CH3: Where Power Meets Choice
759 Words
Sarah noticed the silence first.
It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty.
It was deliberate.
Lorenzo De Santis stood near the window, the Milan skyline spread beneath him like a map he already owned. He didn’t turn when she entered. He didn’t rush. He didn’t fill the room with words the way powerful men usually did.
That restraint unsettled her.
“You’re not afraid,” he said at last.
It wasn’t a question.
Sarah stopped a few steps inside the room. “I didn’t come here to be.”
Slowly, he turned. His gaze settled on her—not appraising, not hungry, but sharp. Focused. As if he were weighing something far more important than attraction.
“Most people are,” he said calmly. “They just hide it better.”
“I don’t hide,” she replied.
That earned her a pause. A longer look. Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.
She considered ignoring him.
Instead, she sat—on her own terms, back straight, chin lifted, eyes steady. If he was testing her, she would not give him the satisfaction of resistance for resistance’s sake.
“You know who I am,” Lorenzo said.
“I know your name,” Sarah corrected. “And the stories.”
“Stories are useful,” he replied. “They keep people predictable.”
“I’m not predictable.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “You’re not.”
The room felt smaller now—not because of proximity, but because of attention. He gave her his full focus, and she realized that was his true power. When Lorenzo De Santis looked at you, nothing else existed.
“You’re wondering why you’re here,” he continued.
“Yes,” she said. “And why you didn’t summon me like everyone else.”
A faint curve touched his mouth. Not a smile. Recognition.
“I don’t summon women,” he said. “I invite them.”
“And if they say no?”
“Then they walk away.”
She studied his face, searching for deception. There was none. No pressure. No threat. Just certainty.
“You don’t strike me as a man who accepts refusal easily.”
“I accept refusal,” he replied. “I don’t accept hesitation.”
That landed harder than she expected.
“So this is a test?” she asked.
“In part,” he said. “I observe how people move when power is present. Some shrink. Some perform. Very few remain themselves.”
“And I?” she asked.
“You didn’t ask what I wanted,” he said. “You asked why.”
Her pulse quickened—but she didn’t let it show.
“What do you want from me?” she asked finally.
Lorenzo leaned back slightly, folding his hands. Calm. Controlled.
“Thirty nights,” he said. “No force. No obligation. You stay because you choose to. You leave the moment you don’t.”
Sarah frowned. “That’s it?”
“That’s everything.”
She stood slowly, unable to stay seated under the weight of his words.
“You’re offering me proximity to your world,” she said. “Without asking for submission.”
“I don’t want submission,” he replied evenly. “I want clarity.”
“And what happens at the end of thirty nights?”
“You decide,” he said. “Whether my world is something you step away from… or step into.”
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
“I won’t be owned,” Sarah said firmly.
Lorenzo rose to his feet, closing the distance just enough for her to feel the gravity of him—without touching her.
“I don’t own people,” he said quietly. “I respect those who choose freely.”
Their eyes locked. Power met resistance. Control met will.
Sarah exhaled slowly.
“Then understand this,” she said. “If I stay, it won’t be because I’m impressed. It will be because I decide.”
For the first time, something shifted in his expression—subtle, fleeting, unmistakable.
“That,” Lorenzo De Santis said softly, “is exactly why you’re here.”
When Sarah walked out, she didn’t rush. She didn’t look back.
And for the first time in years, Lorenzo did not return to the window.
He stood still, aware of something unfamiliar settling in his chest.
Not possession.
Anticipation.
Because power had finally met something it could not command.
Choice.
- Writer
