The Visconti Bank's centennial gala was held at the family villa, an eighteenth-century Baroque palace. Its white marble façade glowed pearl-like under the night sky. Crystal chandeliers hung from the lakeside terrace, their reflections scattered across the water like fallen stars.
Elisa stood on the villa's entrance steps, a small velvet clutch in her hand. She wore a gown of deep, ombré blue that faded from midnight at her shoulders to a profound violet at the hem, as if she had dressed in the night itself. Her hair was loosely gathered, adorned with a pair of diamond fringe earrings—the signature piece of Rossi Jewelry's current season, designed by her.
Lorenzo stood beside her in standard black tie.
"All right?" he asked softly.
"Annoyed," Elisa admitted. "These events are nothing but calculation."
"Then let them calculate," Lorenzo said. "We'll enjoy the food and music."
She glanced at him. "You're always so calm."
"Because I have little to lose." He offered a faint smile. "The worst they can say is 'the baker's son from the countryside.' I'm used to it."
Elisa's heart contracted subtly. They stepped inside. The Visconti centennial was indeed a grand affair, drawing half of Europe's elite. Under crystal chandeliers, champagne towers glittered; a string ensemble played a soft waltz.
Alessandro Visconti stood at the center of the room, surrounded by a group. He wore a deep blue velvet suit, his pale gold hair impeccably styled. Holding a champagne flute, he was conversing with a guest. His eyes brightened when he saw Elisa.
"Elisa." He crossed the room, took her hand, and brushed a kiss over it. "My honor that you could come."
"Congratulations on the bank's centennial," Elisa said politely. "My husband, Lorenzo Costa. You've met."
Alessandro turned to Lorenzo, his smile still perfect. "Mr. Costa. A pleasure to see you again."
"Mr. Visconti." Lorenzo nodded. "Congratulations."
"Thank you." Alessandro's gaze swept between them before settling on Elisa. "Your gown is exquisite. The blue suits you."
"Thank you," Elisa replied, her tone courteous and distant.
Alessandro began to speak again, but his sister Isabella approached. She wore a deconstructed black gown, asymmetrical with one shoulder bare, her hair a sharp bob, her makeup in the current darkly fashionable style.
"Elisa," Isabella's voice was bright, but her eyes held a challenging light. "And Mr. Costa. So glad you could make it."
"Isabella." Elisa acknowledged her. "I hear you have a London exhibition next month. Congratulations."
"A small show," Isabella shrugged. "Nothing compared to Rossi Jewelry's Paris event. But then…" She paused. "Art and commerce are different worlds, aren't they, Mr. Costa?"
Lorenzo regarded her calmly. "In my view, both are creative processes. The medium differs."
Isabella raised an eyebrow. "An interesting perspective. Though some things money can't buy—pure artistic expression, for instance."
"And some things art cannot provide—like the bread that feeds the artist," Lorenzo said. "My father always said: bread first, then poetry."
Isabella stared, then laughed—not a polite laugh, but a genuine, amused one.
"I like you, Mr. Costa," she said. "You don't speak in circles."
Alessandro frowned. "Isabella."
"What? I'm being honest." Isabella turned to Elisa. "But truly, Elisa, I'm curious. You and Mr. Costa… how does it work? Your backgrounds, your interests must be completely different."
The question was direct, almost rude. Several nearby guests subtly tuned in.
Elisa's expression didn't flicker. "We learn from each other. Lorenzo teaches me to value simple things. I teach him…" She paused. "Actually, he doesn't need much teaching from me."
Lorenzo glanced at her, surprise in his eyes.
Isabella laughed. "Sounds like true love. How enviable."
She took her brother's arm. "Come, Alessandro, other guests await."
Alessandro held Elisa's gaze a moment longer before allowing himself to be led away.
Dinner was announced. Guests found their seats at the long, lavishly set table. Elisa and Lorenzo were placed to Alessandro's right.
Throughout the meal, Alessandro engaged Elisa in conversation—jewelry design, market trends, childhood memories, future plans. He was the image of a perfect gentleman: attentive, charming, warm.
Lorenzo ate quietly for the most part, occasionally answering a question from a nearby guest. He ate slowly, savoring each bite as if appreciating the art of the food itself.
After the main course, Alessandro rose and tapped his glass.
"Honored guests," his voice carried through the hall. "Thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate Visconti Bank's first century. Through wars, crises, and change, we have held one belief: finance is not merely numbers. It is a bridge connecting people to their dreams."
Applause followed.
