The second half of Élise's first day felt like running through a maze blindfolded.
People in the administrative department whispered so loudly they didn't even try to hide it.
"She survived Moretti."
"She must be connected to someone."
"No, she looks too scared for that."
By lunchtime, Élise had heard at least seven different theories about herself including one where she was secretly an undercover inspector from Paris.
Ridiculous.
She just wanted to work.
She picked up her tray in the company cafeteria and scanned the tables for an empty spot.
Every seat was taken… except one.
A girl with long black braids, purple eyeliner, and a bright orange hoodie waved dramatically.
"French girl! Over here!"
Élise blinked.
Her brain replayed the words.
Once more.
Then again.
The girl grinned. "You're the French girl, right? The one who almost set the morning on fire?"
Élise hesitated. Was this a trap?
The girl patted the seat beside her. "Relax, sit. I don't bite."
Élise sat cautiously.
"I'm Zara," the girl announced proudly, stabbing a fry into her ketchup. "Zara Bello. I work in software. I break things for a living."
Élise frowned. "Break?"
"Yes. Apps. Websites. Security systems. If it's working too well, they call me to ruin it."
She winked. "Then they congratulate me."
Élise burst into laughter the first real laugh she'd had since stepping into the building.
Zara smiled wide. "There, finally! You looked like you were one bad comment away from sprinting back to France."
"I was… close," Élise admitted.
Zara leaned back. "So. Tell me everything. Who did you fight? Which demon did you summon? And why was Adriano Moretti standing beside you like a calm statue instead of a volcanic eruption?"
Élise nearly choked on her water. "H-he wasn't calm for me!"
"Girl." Zara raised a brow. "This morning he fired someone for sneezing too loud during his meeting."
Élise's jaw dropped.
"He really did that?"
"Mm-hmm. The whole building knows. The guy sneezed like"
Zara leaned forward dramatically and whispered:
"HATCHOO."
She mimicked an explosion.
"And boom. Career ended."
Élise stared at her tray, horrified. "Oh no…"
Zara laughed. "Relax. I'm exaggerating. He didn't fire him, just sent him home for 'noise disruption.'"
"Noise…?"
"Élise, you have to understand this place is madness. Beautiful madness. But still madness."
Élise nodded slowly.
Finally, someone who didn't glare at her or judge her.
Zara was chaotic sunshine.
A friend.
Or something close.
---
A Strange Warning
After lunch, they walked back together, and Zara lowered her voice conspiratorially.
"Listen… people are talking about you."
"I know."
"No, liketalking." She wiggled her fingers dramatically. "Analyzing. Theorizing. Trying to guess if you're Mr. Moretti's cousin, secret girlfriend, long-lost royalty"
"I'm none of those!"
"Exactly." Zara shrugged. "Which makes everyone more confused."
They passed a group of employees who paused in mid-conversation just to stare.
Zara gave them a bright, unfriendly smile. "Mind your business, goats."
The group scattered instantly.
Élise's eyes widened. "You can't talk to people like that!"
"I just did," Zara sang.
---
The Elevator That Wasn't Meant for Her
Around 2:00 PM, Élise got lost looking for the HR office.
Again.
She wandered into a quiet hallway with dark wood panels and elegant lighting. The place looked too expensive like she wasn't supposed to be there.
But before she could turn back, an elevator dinged softly behind her.
She stepped inside without thinking.
The doors closed.
Then she looked up and froze.
There were only two buttons inside:
PH: Penthouse
LL :Lower Level
Her building knowledge sparked:
PH = CEO floor.
Her blood ran cold.
She jabbed LL.
Nothing happened.
She jabbed it again.
Still nothing.
The elevator began rising.
"No, no, no— please no—" Élise pressed the wall as if she could physically stop the lift.
The doors slid open.
And there he was.
Adriano Moretti.
Standing alone, coat off, sleeves rolled up, reviewing a tablet with a focus so sharp it could cut stone.
He looked up slowly.
Élise nearly fainted.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean — I wasn't — I think the elevator kidnapped me!"
His brow rose a millimeter. "Kidnapped?"
"Yes!" She gestured wildly. "I pressed the lower level — it ignored me!"
He stepped inside the elevator with her.
Just the two of them.
He inspected the panel.
"You used the executive elevator," he said simply. "It only responds to certain access cards."
Élise felt the world collapse around her. "I'm—I'm not supposed to be here, am I?"
"Correct."
She gulped.
Then, without warning, he said:
"Who told you to take this elevator?"
"No one! I got lost!"
He studied her face, searching for a lie.
He found none.
His expression shifted not soft, but less harsh.
"You cause problems without trying," he said.
Élise wilted. "I know."
"It's inconvenient."
"I know…"
He added quietly:
"But strangely… interesting."
Élise blinked. "Wh—what?"
Before she could process his words, he stepped out.
"Follow me."
"W-where?"
"To the right elevator," he said. "Before someone else sees you here and assumes I'm giving you privileges."
Her cheeks burned.
He led her through the marble hallway, silent except for their footsteps.
When they reached the public elevator, he held the door open.
"This one," he said.
"Thank you," she whispered.
His eyes met hers not cold.
Not warm.
Just unreadable.
