Milan smelled like cold morning air, roasted coffee, and quiet ambition. To Élise Moreau, however, it smelled like a challenge she wasn't sure she was ready to face.
She clutched her handbag a little tighter, the leather biting into her palm as she stood before the towering glass monolith of Moretti Enterprises. The company logo a silver 'M' shaped like a jagged crown glimmered under the Italian sun, mocking her from above the entrance. It was beautiful, sharp, and intimidating. Just like the man who owned it.
First day. New city. New job. Don't embarrass yourself.
She inhaled softly, the scent of the city filling her lungs, and smoothed her blouse with a trembling hand. With a final check of her reflection in the glass, she stepped inside.
The lobby was breathtaking. Marble floors so polished they looked like mirrors, high ceilings that echoed with the hum of industry, and gold accents that screamed old-world wealth. Employees moved with military precision, dressed sharply in black and beige. Their footsteps were soft but confident against the polished stone, a rhythm of success that Élise didn't yet know how to dance to.
Élise felt small. Insignificant. But she lifted her chin anyway. Paris had raised her with elegance, and she had learned long ago to hide her fear behind a mask of poise.
"Name?" the receptionist asked without looking up, her voice as clinical as the décor.
"Élise Moreau. Administrative intern," she replied. Her French accent wrapped gently around the Italian words, a soft contrast to the sharp environment.
The receptionist looked up, surprise flickering in her eyes maybe at the accent, or maybe at the quiet confidence in Élise's eyes. She offered a small, professional smile. "You're assigned to the 34th floor. The elevator is to your right."
Élise thanked her and stepped into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, the silence felt heavy. Each floor dinged like a countdown to her fate. 31… 32… 33… 34.
Ding.
The doors opened to a floor that felt even colder than the lobby. The hallways were minimalistic, the décor sparse and expensive. It was organized with a precision that felt suffocating.
"The interns are here already?" a voice whispered as she walked past a cubicle.
"She's early."
"That's the French one everyone was talking about."
Élise kept her eyes forward, pretending the whispers were just background noise. She followed the signs to the main meeting room. Inside, several senior employees sat around a long, polished mahogany table. At the head sat a man with silver-framed glasses the HR director.
"You must be Miss Moreau. Welcome," he said, standing as she entered.
She bowed her head politely. "Merci. Thank you for having me."
The orientation began a blur of rules, departments, and high expectations. Élise took meticulous notes, her pen flying across the paper as she tried to blend into the shadows. But then, the atmosphere in the room didn't just change; it died.
The door swung open. Everyone stood up instantly.
Adriano Moretti had entered.
He was tall, dark-haired, and impossibly composed. His perfectly tailored black suit seemed to absorb the light around him, making his pale, unreadable expression stand out even more. His presence alone seemed to drop the temperature in the room by ten degrees.
Élise had never seen someone carry silence like a weapon. He didn't speak as he moved to the front of the room; he didn't have to. His jaw was tight, his eyes like shards of grey ice.
"Good morning," he said. His voice was deep and steady, but devoid of any warmth.
He began reviewing the morning reports. Two minutes in, the silence was shattered.
SLAM.
He dropped a folder on the table. The sound was like a gunshot.
"This," Adriano said, his eyes narrowing at a manager who looked like he wanted to vanish, "is unacceptable. Wrong sequence. Wrong numbers. Fix it by noon or clear your desk."
The manager swallowed hard, his face turning a sickly shade of grey. Élise froze. The rumors were true: the CEO of Milan did not tolerate mistakes. He didn't even tolerate a lack of perfection.
Then it happened. The HR director gestured to Élise, handing her a stack of updated documents. "Miss Moreau, pass these to the CEO."
Her heart skipped a beat. She rose slowly, her heels clicking softly against the floor. Every gaze in the room was a weight on her shoulders. She walked toward Adriano, her breath hitched in her throat. As she reached him, the scent of his crisp cologne cedar and cold rain hit her. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she extended the papers.
And that was enough.
The papers slipped. A few sheets scattered across the polished floor, white rectangles stark against the dark wood.
Silence. Total, suffocating silence.
Élise felt her chest tighten. She bent down immediately, her hands shaking as she gathered the pages. In her mind, she saw her career ending before it even began. She saw herself being tossed out onto the streets of Milan.
