The Presidential Suite at the Grand Victoria Hotel stretched across the entire forty-seventh floor, wrapped in glass and silence, the city lights below shimmering like something untouchable. Everything about it screamed wealth—polished marble floors, gold-trimmed fixtures, and furniture that looked like it had never been used. It was the kind of place Luca didn’t belong in, no matter how many contracts he signed or how high he climbed. Water still clung to his skin as he stepped out of the bathroom, his damp chestnut hair pushed back roughly by his hand. His broad shoulders carried the weight of years spent working with raw materials—steel, concrete, sweat. Even now, dressed in nothing but a towel around his waist, he looked more like a man who built empires from the ground than one who sat behind glass desks. “Damn place is too quiet,” he muttered under his breath, glancing toward the skyline. Then it came. A sharp cry. Not loud—but sharp enough to slice through the silence like b

Luca moved toward the minibar without another word, the quiet stretching behind him like something fragile that neither of them wanted to break too soon. The soft hum of the refrigeration unit filled the silence as he crouched slightly, opening it with a quiet click. “Let’s see what kind of overpriced nonsense they’ve got in here again,” he muttered under his breath. Bottled drinks lined up like soldiers, tiny glass bottles of alcohol no one needed, and finally—a small plastic bag of ice tucked in the corner. “Found it,” he said, more to himself than to her. He grabbed the ice and shut the door with his hip, reaching for a hand towel from the counter nearby. His hands worked quickly, wrapping the ice securely, his movements practiced, efficient—like a man who had dealt with injuries more times than he could count. “Hold still,” he called as he turned back toward her. “I am not moving,” Caterina replied flatly. When he returned to the bed, he noticed she had already propped her f

Luca waited outside the bathroom, his back resting against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The faint sound of movement came from inside—careful steps, the rustle of fabric, the quiet shift of someone trying not to make noise. “…Don’t rush,” he called, his voice low but clear. “Floor’s still not your friend.” “I’m aware,” Caterina replied from inside, her tone calm, controlled. “Just making sure you don’t try to prove something again.” “I don’t need to prove anything.” “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what people say right before they fall twice.” Silence followed. A few seconds later— “Luca.” “Yeah?” “…Can you help me?” He straightened immediately, pushing off the wall. “Told you not to play hero,” he said as he opened the door and stepped inside. “I’m not playing anything.” “You’re terrible at lying.” She didn’t argue this time. He walked over to her, offering his arm again without hesitation. “Alright. Slow this time.” “I am going slow.” “Slower,” he corre

“I want to be free of them.” The words came out of Caterina before she could stop them—raw, stripped of the careful control she had clung to all night. They hung in the air, heavy and unpolished, nothing like the measured sentences she usually delivered. “I want to make my own choices,” she continued, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “I don’t want to be sold to a man that I don’t want to spend my life being reminded that I’m not good enough… that I don’t belong… that everything I have is because someone took pity on me.” Her voice cracked. Just slightly. But enough. She pressed her lips together immediately, as if trying to force the weakness back inside, her chin trembling despite her effort to remain composed. “…Damn it,” she whispered under her breath. Luca didn’t interrupt. Didn’t move. He just looked at her. Caterina Russo—the woman who had spent six months standing beside him like a flawless machine, never faltering, never slipping. The woman who spoke in pre

Caterina stared at him, her heart beating faster than it should have been. The room felt quieter now, but not in the same suffocating way as before. Something had shifted—subtle, but undeniable. The professional boundary she had carefully maintained for six months no longer stood intact. It had cracked, then fractured, and now it was gone entirely. In its place was something unfamiliar. Unstable. Real. He was still holding her hand. And the fact that he chose to—without necessity, without obligation—made her chest tighten in a way she couldn’t immediately understand. “You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, her voice controlled, though softer than usual. Luca didn’t look away from her. “I know.” There was no hesitation in his tone. No second-guessing. Just certainty. He shifted slightly closer—not invading her space, but closing the distance enough to make the moment feel more personal than professional. His hand tightened around hers just slightly, as if grounding the