Marzia pulled a coy smirk. "Why do you care?" The deafening silence that followed through seemed to reflect Scott's disbelief. "You better stop this, Marzia. You're nothing without me. Drop your things and come back inside."
Ruth's eyes grew livid upon hearing her son's words, but she chose to shut her mouth for now.
"No!" Marzia's voice echoes throughout the vicinity. Some birds that nestle in the nearby trees fly away in fear; fear of the woman's impending wrath. Marzia heaves deeply, collecting her accumulating anger that dates back to their first day. "I'm not stupid, Scott. After what you did to me, and for the years I've suffered under the hold of your family… It's enough. I wanna make myself happy again. Let's end this. I've had enough…"
"Marzia, you're making a mistake," Scott warned, at a loss for words.
"No. I'm not. Stop telling me what to do and assuming that every shit I do is a mistake. You make me feel so stupid for years—But I know that I'm not. I have a degree for God's sake. I was first in my class, constantly! But you know what you did? You never let me live my life and choose my path. You never wanted me to stand on my feet so I can keep relying on you. Scott, did you even love me? Or was that all for show?"
Scott was taken aback, as well as his mother. His eyes shifted to the side. "Don't put it like that. I've said I love you a million times, and I meant it…"
"You meant it… Ha…" Marzia looked down, adding, "But I never felt it. My decision is final, Scott. Let's end this. Goodbye." She wass about to walk past the man whilst dragging her suitcase when he reached for her wrist, muttering her name, "Marzia—"
However, a potent slap met his face. This is the first Scott has ever been slapped. His eyes widened as he looked back at her raging gaze. On the side, Ruth's jaw dropped. She quickly ran next to her son to protect him and reprimand Marzia, but Scott raced her to it, "How dare you slap me?"
Marzia cucked and didn't answer his question anymore. She just turned her back and walked away as if she was really ready to leave everything else. 'From now on, I'll be living for myself,' she thought and exited the gate of the mansion without looking back.
She directly perched on Deniece's car and put her luggage in the trunk before sitting on the shotgun seat. "Have you got everything?" her friend asked.
"Yup! I didn't have much, so it didn't take me long."
"Alright, let's go." Deniece started the car and curiously asked, "By the way, was that blue Mustang owned by Scott?"
Marzia chuckled. "Yeah."
"Oh, so does that mean you guys crossed paths? My gosh, what happened?"
Pausing for a second and pursing her lips with a proud smile, Marzia looked at Deniece and dropped the bomb. "I slapped him!"
Deniece looked back at her with a gawking expression and squealed in excitement. "I'm so proud of you!"
…
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Ian Harrison sits on a swivel chair. He's in his office, which is on the top floor of the Harrison Media Company. It's one of the most coveted companies in Italy. Interns try their best to be one of their permanent employees, business investors show tremendous interest, and pitching agents just wouldn't stop bugging the marketing department to hook their shows on the company's channel, Canale 12.
But that's not the only impressive thing about this company that Ian's father built. Besides the
Canale 12 being the most popular channel nationwide, they also have widescale operations on the internet and favored radio stations, in addition to their overseas media reach. Also, they manage artists from north to south with their entertainment branches. Actors, painters, performers, name the most popular ones in Europe, and they are surely handled by Ian's company.
But for the past years, Ian's sole focus is on their France branch. He has spent five years there to strengthen the Paris station, though it still seemed like it wouldn't do well for the months to come. That's why he decided to check things out here for now, well, that and other reasons.
As Ian reads and signs the pile of papers on his desk, a knock came through the door. Judging by its playful rhythm, it's obviously Romeo, so Ian didn't bother looking up at him. The latter came in with a worried look on his face, though. "Sir Ian…"
"What? I'm busy. I can't drink with you tonight so you can use me to hook up with girls," Ian says, eyes remaining on the papers. Indeed, Ian is a good boss that often spends time with his secretary, or maybe, he just didn't have much friends. Still, he was a nice man for adhering to Romeo's ridiculous request whenever he was drunk. Nonetheless, the case right now might not be that.
"No, Sir Ian. I just received a text from Mr. Renjun saying Mr. Calloway might be bribing some investors in Paris. He said that Mr. Calloway was about to offer him some money but once he figured Mr. Renjun was a close friend of yours, his tone shifted as if he was jesting! Isn't that alarming?"
Ian had an unbothered expression as he signed an agreement paper. "Don't worry. The investor's trust is in me. I doubt that Calloway would get his way. Just go rest. It's already late."
"Are you sure? But you're still working. Don't you want my company?" Romeo suggestively asked. He's usually this playful, and Ian has just gotten used to it.
"No. Your overtime rate is 50% higher than mine. I need to save money. Go away."
"Fine… Goodbye, Sir Ian! I'll see you in my dreams." Romeo waved and walked away. He figured that visiting his family would be nice for once. His family lives in the eastern part of the city, and he has yet to visit ever since coming here. Nonetheless, Romeo often finds time to come back here, unlike Ian.
When Ian was all alone, he heaved a sigh and dropped the pen. He then leaned against his swivel chair and looked at the ceiling. In reality, he was worried about Calloway's sneaky attempts of obtaining the company. Damien Calloway, a 60-year-old man who is a good friend of his father basically owned 25% of Harrison corporation, but the France branch, he owned 40% of it.
Ian can only curse in his mind. When he obtained this company, he never thought that such a headache would be inherited by him too. "Damn it…" he audibly murmured. As he rested for a minute, his phone that was placed beside the piles of paper caught his attention. Ian propped up and took it.
He looked at the recently added number on his contacts with knitted brows. 'Should I call her?' he asked himself. Ian didn't know why he was having such a dilemma, especially since it was about some irrelevant woman, but he can't help wondering how Marzia was doing. He just really felt bad for her.
"Aish, what am I thinking?! I'm a busy man. I have other things to worry about," he murmured and threw his phone back on the table. Ian went back to checking the files, but a few more seconds later, he looked at the phone again with an indistinguishable expression as if he was tempted to call her for real.
…
"And… everything is set!" Deniece announced after helping Marzia put her things in one of her empty closets. "That didn't take much space, eh? Don't worry, we'll shop on the weekends so you can have decent clothes!"
Marzia smiled. "Yeah, thanks, Deniece. I promise you that I'll do my best to pass all the job applications. In no time, I'll be paying you back."
"Psh, don't worry about that! Come on, let's have a toast." Deniece says before dragging Marzia to the kitchen. In the next moments, the two girl friends prepared a charcuterie board, and Deniece brought out a Rose champagne.
After setting everything on the small glass table, they sat on the chairs. Deniece's apartment is neither small nor big, but it's decent enough for two people to live in. She has one bedroom, a cute living room, and a kitchen counter with a marble island. There's also a balcony beside the couch that is overlooking the Po River.
"To us single and beautiful ladies," Deniece toasts as she holds a glass of champagne.
Marzia nods with a smile, "To us."
Their glasses clink, and Deniece immediately downs her share. On the other hand, Marzia has only taken a sip before a call interrupted her. Her forehead crinkles upon seeing the caller ID. "Shit, seems like my problems are neverending," she mutters.
"Deniece put her glass down. "Why? Who's that?"
Marzia showed the screen to her friend with a disappointed glower. And then, she answered it with a heavy heart. "Mom?"