"Mi… mi dispiace… I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She looked up, and for the first time, Adriano Moretti really looked at her. For a long, agonizing moment, the Ice CEO studied the girl on the floor the flushed cheeks, the lowered lashes, and the quiet fear she was trying so hard to mask.
His expression changed. It wasn't a smile, but the ice in his eyes seemed to crack, just a fraction. He reached down and took the documents from her hands carefully almost gently.
"Va bene," he said, his voice a low rumble. "It's fine. Fix it, Mademoiselle."
Mademoiselle.
Élise looked up, startled. The employees stared with wide eyes. The HR director looked like he had seen a ghost. Adriano resumed the meeting as if nothing had happened, but the air was different now.
When the meeting finally ended, Élise remained in her seat, trying to calm her racing heart. She waited until the room cleared, but as she went to pack her bag, she realized he hadn't left. Adriano stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the Milan skyline.
"You're the intern from Paris," he said, his back still to her.
"Y-yes, sir. Élise Moreau."
He turned slowly. "Élise." He repeated her name as if testing the weight of it. "Your handwriting is neat. It shows discipline. That is a rare trait in this building."
"Grazie," she whispered.
"You speak Italian?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Only a little. I'm learning."
He nodded once. "It will be necessary if you intend to stay. Improvement is the only currency I accept."
He began to walk toward the door, but as he passed her, he paused. Without turning, he spoke one last time: "And Miss Moreau… don't rush to pick up fallen papers next time. People make mistakes. Keep your posture. Don't let them see you stumble."
He disappeared into the hallway, leaving the scent of his cologne and a lingering sense of danger behind. As Élise walked to her new desk, she met the gaze of Giulia Romano, the CEO's assistant.
Giulia's eyes were sharp, calculating. "You're the French intern?" she asked. "Word travels fast here. Just be careful, Élise. He isn't gentle with anyone. The fact that he was calm with you… that just means people will be watching you even closer."
Élise sat at her desk, the weight of the day finally hitting her. She had drawn the attention of the man every employee feared. She didn't know then that her first mistake in Milan would be the spark that changed everything.Milan smelled like cold morning air, roasted coffee, and quiet ambition. To Élise Moreau, however, it smelled like a challenge she wasn't sure she was ready to face.
She clutched her handbag a little tighter, the leather biting into her palm as she stood before the towering glass monolith of Moretti Enterprises. The company logo a silver 'M' shaped like a jagged crown glimmered under the Italian sun, mocking her from above the entrance. It was beautiful, sharp, and intimidating. Just like the man who owned it.
First day. New city. New job. Don't embarrass yourself.
She inhaled softly, the scent of the city filling her lungs, and smoothed her blouse with a trembling hand. With a final check of her reflection in the glass, she stepped inside.
The lobby was breathtaking. Marble floors so polished they looked like mirrors, high ceilings that echoed with the hum of industry, and gold accents that screamed old-world wealth. Employees moved with military precision, dressed sharply in black and beige. Their footsteps were soft but confident against the polished stone, a rhythm of success that Élise didn't yet know how to dance to.
Élise felt small. Insignificant. But she lifted her chin anyway. Paris had raised her with elegance, and she had learned long ago to hide her fear behind a mask of poise.
"Name?" the receptionist asked without looking up, her voice as clinical as the décor.
"Élise Moreau. Administrative intern," she replied. Her French accent wrapped gently around the Italian words, a soft contrast to the sharp environment.
The receptionist looked up, surprise flickering in her eyes maybe at the accent, or maybe at the quiet confidence in Élise's eyes. She offered a small, professional smile. "You're assigned to the 34th floor. The elevator is to your right."
Élise thanked her and stepped into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, the silence felt heavy. Each floor dinged like a countdown to her fate. 31… 32… 33… 34.
Ding.
The doors opened to a floor that felt even colder than the lobby. The hallways were minimalistic, the décor sparse and expensive. It was organized with a precision that felt suffocating.
"The interns are here already?" a voice whispered as she walked past a cubicle.
"She's early."
"That's the French one everyone was talking about."
Élise kept her eyes forward, pretending the whispers were just background noise. She followed the signs to the main meeting room. Inside, several senior employees sat around a long, polished mahogany table. At the head sat a man with silver-framed glasses the HR director.
