The soft clink of glasses, the murmur of Italian chatter, and the scent of citrus wine filled the courtyard of Aurelio International. Rihanna sat stiffly among the new recruits, her posture polite but unsure. The induction dinner was supposedly casual, but the setting was anything but — polished marble floors, golden chandeliers, and servers dressed sharper than models.
She tried not to look too amazed, though the awe kept slipping into her gaze. This wasn't just a company — it felt like a mansion dressed up as a workplace.
Across the long white-tableclothed dining space, voices laughed louder as the evening wore on. A man's deep, velvet voice occasionally rose above the rest — commanding, unbothered, amused. Rihanna noticed a small ripple in the crowd when he walked in.
He didn't need to announce himself.
People just... moved. Shifted. Straightened. Like a silent authority walked among them.
Her gaze landed on him — tall, sharp suit, dark hair combed neatly, the shadow of stubble lining a sculpted jaw. His eyes scanned the room once, cold and unreadable. Like snow that never melted.
Lorenzo Moretti.
She'd heard whispers at orientation: "That's the CEO's son." "Technically not a formal director, but trust me, he runs half the place." "People get promotions or disappear based on his mood."
She looked away quickly, fiddling with her fork. She didn't need attention from men like that. Men who wore power like second skin.
But it was too late.
His gaze had found hers.
Like a needle through silk, it pierced through the noise, the lights, the glittering cutlery, and landed softly — terrifyingly — on her face.
He didn't smile.
He didn't blink.
He just… stared.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She looked down, heat rushing to her face. "Don't be stupid," she whispered to herself. "You're one of fifty new hires. He probably doesn't even—"
"Miss Thompson."
The voice was right above her.
She looked up.
There he stood. Closer than she ever wanted him to be. His cologne hit first — something dark, rich, like night rain and something forbidden.
"Yes…?" she managed, her throat suddenly dry.
"I hope Italy has been kind so far," he said, his voice quieter now, just for her. A single sentence. But something about the way he said it felt like it carried a thousand meanings she wasn't equipped to translate.
"It's… beautiful," she answered, praying her voice didn't betray the tremor in her.
He smiled — barely. "Let me know if it becomes too beautiful. It tends to eat the weak."
And just like that, he turned.
Vanished into the crowd like smoke.
She sat frozen, the words replaying in her mind. Eat the weak? Was that supposed to be a joke?
The rest of the evening passed in a daze. People laughed, introductions were made, numbers exchanged. But Rihanna barely noticed.
Her stomach churned, not from nerves, but something else — something primal.
She'd met powerful people before. Bosses, professors, her emotionally manipulative ex. But this… this man didn't demand respect. He absorbed it, like the room had no choice.
And still… when she closed her eyes that night, in her perfect little Italian apartment, with its luxurious bed and welcome chocolates, she saw his eyes.
Frozen oceans. Quiet cruelty. Unreadable.
And somewhere inside her chest, something shivered.
Not from fear.
But from fascination.