"Don't get lost again."
Then the doors closed.
---
Downstairs, Zara Was Waiting
"Where have you been?" Zara demanded. "I swear if you died on your first day, I'm haunting your funeral."
Élise covered her face.
"You won't believe what happened."
"Try me."
Élise inhaled.
Very slowly.
Then whispered:
"I think I accidentally discovered the CEO's private elevator."
Zara's jaw dropped so fast it almost hit the floor.
"ÉLISE DUPONT. ARE YOU TRYING TO SPEEDRUN YOUR OWN FIRING?!"
Élise groaned.
"I think I broke the rules."
"Girl… you broke the building."
Zara grabbed her shoulders dramatically.
"One question. Did he yell?"
"No."
"Throw a laptop?"
"No."
"Fire you?"
"No."
Zara stepped back, eyes wide.
"Oh. My. God."
"What?" Élise asked nervously.
Zara whispered, deadly serious:
"Then this is no longer office gossip…
This is a phenomenon."
Élise blinked in panic.
"Zara, what does that mean?!"
Zara grinned like a villain.
"It means… something is very, very different about you. And I wanna see how far this chaotic energy of yours can go."
Élise groaned louder and leaned against her desk.
She had wanted a fresh start in Italy.
Instead, she had become the mystery of Moretti Enterprises.
And there was no going back now.
.
.
.
The Move-In
Her neighborhood in Milan was lively the kind of street where people hung clothes on balconies, children chased each other, and cafés spilled onto the sidewalks.
It was loud.
Chaotic.
Beautiful.
Her little apartment was small but bright, with pale yellow walls and a balcony overlooking the street.
Boxes were everywhere some labeled carefully, others labeled "???" because she packed them at 3 AM.
Élise tied her hair up and grabbed her shopping list.
Plates
Laundry basket
Coffee mugs
A lamp
A rug
And something that made the place feel less like "temporary chaos" and more like "home."
She headed to a nearby home goods store.
---
The Guy Who Entered Like a Breeze
While comparing rugs, she heard a voice beside her:
"That one looks like it belongs in the house of a grandmother who enjoys arguing."
Élise turned.
A tall guy stood there with warm olive skin, messy dark curls, and a smile that could power a small city. He wore a navy hoodie, black jeans, and held a basket filled with plants he probably didn't need.
He pointed at the floral rug she was holding.
"Unless your vibe is eighty-year-old Italian nonna, I'd avoid it."
Élise snorted before she could stop herself.
"I wasn't going to buy it!"
"You hesitated," he teased. "I saw it. The temptation of old-lady carpets is strong."
She shook her head, smiling. "I'm Élise."
"Pedro," he said, extending his hand. "Welcome to Milano, I guess. I haven't seen you around."
"Oh, I just moved in today."
Pedro brightened. "Perfect! I love new neighbors. They don't know yet that I borrow sugar every two days."
"What if I don't have sugar?"
He gasped. "Then I'll borrow salt. I'm flexible like that."
Élise laughed a real, warm one that loosened something tight inside her chest.
He looked down at the rug she still held.
"So… what is your style then? Because that," he pointed again, "is a crime."
She lifted another rug. "This one?"
He squinted. "Better. Doesn't scream 'haunted.'"
Élise clutched her stomach, giggling.
"I think I needed this," she admitted.
"What? My impeccable interior design skills?" he asked proudly.
"That, and someone who isn't judging me."
Pedro raised an eyebrow. "Judging you? Why? Did you commit a Milanese crime? Like putting pineapple on pizza?"
"No!"
"Then you're fine," he declared.
They walked through the store together, teasing each other over lamps, comparing mugs, and debating whether plants were "cute decor" or "responsibilities disguised as leaves."
At some point, Élise stopped and stared at him.
"You're… different," she said softly.
Pedro blinked. "Different how?"
"Just… easy to talk to."
For a moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes something deeper than his usual mischief but he covered it quickly with a grin.
"You should be careful saying things like that," he warned playfully. "I might decide to be your friend."
"I could use one of those," she said honestly.
---
The Walk Back Home
They walked back to the neighborhood together, their bags full of things that made Élise feel… settled.
Safe.
Normal.
At her building's entrance, he held her door open dramatically.
"After you, mademoiselle."
"You don't have to call me that."
"Oh, I absolutely do," he said. "Your accent demands respect."
She rolled her eyes.
He helped her carry her bags to her door, then stepped back.
"Welcome to the building, Élise," he said with a warm smile.
"Thank you, Pedro."
He started walking to his own apartment down the hall.
Just before he disappeared inside, he turned and said, almost casually:
"If anyone bothers you… you can come to me, okay?"
Élise nodded. "I will."
The door closed behind him.
Silence.
Élise leaned against her wall, a small smile sliding onto her face.
What she didn't know was…
Down the hallway, behind Pedro's locked door, he pulled out his phone.
A message flashed from an unknown contact:
"Have you spoken to him yet?"
Pedro typed back:
"No. And don't worry. He won't know I'm in Milan yet."
He paused, staring at the wall the one separating his apartment from hers.
Then added:
"But the intern? She's… interesting."
He sent the message.
Locked his phone.
And smirked.