Sandra. “Let’s continue.” Back at my desk, I forced myself to focus, ignoring whatever murmurs might pass through the blinds. I channeled my energy into drafting my resignation. There was no need to prolong the inevitable. I had two other projects near completion; in a month, I would close out my obligations and leave everything behind. I worked late into the evening, gathering all materials related to the project before setting the files on Sandra’s desk. Without a backward glance, I grabbed my bag and left, arranging to meet my best friend, Lucy, for dinner. The traffic in the old city crawled to a standstill, but the subway offered me freedom from potential interruptions. I didn’t want Matteo using any excuse to find me. Over dinner, Lucy eyed me with concern. “March, are you really going through with the divorce?” Lucy had witnessed the good moments—the genuine love that once defined my relationship with Matteo. The sweet beginning was something she’d never forget. Hearing my decision earlier had come as a shock. I sipped my tea and nodded. “Yes. I’ll pack tonight and leave Centrale for good.” “And work?” “I’ll resign. A clean break is what I need.” Tears welled in Lucy’s eyes. The determined, fearless March she once knew had returned. “When will you tell him?” “Tonight.” And I did. At 10:30 p.m., Matteo arrived at Centrale. He found me in our second-floor bedroom, kneeling on the plush carpet he once installed for my comfort, packing my things into two large suitcases. He leaned against the doorframe, a smile playing on his lips. “So you texted me to come back and watch you make a scene by running away?” I met his eyes steadily. “I’m not playing games, Matteo.” “Then this must be about Sandra. Jealousy suits you.” His gaze burned with amusement, as if my pain were a joke.

“You’re the boss,” I said calmly. “It’s your right to decide where the project goes. And as for Sandra—she’s never been the issue between us.” Matteo’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me. “Oh? Then what is the issue?” “Even if it wasn’t Sandra, there’d be another—Clara or Martha…” My voice trailed off. “A change is a change, Matteo. There’s no ‘why’ behind it.” He didn’t understand. His smile was mocking, as if our conversation was just another game to him. “Then tell me,” he pressed, leaning closer. “What’s really the problem?” I ignored his question, switching gears with a colder tone. “Maybe we should discuss your investment in my business.” He let out a dry laugh. “No matter what the reason is, I don’t have the time or desire to play your rival actor.” His words hit like a slap and I turned my head away, stung. “What do you mean?” “Isn’t it obvious?” he replied, his voice dripping with disdain. “When your family accepted you back, it was because you were married to me—the Mendez Family’s leverage.” I felt the blood drain from my face. Matteo’s accusation struck at something I had tried so hard to keep separate: my family’s affairs. I never wanted our relationship tainted by the scheming of the Argento Family, especially not by my father, Johan Argento, who had been relentless with his demands. The countless phone calls, even the surprise visits to Centrale—I had ignored them all. But Matteo was right; my father had likely approached him directly. Bitterness rose in my throat, heavy and suffocating. Our tense silence was broken by the abrupt ringing of Matteo’s phone. He answered quickly, his tone brisk. “I’ll be there soon.” Without another word, he turned and left. As the door clicked shut behind him, I swallowed back the word “divorce” that had been on the tip of my tongue. I went back to packing, determined to leave on my own terms. By midnight, my suitcases were filled, every trace of my life here tucked away. I picked up my phone, skimming through unread messages before habitually opening my social feed. The latest post was from Sandra, timestamped just five minutes earlier: “Hospitalized after a car accident. Fortunately, he was there.” A photo accompanied the post: a hand holding a glass of water. The hand had a distinctive circular scar—Matteo’s, from when he’d once cooked for my birthday. The dim lighting and the light-gray sofa in the background left no doubt; he was with Sandra. So that’s why he rushed out. I thought we might at least part amicably, but it was clear now he didn’t care. Mentioning divorce to him would only be seen as another one of my “moods.” He believed I would never leave him. He was wrong. When he returned to find only a divorce agreement and resignation letter waiting in my place, I wondered how he’d react. Whatever his response, it wouldn’t matter anymore. The next two weeks blurred together. I immersed myself in work, found a new apartment and ignored the spectacle of Matteo doting on Sandra. Seeing them together used to make me sick, but now it only numbed me. After the project was completed, Matteo hosted a celebratory banquet for Sandra at the Milan Club’s hotel. I arrived, realizing only then that it was also Sandra’s birthday. A towering three-tiered cake adorned with pink roses stood as the centerpiece. As everyone watched, Sandra made her wishes aloud. “My first wish: May Mendez’s Group continue to prosper.” “My second wish: May Mr. Mendez find happiness and peace.” Her voice softened as she reached her final wish. She closed her eyes, a knowing smile playing at her lips and blew out the candle marking her twenty-fourth birthday.

