HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 44: Set Up To Fail

After Vincent leaves, I'm left considering how best to approach Sandro about an interview. He doesn't know I've started a new job, but I don't want to catch him off guard. If I invite him to lunch and spring this on him, he'd understandably feel blindsided. It might even ruin whatever fragile connection we have—if that's even what this is.

I won't risk that. I care about this... whatever it is between us. I need a different strategy. Maybe I should tell him about my new job first.

As I ponder, the landline phone on my desk rings, startling me. I didn't even know this number existed—who could be calling? It must be work-related.

Trying to steady myself, I pick up the phone. "Hello, this is Rafha."

"There's my wife. Did you get my flowers?" The voice makes my stomach churn. It's Samuel.

"What do you want, Samuel?" I ask, unable to mask my irritation.

"Those flowers cost a pretty penny. Some gratitude would be nice," he says smugly.

"I'm sure my sister would appreciate them more. Maybe you should've sent them to her," I reply coldly.

"Maybe," Samuel muses, "but it was important for your workplace to know that you have such a loving husband."

I haven't forgotten the card that came with the flowers—now crumpled in the trash. The flowers, despite their malicious intent, are too beautiful to waste, so I moved them to the office coffee table.

The card read: *Congratulations on your first week back after ten years at home. Your husband, Samuel Samson, CEO.*

It's clear Samuel's aim was to broadcast to everyone that I've been out of work for years, while flaunting his CEO title. That card, with its condescending message, was the first of many reasons my coworkers don't take me seriously. They think I'm just a bored housewife dabbling in work. Samuel knows this—he planned it that way. He's determined to undermine any sense of independence or joy I find for myself.

"I'm waiting for a 'thank you,'" Samuel presses.

"And you won't get one," I snap. "I'll never thank you for trying to sabotage me."

"You have no right to be there, Rafha. I'm only revealing the truth. You were born to be a housewife. Once everyone at that office realizes how desperately you're needed at home, they'll get rid of you."

"You're delusional," I hiss, furious at how easily he still gets under my skin. After years of marriage, he knows exactly which buttons to push.

"Am I? Or are you the one deluding yourself, pretending you're some fresh graduate ready to conquer the world? You're a washed-up old hag, and it's embarrassing watching you pretend to be more."

I can't listen to any more of this. "How did you even get this number?"

"I had a delightful chat with the receptionist. She happily patched me through to my 'lovely wife.'"

"Go to hell, Samuel," I retort before hanging up.

His laugh echoes in my mind as I slam the phone down. My hands tremble with rage. I remind myself to calm down and breathe. Letting him upset me is exactly what he wants. I won't give him the satisfaction.

I'm at work—I need to focus on that.

I consider asking the receptionist to block Samuel calls, but what if there's an emergency with the girls? For their sake, I have to endure this torment. I can't give him more ammunition for the divorce and custody battle.

*Focus, Rafha.*

I push thoughts of Samuel aside and return to the real issue: convincing Sandro to do this interview. Maybe I'm overthinking this. What if I just call and ask him? Sandro might appreciate the direct approach, especially if I'm upfront about working for Hugo.

But then I recall how Sandro and Vincent glared at each other at the country club. There's clearly bad blood between them. Prying into why Sandro doesn't want to give an interview could land me in trouble. If he has secrets, I'd rather he tells me voluntarily. I won't invade his privacy just to advance at work.

I won't do that to him. There has to be another way.

As I stare at his contact info in my phone, my thoughts wander. Handsome, charming, sexy as hell, and amazing in bed... My mind drifts to a hotel room, imagining Sandro between my thighs...

I shake my head quickly, dispelling the fantasy. *You're at work, Rafha!*

But aside from those distractions, I know Sandro is also ambitious. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. I just need to find something he wants—something only an interview with Harbinger could offer.

"That won't work," says a voice behind me.

I jump slightly, not realizing Ash was there. "You can't just call and ask," she says. "Trust me, if it were that simple, I'd have landed the interview a long time ago."

"Thanks for the advice," I say dryly, setting my phone facedown.

"I'm only trying to help," she insists.

"You're not," I snap back. "If you were, you wouldn't have tried to humiliate me earlier." I bite back more harsh words, knowing arguing with Ash is pointless. She's never liked me.

"It's all a joke, Rafha. Lila only gave you this assignment because she knows it's impossible. She's setting you up to fail."

I ignore her, hoping she'll leave.

"Vincent and Sandro don't get along. Never have," Ash continues. "If I, as his childhood friend, couldn't convince him to give us an interview, what hope do you have?"

I hate to admit it, but she has a point. If influence alone could sway him, Ash would have succeeded by now. The fact that she hasn't shows that this will require more than just charm and connections.

"You should give up," Ash taunts.

"I won't," I reply firmly.

"You're guaranteed to fail, Rafha. Lila is mocking you. Can't you see that?"

"I see it," I say calmly. "But if I fail, I fail. I'm not giving up without a fight."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Ash says with a smirk as she saunters away.

I don't need her warnings. All I need is determination—and access to the Harbinger News Company's many, many resources.