His Empire,Her Rules

7

It had been four days since I’d last seen Lorenzo De Luca, and yet his presence lingered subtle, invisible, and impossible to forget.

I’d spent the week pretending to be busy, drowning myself in project briefs and client emails, anything to stop replaying the memory of his mouth on mine. It had been a mistake. A reckless, impulsive, burning mistake. One that shouldn’t have happened at work.

Yet, every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel the heat of it,the firm pressure of his lips, the restrained hunger he tried to swallow. I hated that it had branded itself into my mind, that a single moment had carved such a deep line across everything I’d been trying to keep professional.

So, I avoided him. Completely.

I timed my arrivals so I wouldn’t cross his path, sent reports through his co workers if they suspected or thought anything I don’t care,I even skipped lunch meetings if I knew he’d be there. The office gossip had quieted after Isabella’s cold glares scared everyone off, but I could still feel their eyes when I walked by.

Lorenzo, however, didn’t make avoidance easy,the first day, he sent lunch. No note, just a familiar Italian restaurant name printed neatly on the bag. My favorite pasta, of course.

The second day, there was a coffee waiting on my desk black, two sugars, the way I liked it how does he know all of this about me now I think he’s been paying attention to me secretly or maybe he cares than he shows it. By the third day, there was nothing tangible, only the silence. But somehow, that was worse.

I told myself I didn’t care. That I was immune. But then came the invitation.

The De Luca Foundation Charity Gala

Friday, 8 PM

Venue: The Bellavista Hotel

I’d seen the event in the company calendar it was one of the most exclusive gatherings of the year, filled with billionaires, art collectors, and socialites,I wasn’t expected to attend. I was just an employee yet, the gold-embossed envelope had my name written on it.

I stared at it for a full minute before tucking it into my drawer. I told myself I wouldn’t go. I told myself I’d stay home, drink wine, and forget he existed.

But by Friday evening, I was standing in front of my mirror, wearing a black silk gown that Maya picked out for me it clung to my curves like a second skin, the kind of dress that whispered power. My hair fell in loose waves, makeup soft but deliberate.

The Bellavista was all glitter and glass, the chandelier lights spilling gold across the marble floors. A soft hum of music filled the air, the clink of champagne flutes punctuating laughter and murmured conversation.

“Ms. Hawthorne, you look incredible.” A voice broke through my thoughts. Daniel, one of Lorenzo’s closest associates, greeted me with an appreciative smile.

“Thank you, Daniel,” I said, matching his warmth with practiced ease.

“All De Luca’s doing,” he said, glancing across the room. “He’s somewhere near the art display, I think. You’ll see him he’s hard to miss.”

I shouldn’t have looked.

But I did.

He was standing near the far corner, surrounded by investors and politicians, the picture of composed authority. Lorenzo De Luca in a black tuxedo was a dangerous sight. The crisp lines of the suit, the faint gleam of his watch, the way his posture radiated quiet command it was impossible not to notice.

And then his eyes found me.

It was instant, he turned his head like he’d known exactly where I’d be. Our gazes collided, he didn’t smile,didn’t move,just looked.

It was the kind of look that stripped layers away without a single word intense, unwavering, deliberate. My pulse stumbled. I quickly turned toward the waiter passing with champagne, taking a glass I didn’t need.

I shouldn’t have come.

“Sophia,I didn’t think you would come.”

The sound of his voice behind me sent a ripple through my spine. I turned slowly, forcing my features into something resembling composure.

“Lorenzo,” I said smoothly. “I didn’t think so too but here I am,enjoying the evening?”

“Now I am,you look beautiful in your dress.” His tone was low.

I smiled he noticed my dressing was melting internally but I didn’t show it “Flattery doesn’t suit you.”

He studied me for a long second, his gaze unreadable. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

There it was again that subtle emotional restraint, the kind that made him more dangerous than arrogance ever could. He wasn’t flirting. He was observing. Like a man trying to hide the fact that the ground had shifted beneath him.

“Why did you invite me?” I asked, breaking the silence.

He took a sip of his drink, eyes never leaving mine. “You’re part of my company. It’s natural that you attend.”

“That’s not the reason,” I said quietly.

His jaw tightened, but his expression remained calm. “Perhaps not. But it’s the only one I’ll give you tonight.”

For the next hour, we danced around each other through conversation and stolen glances. I mingled with guests, pretending to focus on art pieces and charity pledges, but his presence was a steady pulse across the room.

Whenever I looked up, he was there talking to someone, then glancing my way. Not once did he approach again. And yet, I felt watched.

At one point, a man introduced himself Adrian Keller, an art dealer,he offered me a drink, complimented my insight about one of the paintings, and laughed when I teased him about art prices being legal robbery.

I laughed, too. Until I caught sight of Lorenzo across the room.

He was mid-conversation with a woman in a glittering gown, but his gaze flickered once to me, to Adrian, then back again. He didn’t react, didn’t move, but his grip on the glass in his hand tightened just slightly. I noticed because I was watching for it.

That tiny c***k in his composure.

I shouldn’t have felt satisfaction curl in my ches,but I did ,when the crowd thinned, I slipped out onto the terrace. The night air was cool, the city skyline stretching like diamonds in the dark. I set my glass on the railing and closed my eyes for a second, inhaling.

And then, quietly, his voice came again.

“You always run when it gets loud.”

I turned. He stood at the doorway, hands in his pockets, the city lights catching the sharp planes of his face.

“Maybe I just like the quiet,” I said softly.

“Or maybe you don’t know what to do when things start to mean something.”

I let out a small, breathless laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. Not too near just enough for the tension to hum between us. “Sophie…” My name rolled off his tongue like a confession he wasn’t supposed to make.

“What?”

His gaze softened, though his tone stayed steady. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You make it sound like a crime.”

“Maybe it is.”

I exhaled, trying to mask the tremor in my voice. “If you’re referring to what happened in your office, it was a mistake. You and I both know it.”

He didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched, filled with unsaid things. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “If it was a mistake, why do you look at me like this?”

I blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to forget, but you can’t.”

The honesty in his tone disarmed me. He wasn’t playing games tonight.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Please don’t do this here.”

He nodded once, a hint of restraint in the movement. “You’re right.” He took a step back, his composure returning like armor. “But you should know something, Sophie.”

He met my gaze, his expression unreadable. “I haven’t been able to forget either.”

My heart stuttered. For a second, the world stilled. The soft sounds of the city faded, the air between us thickened with something neither of us was ready to name.

He broke eye contact first, glancing toward the ballroom. “You should go back inside. You might get cold.”

I nodded, unable to find words.

As he turned away, I found myself watching the way his shoulders tensed, the measured way he breathed before walking back into the light. That, told me everything.

He was fighting it. Just like I was and for the first time, I wasn’t sure who was winning.

Later that night, when I got home, I sat on the edge of my bed, still in my gown, and called Maya my go to person at this point infact at any point I find myself confused she picked almost immediately,and I just told her everything Maya being Maya taunted me we spoke for a while before she went to bed.

I couldn’t sleep the image of his face kept popping up even after closing my eyes to sleep,I should’ve felt triumphant for keeping my distance. But instead, I felt the opposite.

Somewhere between anger and longing, something dangerous was growing. And though I told myself I could control it, deep down I already knew the truth.It was controlling me.

I glanced at the framed invitation on my dresser, fingers brushing over the embossed gold letters before finally going to bed.

Some things, I realized, were never meant to be simple.

And Lorenzo De Luca was one of them.