The crowd cheered as the candles were extinguished, the bright lights flashing back on. I stood at the very back, watching the celebration with a detached gaze. My eyes lingered on Matteo’s smile, directed so warmly at the woman beside him. “Ms. Argento, please, have some cake!” Sandra’s voice pierced through the noise as she made her way towards me, holding a small butterfly-shaped cake in her hands. “Thank you for helping me with the project and for coming to my birthday banquet.” I glanced down, noticing the golden mango pieces beneath the creamy white frosting. Forcing a polite smile, I declined, “Thank you, but I’m on a diet.” Sandra hesitated, clearly taken aback by my refusal. An awkward silence settled between us, broken only when Matteo called out from across the room. “Secretary March, didn’t you just have hot pot with your friends a few days ago?” His words were casual, but the pointed tone was impossible to miss. He was by my side in an instant, his gaze challenging. I met his eyes, unfazed. “So?” Without missing a beat, he grasped Sandra’s wrist, guiding the cake back towards me. “It’s just a cake, no need to be so calculating, Secretary March.” Of all things, Matteo knew mango was my allergen. I remembered the first time I visited the Mendez Family home—his grandmother had offered me a mango pastry and I ended up in the hospital that night. Matteo had stayed by my bedside, looking distraught. “Why are you so stubborn? You don’t need to compromise yourself just to please my family.” I’d smiled weakly through the IV drip. “It’s fine. I wanted to make a good first impression.” The memory flashed through my mind, but I pushed it aside. In a level tone, I replied, “I’m allergic to mango. Since Mr. Mendez likes it, he can enjoy my share.” Matteo’s expression darkened for a brief moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before it disappeared. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought it was regret—or even heartache. “That’s a shame!” Sandra chirped, her voice light and airy. “This cake was special-ordered by Mr. Mendez. He made sure it was perfect for today, even booked it a week in advance!” She turned to Matteo, blinking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “But no need to force it, right?” Her voice was sweet and endearing and he looked back at her, amusement playing on his features. “It’s your birthday—you decide.” A wave of disgust washed over me at their public display. It was exhausting. I grabbed my coat from the sofa. “Enjoy your celebration. I need to leave.” Without looking back, I walked out, desperate to escape the stifling atmosphere. As I stepped outside, my phone buzzed. It was a call from my real estate agent—my new apartment was ready. I could move in tomorrow. The half-hour drive from the clubhouse to Centrale felt like a blur of memories—four years of life with Matteo replaying in my mind. Once I got home, I opened a drawer and took out our wedding photos, packing them neatly into cardboard boxes. I contacted a service that specialized in handling old wedding memorabilia and scheduled a pickup. Turning to my computer, I found the hidden folder filled with digital photos. Each image was a snapshot of happier times. My fingers trembled as I selected all the files, hovering over the delete button. I hesitated for just a second, then clicked. Sweetness and pain—both real—were erased with a keystroke. The next morning, Lucy arrived in her SUV. She took one look at the two modest boxes of my belongings and scoffed. “Four years together and this is all you’ve got?” I hefted one box into the trunk. “Anything not bought by me, I don’t want.” I left behind every cheongsam, every designer dress, every glittering piece of jewelry Matteo had given me. I didn’t need any reminders of him. Not anymore.

“Leaving like this—quitting without notice—if Matteo finds out, won’t he use the Argento Family against you?” Lucy’s words weighed heavily in the car. I froze, the realization hitting me hard. My family hadn’t pestered me about the last project financing—was it possible that Matteo intervened? Or perhaps it was Mendez’s father? I couldn’t bring myself to care; my relationship with my family was already devoid of any real sentiment. Matteo had been right—the Argento Family’s belated recognition of me wasn’t out of paternal affection. They only sought to use my connection with the Mendez Family, exploiting me as a bridge to their own influence. Sitting in the passenger seat, I responded quietly, “Let him do what he wants. I don’t care.” Lucy nodded. “Alright. As planned, we’ll take some time off. When the divorce agreement becomes official, we’ll come back, catch him off guard and start fresh.” It wasn’t until later that I found out the truth: Matteo had unknowingly signed the divorce papers, slipped in with a stack of contracts by his father. He had insisted on secrecy until the divorce was finalized, offering me a substantial sum of money as an incentive and promising the Argento Family an investment in the Centrale area project as a bargaining chip. I refused. “I’m not divorcing Matteo for money,” I told Matteo’s father. “I’ve given two years to this company and one to this marriage. I’ll only take what belongs to me. As for the project, whether you invest or not is your decision.” After tying up loose ends, I headed to Mendez’s Group one last time. Matteo was on a business trip to Venice and for once, he hadn’t brought Sandra along. By chance, I saw my resignation letter lying conspicuously on his desk. “Ms. Argento, you’re resigning?” Sandra’s voice broke the silence. It was lunchtime and most employees had gone downstairs to eat, leaving just the two of us in the office. I continued packing without even glancing her way. “He’ll find out when he comes back.” “Of course. Unless someone talks too much, he won’t know until then.” Sandra smirked but kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t foolish enough to reveal her hand. I paused. “If I’m not mistaken, it was you in the bathroom that day, wasn’t it? You’ve known I was planning to divorce him and leave. It must make you very happy, doesn’t it? Matteo is almost within your grasp. Congratulations in advance.” Sandra’s expression didn’t falter. She wasn’t about to let a single word slip that might give her away. When I left the towering, thirty-three-story office building, I glanced back at the southeast corner window on the top floor. My emotions were tangled and raw. I hailed a taxi to the airport, where Lucy was already waiting. Check-in. Security. Boarding. At 25,000 feet in the first-class cabin, the clouds below rolled like a dreamscape, vast and intoxicating. I turned to my phone, scrolled to Matteo’s WhatsApp profile and deleted it. I blocked his number too, severing every last connection.