How Could I Bear You Sad

It was the fifth year of my marriage with Matteo Mendez when he paraded his latest favorite in front of me without a shred of shame. The love we once shared had become a mere shadow of its former self.

That night, unable to hold back, I asked him, "Is the little girl not enough for you?"

Matteo's eyes, brimming with satisfaction, met mine without a hint of regret. "She’s too perfect to let go," he replied.

In that moment, I knew—it wasn’t that he didn’t want to end things with me; he simply couldn’t. I had learned when to walk away and this time, I did so without hesitation, leaving behind a thin divorce agreement before I moved far away from the country we once shared.

After everything ended, I found myself in an unexpected whirlwind, meeting a charming stranger at a bar. Our encounter was quick and intense. But just as I started to move on, Matteo came crawling back, begging for another chance, his desperation boundless.

I had just wrapped up a family banquet at the old mansion for Matteo when I found myself driving across the city, exhausted, to the Milan Clubhouse.

At the entrance, the manager greeted me warmly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it quickly. “Ms. Argento, it’s been a while. Shall I inform Mr. Mendez you’re here?”

Once, I had been a regular here. The VIP box on the top floor had been our haunt. But those times were over. Today, I was nothing more than a chauffeur, here to pick up Matteo and his new love interest.

“No need. I’ll go up myself,” I said with a dismissive wave.

I stepped out of the elevator and turned right, walking through the long corridor. At the end of it stood Sandra Milo, dressed in a soft gray one-piece dress, her petite frame nearly blocking the doorway. Her face paled at the sight of me and she hesitated before offering a soft, “Hello, March.”

Sandra was Matteo’s new secretary—a fresh graduate from Milan University, with delicate features and a demure charm typical of women from Rome. Her doe-like eyes radiated innocence, tugging at the sympathy of anyone who met her gaze.

“Where is Mr. Mendez?” I asked, my tone flat and detached.

Sandra glanced nervously toward the elevator before lowering her gaze, a flash of something manipulative flickering in her eyes. “He went to get me some honey water. I had too much to drink and Mr. Mendez was worried I’d feel unwell.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. In all the time I had been married to Matteo, I had never experienced such attentiveness. I remembered the time I accompanied him to a business event and was pressured into drinking until I nearly passed out. Not once had Matteo offered me honey water then.

“I told him it was unnecessary, but Mr. Mendez insisted. He always takes such good care of me,” Sandra continued, her voice dripping with false modesty. “Ms. Argento, I hope you don’t misunderstand me. You don’t dislike me, do you?”

She lowered her head, her eyes filling with tears as though she’d suffered a great injustice. But I saw through her theatrics.

“Save your acting,” I said, my voice cold. “That won’t work on me.”

Sandra either didn’t understand or pretended not to. “Everyone in the office says you’re the best, Ms. Argento. I wanted to learn from you, but if you don’t want to, I’ll speak to Mr. Mendez.”

Before I could respond, she suddenly grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry, Ms. Argento. Please don’t be mad.”

And then, just like that, she let out a dramatic gasp and stumbled backward, crashing heavily to the floor. It was a performance worthy of applause.