His Dangerous Claim

5

Part of me thought the apartment was going to be tiny or even small, normal nothing average. That part of me was dumb and she’s no longer allowed to make decisions.

My new ‘room’ at MorLux was insane. The term room was a little under inclusive. There was two bedrooms and bathrooms, an office-style reading room with bookshelves lining the walls, a large living room with huge windows, an open kitchen and a balcony that made me question how much the Morreti’s really had.

The week passed in a haze of routines I tried hard to get used to.

Wake up. Shower. Dress like someone ten times more expensive than I felt. Walk the penthouse halls like I wasn’t scared out of my mind. Smile at the guards like I belonged.

Every morning I took the elevator down to retrieve my schedule, and every day was a mix of odd tasks, long silences, and Alessandro Moretti ignoring me like I was nothing more than a decoration in his empire.

But I wasn’t invisible to everyone.

The staff whispered about me when they thought I wasn’t listening. Some looked at me with pity, others with curiosity. I was the “girl in the penthouse”—the one with no known job title, no badge, and no authority, but somehow got the royal treatment.

Even I didn’t know why I was here. My boss, Mr. Williams, told me this was about opportunity. But what opportunity comes with silence, secrets, and a man who barely looks at you?

Still… I stayed.

Because that contract I signed—whatever it really meant—had rules. And I needed the money. Badly.

That afternoon, I was sorting through files in a side office near the executive floor. It was quiet. Too quiet. I’d started counting the clicks of the clock on the wall when a voice sliced through the silence.

“Miss Cruz?”

I turned sharply. A woman stood in the doorway—tall, graceful, and terrifyingly elegant. She wore all white, her black hair in a sleek bun, and eyes sharp like she was born to command attention.

“Yes?” I answered, standing quickly.

“Come with me,” she said simply.

I followed her through corridors I hadn’t seen before, up a second private elevator, and into a massive room that smelled like money and secrets.

A woman was already seated behind a glass desk, one hand resting gracefully over a cup of tea. She looked older—late fifties maybe—but her presence was unshakable. Regal.

“Sit, Miss Cruz,” she said.

My knees locked. But I moved anyway.

“I’m Camilla Moretti,” she said, her accent thick, aristocratic. “Mother to Alessandro.”

Oh God.

My palms went clammy. Sitting across from the mother of the man who barely tolerated my presence felt like standing on the edge of a cliff—one wrong move and I’d be free-falling.

“I’ve heard… quite a bit about you,” Camilla said, voice cool and silky, like velvet wrapped around steel. “You’ve made an impression.”

I forced a smile. “I hope it was a good one.”

She didn’t return it. “Alessandro rarely brings outsiders in. And when he does, it’s not usually women.”

My heart pounded. Was that jealousy in her tone? Suspicion?, woman I don’t even know why I’m here.

“I’m just here to do my job, ma’am,” I said carefully, keeping my gaze steady.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “About that.”

She set down her cup of tea and leaned forward. “I’m going to be frank with you, Miss Cruz. This job—it’s not just typing reports or shadowing Alessandro. It’s… immersive. Demanding. Personal.”

I didn’t like the way she emphasized that last word.

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes narrowed, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You’ll see. But let me offer you a piece of advice: if you plan to stay, you must be loyal. Fiercely. Even when it gets ugly.”

“Ugly?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “This world isn’t run by kindness, Miss Cruz. It’s ruled by control, image, and power. And if you're going to walk beside my son—even professionally—you need to understand that.”

She stood abruptly. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

And with that, Camilla Moretti glided out of the room like a queen leaving court, her perfume lingering behind like a warning.

I sat there for a moment, frozen, replaying every word she said like a threat wrapped in velvet. Was it a warning… or a test?

Either way, my stomach twisted.

I stood up slowly, legs still shaky, and stepped back into the hallway. The same lady who brought me in was waiting, perfectly poised, as if she'd expected everything to go exactly like that.

“Your schedule is ready downstairs, Miss Cruz,” she said with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But you should get settled first. The penthouse is yours for the duration of your contract.”

My contract. Right.

The word felt heavier now.

As we took the elevator up in silence, my mind raced with questions. Why did Camilla Moretti care so much? Why did Alessandro look at me like I was already a mistake?

And most of all—what exactly had I signed up for?

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to reveal a stunning open-concept space—floor-to-ceiling windows, velvet drapes, gold accents, and a view of the city that looked like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare. Depending on how things played out.

I stepped in cautiously, my shoes silent against the polished floors.

“Welcome home,” the woman said, then turned and left.

Home.

For now.