"You must be Miss Moreau. Welcome," he said, standing as she entered.
She bowed her head politely. "Merci. Thank you for having me."
The orientation began a blur of rules, departments, and high expectations. Élise took meticulous notes, her pen flying across the paper as she tried to blend into the shadows. But then, the atmosphere in the room didn't just change; it died.
The door swung open. Everyone stood up instantly.
Adriano Moretti had entered.
He was tall, dark-haired, and impossibly composed. His perfectly tailored black suit seemed to absorb the light around him, making his pale, unreadable expression stand out even more. His presence alone seemed to drop the temperature in the room by ten degrees.
Élise had never seen someone carry silence like a weapon. He didn't speak as he moved to the front of the room; he didn't have to. His jaw was tight, his eyes like shards of grey ice.
"Good morning," he said. His voice was deep and steady, but devoid of any warmth.
He began reviewing the morning reports. Two minutes in, the silence was shattered.
SLAM.
He dropped a folder on the table. The sound was like a gunshot.
"This," Adriano said, his eyes narrowing at a manager who looked like he wanted to vanish, "is unacceptable. Wrong sequence. Wrong numbers. Fix it by noon or clear your desk."
The manager swallowed hard, his face turning a sickly shade of grey. Élise froze. The rumors were true: the CEO of Milan did not tolerate mistakes. He didn't even tolerate a lack of perfection.
Then it happened. The HR director gestured to Élise, handing her a stack of updated documents. "Miss Moreau, pass these to the CEO."
Her heart skipped a beat. She rose slowly, her heels clicking softly against the floor. Every gaze in the room was a weight on her shoulders. She walked toward Adriano, her breath hitched in her throat. As she reached him, the scent of his crisp cologne cedar and cold rain hit her. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she extended the papers.
And that was enough.
The papers slipped. A few sheets scattered across the polished floor, white rectangles stark against the dark wood.
Silence. Total, suffocating silence.
Élise felt her chest tighten. She bent down immediately, her hands shaking as she gathered the pages. In her mind, she saw her career ending before it even began. She saw herself being tossed out onto the streets of Milan.
"Mi… mi dispiace… I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She looked up, and for the first time, Adriano Moretti really looked at her. For a long, agonizing moment, the Ice CEO studied the girl on the floor the flushed cheeks, the lowered lashes, and the quiet fear she was trying so hard to mask.
His expression changed. It wasn't a smile, but the ice in his eyes seemed to crack, just a fraction. He reached down and took the documents from her hands carefully almost gently.
"Va bene," he said, his voice a low rumble. "It's fine. Fix it, Mademoiselle."
Mademoiselle.
Élise looked up, startled. The employees stared with wide eyes. The HR director looked like he had seen a ghost. Adriano resumed the meeting as if nothing had happened, but the air was different now.
When the meeting finally ended, Élise remained in her seat, trying to calm her racing heart. She waited until the room cleared, but as she went to pack her bag, she realized he hadn't left. Adriano stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the Milan skyline.
"You're the intern from Paris," he said, his back still to her.
"Y-yes, sir. Élise Moreau."
He turned slowly. "Élise." He repeated her name as if testing the weight of it. "Your handwriting is neat. It shows discipline. That is a rare trait in this building."
"Grazie," she whispered.
"You speak Italian?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Only a little. I'm learning."
He nodded once. "It will be necessary if you intend to stay. Improvement is the only currency I accept."
He began to walk toward the door, but as he passed her, he paused. Without turning, he spoke one last time: "And Miss Moreau… don't rush to pick up fallen papers next time. People make mistakes. Keep your posture. Don't let them see you stumble."
He disappeared into the hallway, leaving the scent of his cologne and a lingering sense of danger behind. As Élise walked to her new desk, she met the gaze of Giulia Romano, the CEO's assistant.
Giulia's eyes were sharp, calculating. "You're the French intern?" she asked. "Word travels fast here. Just be careful, Élise. He isn't gentle with anyone. The fact that he was calm with you… that just means people will be watching you even closer."
Élise sat at her desk, the weight of the day finally hitting her. She had drawn the attention of the man every employee feared. She didn't know then that her first mistake in Milan would be the spark that changed everything.