"Tonight, I wish to announce something special," Alessandro continued. "Visconti Bank will establish an 'Arts & Heritage Fund,' dedicated to preserving and innovating traditional craftsmanship. Our first partnership will be with Rossi Jewelry, funding training and creation for young jewelry designers."
All eyes turned to Elisa.
She stiffened. Alessandro had not mentioned this to her.
He walked to her side, smiling, and extended a hand. "Elisa, I hope Rossi Jewelry will be our first partner."
The hall fell silent. Every gaze was fixed on her, awaiting her response.
Elisa rose slowly. Her mind raced—the partnership sounded beneficial, boosting Rossi's philanthropic image and providing funding. But it had been announced without consultation, putting her on the spot.
More importantly, she could not refuse publicly. It would seem petty, unprofessional.
As she opened her mouth to speak, Lorenzo touched her arm lightly.
He stood, his voice calm. "Mr. Visconti, the proposal is meaningful. However, specific terms require detailed discussion—fund allocation, project management, intellectual property rights, and so on. Rossi Jewelry has established legal protocols. I suggest we schedule a formal meeting next week to discuss the details."
He turned to Elisa, his tone gentle but firm. "Isn't that right, Elisa?"
She understood instantly. Lorenzo had given her an exit—neither rejecting the offer nor committing on the spot, pulling the negotiation back onto professional ground.
"Yes," she said, her voice regaining its cool composure. "Lorenzo is correct. A collaboration of this importance requires thorough planning and evaluation. My assistant will contact your office on Monday to arrange a meeting."
Alessandro's smile faded slightly, but he recovered quickly. "Of course. My apologies—I was overeager, hoping for a pleasant surprise. We shall discuss it next week."
He returned to his seat. Applause resumed, but the atmosphere had shifted subtly.
Dinner continued. When dessert was served, Isabella appeared at Elisa's side.
"A moment?" she asked.
Elisa glanced at Lorenzo, who gave a slight nod.
The two women stepped out onto the terrace. Lake Como lay beautiful under the night, the villa's lights and stars mirrored on its surface.
"My brother was rather obvious, wasn't he?" Isabella said bluntly.
Elisa remained silent.
"He hasn't let go of you," Isabella leaned against the railing. "Since we were children, he decided you would be his wife. Rossi and Visconti united—the perfect alliance."
"That was in the past."
"Was it?" Isabella turned to her. "Then why haven't you fallen in love with your husband?"
Elisa's heart skipped a beat.
"I can see it," Isabella's eyebrow arched. "Between you two… there's respect,默契, even tenderness. But not love. Not yet."
Elisa said nothing. A cool night breeze swept across the water.
"I'm not here to stir trouble," Isabella said. "On the contrary—I want to tell you my brother isn't right for you."
Elisa looked at her, surprised.
"He's too perfect," Isabella offered a wry smile. "Perfect pedigree, perfect looks, perfect manners. But perfection means suppression. It means he's always playing the role of 'the Visconti heir.' You are too, aren't you? 'The Jewelry Queen,' Elisa Rossi. Together, you'd be two perfect icebergs, never truly able to touch."
She paused, looking through the doors to where Lorenzo was speaking with another guest. "But he's different. He's real. Not perfect. But real."
Elisa studied Isabella, seeing the sharp, black-clad girl in a new light.
"Why tell me this?" she asked.
"Because I don't want to watch my brother fixate on an impossible future," Isabella said. "And because… I think you deserve better. Real feeling, not another business alliance."
She straightened. "That's all. You should go back—your husband is looking for you."
Elisa turned. Lorenzo stood in the terrace doorway, watching her. His eyes held a question, but no urgency.
They returned to the ballroom. The dinner portion had ended; the orchestra began playing for dancing.
By tradition, the host opened the dance. Alessandro approached Elisa and offered his hand gracefully. "May I have this dance?"
All eyes were on them again. A refusal would be impolite.
After a brief hesitation, Elisa placed her hand in his. "Of course."
They glided onto the floor. Alessandro was a flawless dancer, guiding her through turns and spins with precision.
"You still dance beautifully," he murmured near her ear.
"As do you," Elisa replied politely.
"Elisa…" Alessandro's voice lowered. "I know I was too abrupt tonight. That proposal—I genuinely want to help. Rossi Jewelry needs innovation capital; Visconti Bank needs strong investments. It's mutually beneficial."
"I understand," Elisa said. "But please communicate first next time."
"I apologize," Alessandro said. "I only wanted… to surprise you."
