A planned engagement

He stepped out of the bathroom, the last ribbons of steam trailing behind him. Every movement he made was steady, controlled. He slid into his tailored charcoal suit, smoothing the fabric with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. The silver cufflinks—engraved with his company’s initials—clicked neatly into place. In the mirror, he adjusted his tie with the calm confidence of a man used to making decisions that shape other people’s futures. He sipped his coffee, ready for the morning meeting, when his phone rang. “Hello.” “Sir, it’s me—Andrew.” “Speak. I don’t have all day.” “It’s your stepmother,” Andrew said. “She’s been meeting with certain shareholders, telling them you’re unfit to remain CEO. She’s pushing for a vote to replace you with her son.” “For what reason?” he asked, voice steady, almost relaxed. “She’s saying the company needs a leader who’s married and has an heir… and her son will soon be a family man.” “Hm.” He smiled. After his father passed, Nico Vincenzo became the sole inheritor of a massive multimillion-dollar empire—an agricultural dynasty with a vast private plantation. Nico had taken the reins with sharp precision and absolute authority. Tall, controlled, and commanding, he carried the same intimidating presence his father once possessed: strong, powerful, untouchable. People feared him for his intensity, yet admired him for his unmatched strategy. His name echoed globally—spoken with equal parts respect and caution. And Nico was not just known for what he inherited, but for what he built afterward: an international private aviation venture born from a personal interest that grew into a world-leading aircraft business. From the soil to the skies, he expanded his father’s legacy and pushed it higher. He lived in New York, but he was in San Diego strictly for business. “Don’t worry too much, Andrew. I’ll handle it—you know I always do.” “Yes, sir.” Nico hung up, still smiling. His stepmother had always behaved this way, yet no matter her attempts, his father never abandoned him for her sake. When Vincenzo died, almost everything was willed to Nico—even the house she still lived in. He had allowed her to stay as long as she respected boundaries. Clearly, she was beginning to forget them. Still, he couldn’t deny one thing: he was thirty-seven now. He knew he needed a wife someday—needed an heir. But being who he was, time was a luxury he rarely had. As handsome as he was, he never bothered to look for anyone. But he would need someone to take over after him. He exhaled deeply as he stepped out of his hotel room. --- Alexis Carter lay motionless. Blissfully so. She remained tangled in her sheets like an artwork someone forgot to frame. Her pillow felt cloud-soft, as if spring itself had fluffed it. Warm golden sunlight filled the room, gentle enough to kiss her skin without forcing her awake. Outside, birds chattered like tiny gossipers sharing morning secrets. The air carried the scent of blossoms—lavender, jasmine, and something sweet she couldn’t name. The breeze teased her curtains, making them sway like dancers caught in nature’s rhythm. She smiled—just a small one—the kind that showed how much she enjoyed doing absolutely nothing. Still sprawled across the bed, she pulled the blanket a bit higher and released a long, satisfied sigh. Time felt generous this morning, stretching itself lazily around her. No alarms, no pressure—just peace lingering around her room. For a moment, she forgot everything. Then reality nudged her. Work. “Oh Alexi,” she groaned softly. “No, no.” She shot upright, shoved the blanket aside, and planted her feet on the floor. What was I thinking? she scolded herself. She needed to act like someone who paid bills. “Oh my God, I can’t lose this job. I need it,” she whispered as she rushed into the bathroom. Adulthood had not been easy on her—especially since she started her latest job. The moment her first paycheck dropped, the requests followed immediately. It always began sweetly. “Congratulations, we’re proud of you,” her mother had said. Then came the pause—then, “Just small support, if you can.” And her seventeen-year-old brother wasn’t any better. Each request felt small, but together they became a mountain of expenses she never agreed to shoulder. Alexi rushed out of the bathroom, still fastening the last button of her blouse. She moved quickly, grabbing the clothes she needed. A deep navy corporate shirt settled neatly over her frame, followed by tailored black trousers that sharpened her posture. Her beige blazer—structured and elegant—slid into place like armor. Her phone rang. She glanced at the bed. “It must be Mom,” she muttered, lifting the phone as she grabbed her purse. “Hello, Mom.” “It’s me. Mike.” “Mike?” she snapped. “Why are you calling me? You’re supposed to be in school!” “I got kicked out,” he said, unfazed. “And why, if I may ask?” “Why?” He paused. “Money for school… and for the program we’re about to do.” “What program?” she demanded, irritation surging. “Come on, must I explain everything? All you need to know is that it’s important.” “You know what? You and that slippery sister of yours are thieves. I sent you people money last week! Where’s Mom?” “At the flower shop. Where else?” “Listen to me,” she warned sharply. “I’m coming to that house today. And you better have a real explanation. Goodbye.” She hung up, fuming, as she stepped out of her apartment. Ungrateful children, she thought, entering a cab. When she got out, the driver leaned back for his fare. She paid him and walked toward her company’s tall building, its polished windows gleaming under the San Diego sun. Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement as her mind replayed her family’s endless demands. Every payday had turned into a collection day. Mike, Dora, her mother—always asking, always assuming she’d say yes. She exhaled heavily as she reached the entrance. She pulled out her phone and dialed her friend, Kimberly Hayes, who also worked in the company. The phone rang as she approached the door— Then impact. The door swung open hard from inside, slamming into her before she could react. She stumbled backward, gasping, her grip loosening. Her phone hit the ground, and she fell right after it. “Oh my! I’m so sorry—are you okay?” the man blurted, panic flashing over him. He reached out quickly, helping her up. She dusted herself off, anger already rising. “What? Sorry? How dare you!” she snapped. “Look at my clothes!” “Miss, I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “My phone!” She bent, picking up the cracked screen. “You broke my phone!” Before he could speak, his phone buzzed. “Yes, sir. I’ll be right there,” he muttered, already turning. But Alexi grabbed his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” “I’m sorry, Miss,” he said tightly. “But I have to go.” “You damaged my phone, you i***t! You’re not going anywhere until you fix it!” A deep voice sounded behind her—calm, steady, impossible to ignore. “Is there a problem, Maxwell?” Alexi froze. Because that voice… that voice was sinful. She turned around— And saw him. Nico Vincenzo. He didn’t just stand there—he owned the space. His suit, a soft beige tailored to perfection, framed a body built on discipline and quiet power. Broad shoulders, a strong chest, arms that spoke of deliberate strength. His presence alone changed the atmosphere. Even the sunlight seemed to acknowledge him. His face was dangerously sculpted: sharp jaw, clean lines, eyes dark and observant, carrying a natural seriousness that demanded obedience without effort. His beauty wasn’t gentle. It was commanding. “Miss, is there a problem?” he asked, voice deep and mature. Alexi blinked—captivated, startled—but her phone was still broken. And right now, that mattered more.