Part Two: The Truth Beneath The Bruises
Masimo’s car was a sleek black Mercedes.
The interior smelled of leather and that subtle cologne she’d noticed whenever he passed her desk.
Dante drove while Masimo sat in the back with her, maintaining a careful distance even as his eyes cataloged every visible bruise.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice sounding small in the quiet vehicle.
“Somewhere safe.”
“My home. I have security there. Space. You’ll have your own suite. Complete privacy. Henrique won’t be able to get to you.”
She should have protested.
Should have insisted on a hotel, a friend’s place, anywhere that didn’t blur the lines between employer and employee even further.
But exhaustion was settling into her bones.
And the thought of being alone in some anonymous hotel room, jumping at every sound, made her throat tight with panic.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Thank you.”
His jaw tightened, but he only nodded.
“We need to document the injuries. For the police report.”
“I’m not filing a police report,” she said automatically.
The thought of dealing with officers, of sitting under harsh station lights, recounting every humiliating detail, made her feel sick.
Masimo’s hand moved as though to reach for hers.
Then stopped.
Settled on the seat between them instead.
“Serena, he assaulted you. That’s not something that just goes away because you ignore it.”
“I know what he did,” she said, anger flickering beneath the fear.
“But I also know how these things go. He’ll say I’m lying. That I’m trying to ruin him. His family has money, connections. I’ll be the scorned girlfriend making false accusations.”
“You’re not lying,” Masimo said quietly.
“And you’re not scorned. You’re a woman who was attacked by someone who should have protected you.”
Tears burned behind her eyes.
“It’s complicated.”
“No, cara. It’s actually very simple. He hurt you. That’s a crime. The rest is just noise.”
But it wasn’t simple.
Not when her life was tangled up with Henrique’s in a thousand small ways. The apartment lease was in both their names. They had a joint bank account he’d insisted they open six months ago to make managing bills easier.
Her car was technically his. A gift he’d given her last year when hers died, though the title was still in his name.
Leaving him meant unraveling all of that.
Meant starting over with nothing but her salary and whatever she could salvage from the wreckage.
They pulled through a security gate into an underground parking garage.
She’d known Masimo was wealthy, but the building they entered was something else entirely. All marble floors and modern art. A doorman who nodded respectfully as they passed.
The penthouse occupied the entire top floor.
Masimo led her inside through a living area that seemed to be all windows and clean lines, past a kitchen that looked like something from a magazine, to a guest suite that was larger than the apartment she’d shared with Henrique.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he said, setting her bag on the bench at the foot of the bed.
“Fresh towels in the closet. Toiletries under the sink if you need anything. My room is at the other end of the penthouse. Dante will be stationed outside the main door. You’re safe here, Serena.”
She nodded, suddenly unable to speak around the lump in her throat.
He moved toward the door, then paused.
“I know you don’t want to file a police report tonight. But will you let me call my doctor? Just to check you over. Make sure nothing’s broken or seriously damaged.”
Please.
The please undid her.
Masimo Bianke, who commanded an empire, who made grown men nervous with a single look, was asking rather than demanding.
“Okay,” she agreed softly.
Thirty minutes later, she sat on the edge of the bed while Dr. Caruso, an elegant woman in her fifties, gently examined her wrists and face.
She said little as she worked, her touch professional and careful.
But her mouth tightened when she saw the full extent of the bruising.
“No fractures,” she said finally, clicking off her pen light.
“But significant soft tissue damage. These will hurt for several days. Worse before they get better. Ice for the first forty-eight hours, then heat.”
“I’m going to give you something for the pain and something to help you sleep.”
“I don’t want to be drugged,” Serena protested.
Her expression softened.
“Not drugged. Just helped. Trust me, you’ll want to sleep tonight, and your body won’t let you without assistance. Too much adrenaline still in your system.”
She was right, of course.
Her hands were still trembling. Her heart still racing despite being safe behind locked doors and security systems.
After Dr. Caruso left, she stood under the shower for a long time.
Letting the hot water wash away the feeling of Henrique’s hands on her skin.
Her wrists throbbed. Her face ached.
But worse was the knowledge of how thoroughly she’d been deceived.
When had the charming photographer she’d fallen for transformed into someone who could hit her?
Or had he always been capable of it, and she’d simply refused to see the signs?
She emerged from the bathroom in her pajamas to find Masimo in the main living area.
Standing at the windows with a glass of what looked like whiskey in his hand.
He’d changed into dark sweatpants and a t-shirt, his feet bare.
She was struck by how different he looked from the controlled businessman she saw every day at the office.
“Dr. Caruso said you should take the pain medication,” he said without turning.
“I will.”
She hovered in the doorway, uncertain.
“Masimo, I don’t know how to thank you for this.”
He finally turned to look at her, his expression unreadable.
“Don’t thank me, Serena. This is what anyone with basic human decency would do. The fact that you think you need to thank me just shows how low Henrique set the bar.”
She flinched at the name.
At the bitter truth in Masimo’s words.
He noticed. Of course he did.
“I’m sorry. That was harsh.”
“It was honest,” she said, moving further into the room.
The city glittered below them. Thousands of lights against the darkness.
“I keep asking myself how I didn’t see it. The signs were there. I just—I didn’t want to look.”
Masimo was quiet for a long moment.
“We see what we want to see. Especially in the people we care about. That’s not weakness, cara. That’s just being human.”
“When did it start?” she asked, more to herself than to him.
“The jealousy. The controlling behavior. Was it always there, or did I miss the moment it changed?”
“Does it matter?”
His voice was gentle.
“The point is that you’re out now. You called for help. That takes courage.”
She laughed, a broken sound.
“I didn’t feel courageous. I felt terrified. I still feel terrified. Of Henrique. Of everything. Of what comes next. Of being alone.”
She trailed off, unable to voice the other fear.
The one that had nothing to do with Henrique and everything to do with the man standing across the room from her.
“You’re not alone,” Masimo said firmly.
“And you won’t be. Whatever you need to rebuild your life, you’ll have it. A place to stay for as long as you want. Legal help if you decide to press charges. Security if you feel unsafe. All of it. No strings attached.”
No strings attached.
The words should have been reassuring.
But instead, they made something in her chest ache.
Because part of her wanted there to be strings.
Wanted to understand what this pull between them meant. Wanted to know if he felt it too, or if she’d imagined four years of charged glances and careful distance.
But she was raw and broken.
Standing in his penthouse in borrowed pajamas with bruises blooming across her skin.
Whatever existed between them would have to wait. Until she could trust herself again. Until she wasn’t just running from one man into the arms of another.
“Thank you,” she said again, because she didn’t have other words.
“For everything.”
He nodded, draining the last of his whiskey.
“Get some sleep, Serena. Tomorrow will be easier.”
She retreated to the guest suite.
Took the medication Dr. Caruso had left.
Climbed into a bed that was far too large and far too comfortable.
Sleep pulled at her despite her racing thoughts, the medication doing its work.
Her last conscious thought was of Masimo standing at those windows, looking out at his city.
And the way he’d said her name like a benediction.
