Chapter 3
1502 Words
Morning sunlight filtered through the glass walls of Millia’s penthouse, painting golden patterns across the marble floors. The air smelled faintly of white roses and espresso her signature blend, her small luxury amid the chaos of her empire.
Millia Millen moved like a woman who belonged to the world she had built. Poised, calm, and devastatingly elegant. Even now, at forty-eight, she carried herself with effortless grace. Her tailored silk robe cinched neatly at the waist, her jet-black hair spilling past her shoulders in smooth waves.
She was the kind of woman people admired and envied in equal measure.
A business tycoon who had clawed her way from obscurity to become one of the most powerful figures in the fashion industry. To the world, she was untouchable.
To her daughter, she was everything.
And yet, no one knew how fragile she truly was.
On her desk, half-hidden beneath a pile of sketches, was a medical report. The one she hadn’t yet found the courage to tell Aria about. Stage IV. Terminal. Two years, if she was lucky.
Millia’s hands trembled as she folded the paper and slipped it back into the drawer. She had lived her life surviving storms; this one, however, she would face in silence.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching.
“Mom?” Aria shouted
Millia turned, and there was Aria radiant as always, her beauty a softer reflection of her mother’s. She wore a flowing cream blouse and high-waisted trousers, her wild hair half-tamed, her green eyes bright with mischief.
“You’re up early,” Millia said, smiling faintly.
“I have news,” Aria said, leaning against the doorframe.
Millia raised a brow. “Good or bad?”
Aria hesitated, which was never a good sign. “Depends on how you take it.”
Millia sighed, gesturing toward the chair across from her. “Sit. Tell me.”
Aria sank into the seat, folding her hands like a child caught in trouble. “I met someone.”
Millia’s lips curved slightly. “Oh? Another one of your impulsive flings?”
“Not that kind of meeting,” Aria said quickly. “He’s… different.”
“Different how?”
Aria hesitated, searching for words. “He’s grounded. Quiet. He listens. And well, I might have told him about you.”
Millia frowned. “About me?”
“About your loneliness,” Aria said softly. “How you deserve someone who sees you, not just your money.”
Millia laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Aria, please tell me you didn’t”
“I asked him to marry you.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Millia blinked, sure she had misheard. “You… what?”
Aria rushed on before her mother could erupt. “I know how it sounds! But hear me out. He’s not like the others. He’s kind, respectful, and”
“Aria,” Millia interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose, “you asked a stranger to marry me?”
Aria nodded sheepishly. “Technically, yes.”
“Good heavens.” Millia rose from her chair, pacing toward the window. The city stretched endlessly below her—clean, polished, untouchable. Unlike her daughter’s wild imagination. “And what did this man say?”
“He said yes.”
Millia froze. Slowly, she turned. “He said yes?”
Aria nodded again. “He’s coming here today.”
Millia stared at her daughter, torn between disbelief and an odd sense of amusement. “You do realize how absurd this sounds?”
“Yes,” Aria said softly. “But Mom… maybe absurd is exactly what you need.”
Millia sighed, shaking her head, but the gentle conviction in her daughter’s voice made her chest ache. She couldn’t stay angry. Not with Aria’s hopeful eyes on her. “What’s his name?”
“Dante,” Aria said.
The name lingered in the air like smoke.
By the time Dante arrived that afternoon, the penthouse had been transformed into something out of a magazine spread fresh orchids on every table, the faint melody of a piano drifting through hidden speakers. Aria had gone all out, of course.
Millia waited in the living room, dressed in a pale lavender dress that fell elegantly around her frame. She looked flawless, as always. Only the faint exhaustion beneath her eyes hinted at her private battle.
When Dante stepped into the room, even Millia paused.
He wasn’t what she expected.
No suit, no polished arrogance. Just a dark shirt rolled at the sleeves, black jeans, and a quiet confidence that filled the space effortlessly. His presence was… magnetic. Commanding without trying.
“Mrs. Millen,” he greeted, his voice low, rich, and disarmingly calm.
“Mr. Dante,” Millia said, offering a polite nod. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“I imagine most of it wasn’t flattering.”
“Oh, my daughter spoke quite fondly of you,” Millia said, her tone teasing. “Though I’m not sure if I should thank her or send her to therapy.”
Dante smiled faintly. “Aria has a unique way of seeing the world.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Millia gestured for him to sit. “So, tell me, Dante. What exactly did my daughter offer you to agree to such a ridiculous proposal?”
“Nothing,” he said simply.
Millia arched a brow. “Nothing?”
“I don’t make deals for money.”
“Then why agree?”
Dante’s gaze met hers steady, unreadable. “Because she believes you need protection. And I think she’s right.”
The bluntness of his tone startled her. “Protection from what?”
“People who see your kindness as weakness,” he replied. “You’ve built something powerful, Mrs. Millen. That attracts greed and danger.”
Millia studied him carefully. His words were too precise, too grounded. Not the kind of man easily fooled. And yet… there was no arrogance, no deceit in his voice.
“You speak like someone who knows that world well,” she said quietly.
He met her gaze. “Let’s just say I’ve seen both sides of it.”
Something about him unnerved her, his calm, his certainty. He didn’t fidget, didn’t flatter. He simply was, solid and deliberate.
For the first time in years, Millia felt… seen.
Still, she forced a small laugh to break the silence. “Well, Mr. Dante, my daughter seems to think this is fate. I prefer to call it insanity.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Sometimes they’re the same thing.”
Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary. Something unspoken passed between them—a flicker of understanding neither wanted to name.
Aria appeared in the doorway just then, bright and proud, as if she’d orchestrated destiny itself. “So,” she said cheerfully, “how’s the introduction going?”
“Your mother thinks you’ve lost your mind,” Dante said dryly.
“She’s not wrong,” Millia murmured, though her lips curved.
Aria clasped her hands. “Then it’s settled! You’ll go on a date, and if you both hate each other, we’ll forget the whole thing.”
Millia shot her a look. “A date? Aria”
But Dante spoke first. “Alright.”
Both women turned to him in surprise.
“You’re agreeing?” Millia asked.
He gave a small shrug. “Can’t judge a proposal without meeting the person behind it.”
Aria grinned, triumphant. “See, Mom? He’s reasonable!”
Millia sighed but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible, Aria.”
When her daughter left the room moments later, the air between Millia and Dante shifted again softer, heavier.
“You know this is madness,” she said, folding her arms.
“I do.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Maybe I wanted to see the woman your daughter would risk everything for.”
That silenced her. For a moment, Millia forgot how to breathe.
He rose from his seat, his height casting a shadow that brushed against her. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening. For the date.”
“Are you always this direct?”
“Only when something’s worth pursuing.”
Millia’s pulse stuttered. She wasn’t used to being pursued not anymore. Not by men who looked at her like that.
When Dante left, the faint scent of him lingered clean, dark, dangerous. She stood there long after the door closed, heart beating faster than it had in years.
She should’ve been alarmed. She should’ve stopped this before it began.
But instead, Millia found herself smiling just a little.
She didn’t know that the man she’d just agreed to meet was far from ordinary.
And she didn’t know that somewhere in Dante’s chest, a storm had already begun to brew not for her, but for the daughter who had sent him.
- Writer
