(Adriano's POV)
The villa was quiet in a way the city never was.
Adriano liked it that way.
High stone walls shielded the property from the road, from curiosity, from intrusion. The lights of Milan glimmered faintly in the distance, far enough away to feel irrelevant. Here, there were no board members, no assistants, no whispers trailing behind him like shadows.
Only space.
He loosened his tie the moment he stepped inside, draping his jacket over the back of a chair without care. The marble floors echoed softly beneath his steps as he crossed the living room, glass walls revealing the dark outline of the garden outside.
Order. Control. Precision.
Everything about the villa reflected him curated, intentional, untouched.
And yet, tonight, it felt… unsettled.
Adriano poured himself a drink but didn't take a sip. He stood by the counter, fingers resting against the glass, mind replaying moments he hadn't invited in.
Élise Dupont, standing in his office.
The steadiness of her voice when she answered him.
No, I don't.
No hesitation. No calculation.
That was what disturbed him most.
He had spent years surrounded by people who tailored every word to suit him to please him, to influence him, to extract something. Élise hadn't done that. She hadn't tried to soften her truth or dress it attractively.
She had simply… been.
Adriano set the glass down untouched.
He moved through the villa slowly, lights turning on as he passed, the familiar routine grounding him. His footsteps carried him into his study the one room that didn't overlook the city.
Books lined the walls. History. Strategy. Law. Biographies of men who had ruled empires and lost them just as quietly.
Men who believed control was immunity.
Adriano sank into the leather chair behind his desk and exhaled.
Pedro's face surfaced unbidden.
His brother had always been noise where Adriano was silence. Impulse where Adriano was restraint. Where Adriano built walls, Pedro leaned against them, looking for cracks.
And now Pedro had wandered too close to something Adriano had already noticed.
That wasn't jealousy, Adriano told himself firmly.
It was territory.
Pedro didn't understand consequences. He never had. He played games and walked away when the board tilted, leaving Adriano to stabilize the aftermath as always.
The rumors.
The whispers.
Élise being pulled into something she hadn't asked for.
Adriano's jaw tightened.
He did not tolerate collateral damage.
He stood and walked toward the glass doors leading to the terrace. The night air was cool as he stepped outside, the scent of jasmine faint but grounding. He rested his hands on the stone railing, staring into the darkness of the garden below.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind.
Stability matters.
People want to see you settled.
He scoffed quietly.
Settled meant predictable.
Predictable meant vulnerable.
He had built his life to avoid both.
And yet, lately, the pressure had been relentless from the board, from society, from expectations that had nothing to do with performance and everything to do with image.
Marriage. Appearances. A woman chosen carefully, approved quietly, displayed politely.
A solution.
Efficient. Clean.
Empty.
Adriano closed his eyes briefly.
Then there was Élise.
Unpolished.
Unplanned.
Unaware.
She didn't fit anywhere in that equation and that was precisely the problem.
He had tried to categorize her. Intern. Disruption. Variable. But none of the labels held. She existed outside his systems, untouched by his expectations.
That unsettled him.
He turned back inside, mind sharper now.
This could not become indulgence.
Attention was one thing. Attachment was another.
Adriano Moretti did not attach.
He observed. He corrected. He controlled.
And yet, despite his resolve, one thought refused to be dismissed:
If Élise left tomorrow transferred, resigned, erased from his daily awareness the company would continue seamlessly.
But something in him would notice the absence.
That realization landed heavily.
Adriano poured the drink down the sink.
He didn't need it.
What he needed was distance.
Control.
Clarity.
Tomorrow, he would restore order. He would keep his interactions professional, measured, minimal. He would ensure Pedro's influence went no further. He would protect the company and Élise from becoming pieces on a board neither of them had agreed to play.
He turned off the lights one by one as he moved toward the bedroom, the villa returning to darkness behind him.
Stone and silence closed in once more.
But for the first time in years, Adriano Moretti lay awake in his own bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to quiet a single, inconvenient truth:
Some disruptions did not announce themselves loudly.
Some entered quietly.
And changed everything.
---
(Élise's POV)
The apartment was quiet, but Élise couldn't sleep.
She sat on the edge of her bed, legs pulled close, the soft lamplight casting warm, golden shadows across the walls. Outside, Milan's streets hummed faintly, distant sirens and the occasional car engine weaving into the night.
Everything should have felt calm.
But it didn't.
The office had felt different today the moment she had arrived, the atmosphere had shifted subtly, almost imperceptibly. Glances had lingered too long. Whispers had followed her name, sharper now, almost deliberate.
She clenched her hands in her lap.
It's just rumors, she told herself. Nothing to do with me. Just people filling in stories that aren't mine.
And yet, the sting of it was undeniable.
They had already begun to speculate.
Her colleagues, her department, the whispers in the elevator everyone had started asking, "Why is she trying to get the CEO's attention when she already has a man?"
Pedro.
She let the thought linger.
He had been her friend from the first day kind, funny, smart, unassuming. Nothing more. And yet, some part of the office had spun their friendship into something else.
The absurdity made her exhale, but the tension clung stubbornly.
Her mind drifted back to Adriano.
The way he had asked her about a boyfriend. The calmness in his voice. The weight behind his gaze.
She hadn't expected the question.
And yet, she hadn't lied.
No, she reminded herself. I don't have a boyfriend. That's all.
But the way he had studied her Adriano Moretti, the man everyone feared left a strange heat in her chest. It wasn't desire. Not exactly.
It was… awareness.
She felt seen in a way she wasn't used to. Seen without judgment, but not without interest.
And that scared her more than any rumor.
She leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
Pedro's laugh, light and teasing from earlier in the office, replayed in her mind. She could picture his smirk, the way he leaned casually against the doorway when she had passed. That ease that natural charm made the contrast sharper.
One person laughed and pulled her into comfort. The other observed silently, almost calculatingly, and made her pulse quicken without trying.
And now, caught between them, she felt exposed.
I don't want attention, she whispered into the dark. I just want to work, to be competent, to be… myself.
Yet, it seemed that wasn't possible anymore.
The city outside slept unaware. Inside, shadows moved on the walls, stretched by the lamplight, as if the room itself reminded her that nothing remained still for long.
The rumors, the glances, the questions all of it was growing. Pulling her toward something she hadn't invited, toward someone she barely understood.
And deep down, she knew it wasn't just the office gossip she needed to worry about.
Adriano Moretti's attention subtle, controlled, impossible to ignore had already begun to shape her every thought.
Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her blouse.
The heat in her chest wasn't shame.
It wasn't guilt.
It was tension. Electric, persistent, unavoidable.
She had entered Milan with a single goal: to succeed on her own terms.
And yet, by the time she finally closed her eyes, she realized: the city, the office, the men orbiting her life they had already begun writing a story for her.
One she hadn't asked to star in.