CHAPTER TWO – SECOND ENCOUNTER
798 Words
Chloe let out a soft sigh as she unlocked the door to her suite and stepped inside. The room was exactly what she expected from The Sterling Royale—spacious, modern, and quietly extravagant. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a breathtaking view of the London skyline, a sea of glittering lights under the soft drizzle.
Muted tones of cream, gold, and slate gray wrapped the space in a calm, understated elegance. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, soothing after a long flight.
She wheeled her sleek black suitcase inside, placing it neatly beside the wardrobe, and set her carry-on next to it. The click of her heels softened as she slipped them off, flexing her toes in relief. Her tailored blazer came next, hung carefully on the hook by the door—Chloe De Luca didn’t do clutter, not even while traveling.
Setting her handbag on the glass coffee table, she unpacked a few essentials—her makeup bag, silk robe, and a well-worn novel—before crossing to the minibar. She grabbed a cold bottle of sparkling water, condensation damp against her palm, and sank into the plush velvet armchair by the window.
For a long moment, she simply sat there, taking it all in—the view, the quiet, the pulse of London far below. The city had changed in ways she hadn’t, and yet, it felt hauntingly familiar.
Her mind flickered briefly to the stranger from the elevator—the deep voice, the stormy eyes, the reluctant smirk. She hadn’t meant to laugh, but there had been something oddly human in that exchange, a rare moment of unguarded honesty. She shook her head lightly, pushing the thought aside. She wasn’t here to get distracted.
Pulling out her phone, she dialed her best friend, Vittoria Machetti. The call connected on the second ring.
“Hello?” Vittoria’s voice was warm and melodic, touched with her Italian accent.
“Hey, Tori,” Chloe said, smiling softly. “Guess where I am right now.”
There was a pause. “At home, in your pajamas, eating ice cream straight from the tub?”
Chloe laughed under her breath. “Wrong. I’m in London.”
Vittoria gasped. “No way! You’re kidding!”
“Switch to video call, and I’ll show you.”
Seconds later, Vittoria’s face filled the screen, her wide brown eyes blinking in disbelief. “Oh my God, C! You’re really in London! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Chloe said, angling the camera toward the glittering skyline.
“Wow,” Vittoria breathed. “That view is insane. How long are you staying?”
“Two weeks,” Chloe replied, leaning back into the chair. “I’m here for a business project—Vantage Global. But I figured we could catch up while I’m around.”
“Absolutely,” Vittoria said, excitement coloring her tone. “We have so much to talk about! Let’s go out, just you and me, like old times.”
Chloe hesitated. “As long as it’s not one of your overcrowded clubs.”
Vittoria grinned mischievously. “No promises.”
They chatted for a while—about work, the new Italian café Vittoria had discovered, old memories, and unspoken what-ifs. Chloe kept most details about her consulting work vague, steering clear of the firm she was set to evaluate.
Eventually, exhaustion began to sink in. With a soft sigh, Chloe stretched, her body relaxing into the armchair. “Alright, I need to shower and check some emails before I pass out.”
“Ugh, you and your emails,” Vittoria teased, rolling her eyes. “Fine, but we’re meeting tomorrow. No excuses.”
“Of course,” Chloe assured her, smiling before ending the call.
The room grew quiet again, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the window. Chloe poured herself a glass of wine, the deep red glinting under the soft lamplight, and opened her laptop.
Reports, proposals, and financial projections filled her screen—reminders of the empire she’d built piece by piece. Lioré Consulting wasn’t born from privilege, but from persistence and sleepless nights. Every contract she signed, every company she turned around, was proof that she didn’t need the De Luca name to matter.
She wasn’t here to reminisce. She was here to conquer.
Still, as she took another sip of wine, her mind wandered—back to the elevator, to the stranger with the amused eyes and the impatient voice.
“Damien Enzo Sterling,” she murmured quietly, remembering the name the receptionist had mentioned when handing her keycard.
She smiled faintly to herself, closing her laptop.
London had always been full of surprises.
And this time, she was ready for them.
- Writer