The dance continued. Elisa could feel countless eyes upon them—curious, assessing, speculative. She knew the society columns would buzz tomorrow.
As the music ended, applause rippled through the room. Elisa moved to step away, but Alessandro held her hand lightly.
"One more thing," he said, his voice soft but clear. "The fund… I've named it the 'Elisa Fund.'"
Elisa froze.
Alessandro's gaze was intense. "I know you're married now. But some feelings… don't change with time or status. This fund is my gesture. Whether you accept the partnership or not, it will exist."
He released her hand, gave a slight bow, and walked away.
Elisa stood motionless, her thoughts in turmoil. This went beyond business. It was a public, romantic declaration, framed in the respectable, profound gesture of naming a fund.
She felt suddenly lightheaded.
A hand steadied her arm.
"Tired?" Lorenzo's voice was close.
She turned to him. His expression was calm, but concern shadowed his eyes.
"A little," she admitted.
"Then let's go," he said. "I'll make our farewells to Mr. Visconti. Wait by the entrance."
Five minutes later, they were in the car returning to the estate. Elisa leaned back, closing her eyes. The evening replayed in her mind—Alessandro's surprise announcement, Isabella's words, the named fund…
"Are you all right?" Lorenzo asked.
Elisa opened her eyes. "Alessandro… named the fund after me."
Lorenzo was quiet for a moment. "He's pursuing you."
"Childish, isn't it?" Elisa said with a bitter smile. "Using such a method."
"Not childish," Lorenzo said. "Clever. Public, respectable, difficult to refuse. And… romantic."
The car sped through the night. Elisa watched the streetlights blur past. Softly, she asked, "What would you do, if you were me?"
Lorenzo considered. "I would ask myself two questions. First, what do I want? Second, what truly matters to me?"
"What do you want?" Elisa looked at him.
Lorenzo met her gaze, his eyes serious. "I want a real home. Warm, genuine, with love. Not a transaction. Not a performance."
Elisa's heart quickened.
"And you, Elisa?" Lorenzo asked. "What do you want?"
Elisa fell silent. What did she want? All her life, she had wanted her mother's approval, her father's support, proof she was worthy of love. She wanted success, respect, a brilliant future for Rossi Jewelry.
But beyond that?
"I don't know," she said finally, her voice quiet. "I need time to think."
"All right," Lorenzo said. "You have time."
The car entered the estate grounds. It was late, but lights still shone in the main house.
The管家 greeted them in the hall. "Ms. Elisa, Mr. Costa. The Chairman is waiting in his study."
Elisa and Lorenzo exchanged a glance. At this hour?
They climbed to the second floor and knocked.
Vittorio sat behind his desk, several documents spread before him. He looked up, his gaze sharp.
"How was the evening?"
"Smoothly," Elisa said. "Visconti Bank announced an arts fund. They want to partner with us."
"I know," Vittorio said. "That Alessandro boy moves fast."
He looked at Lorenzo. "Your thoughts?"
Lorenzo considered. "The partnership itself is positive. But the method was problematic—no prior consultation, a public announcement meant to pressure. We should establish clear boundaries in formal talks, ensuring mutual benefit."
Vittorio nodded. "Well said. And?"
"He named it the 'Elisa Fund,'" Lorenzo said evenly. "That's a personal gesture. Elisa must handle that as she sees fit."
Vittorio's eyes narrowed. "You don't mind?"
"Whether I mind is irrelevant," Lorenzo said. "What matters is Elisa's feelings and her choice."
The study was quiet. Vittorio studied Lorenzo for a long moment, then suddenly smiled—a genuine smile, without coldness or mockery.
"Good," he said. "Very good."
He stood and walked to the window. "Elisa, you chose well. This man has both intelligence and character."
He turned, his expression grave. "But remember: once a choice is made, you bear the consequences. The Viscontis are not to be trifled with, Alessandro least of all. Think carefully."
"I will, Grandfather," Elisa said.
"Go on, then," Vittorio waved a hand. "Rest. You must be tired."
They left the study. In the hallway, Elisa spoke softly. "Thank you."
"For everything tonight. For your clarity. Your support."
"It's what partners do," Lorenzo said.
*Partners.* The word, once so cold, now held a certain warmth.
Elisa entered her bedroom and closed the door. She leaned against it, listening as Lorenzo's footsteps faded down the hall.
Then she walked to the window, looking out at the moonlit estate grounds.
Moonlight spilled into the room, casting silver patterns on the floor.