04
The glass walls of his headquarters framed a skyline smeared in shades of steel and ash.
From this height, the city below was nothing more than a web of glinting lights and restless shadows.
Luca Maroni leaned back in his leather chair, a picture of calm precision.
His eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the reports on his desk as though dissecting prey.
The silence in his office was absolute, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning. It wasn't the kind of quiet that invited comfort—it was the kind that suffocated hesitation, demanded results and made people spill out their deepest secrets. The kind of quiet Luca preferred.
He reached for his coffee—black, bitter, and scalding, just the way he liked it.
The touch of heat against his fingertips was the only warmth he allowed in his mornings.
As he sipped, his gaze flicked to the screen on the wall, where stock tickers rolled in endless streams of green and red.
Numbers and patterns—predictable, controllable, unlike the people he had to tolerate to achieve them.
He would have put an end to the bastards who made his business complicated if it weren't for them being useful in some aspects of his business.
The intercom on his desk buzzed, the interruption slicing through the silence like a blade.
"Mr. Maroni," his assistant's voice crackled, crisp and clear. "Your new personal assistant has arrived. Should I send her in?"
Luca's lips twitched in irritation. He hadn't asked for a new assistant, but his HR department had insisted. Something about efficiency and his last one resigning under "pressure."
He mentally scoffed thinking about that. He didn't have time for inefficiency, let alone breaking in someone new.
He didn't respond immediately. He set the coffee down with deliberate care, adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, and let the silence stretch just long enough to remind him of his place. Then, finally, he pressed the button on his desk.
"Fine," he said curtly, pressing the button on his desk. "Send her in."
He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit, his expression settling into the mask of detached authority he wore so well. He expected another polished professional—someone competent enough to follow orders but not bold enough to challenge them.
The soft click of the door opening drew his attention, and he turned to see her step into the room.
She was not what he expected.
She was younger than most of his staff,
A lot younger than him.
Her delicate features framed by loose waves of light brown hair that shimmered faintly in the overhead light. Her figure was modestly dressed in a cream blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, but there was a softness to her—an innocence that felt out of place in a building like this.
But it was her eyes that gave him pause.
One was a soft, striking blue, clear and bright like the morning sky. The other was a muted hazel, flecked with hints of green. The contrast was startling, disarming even, and it made her impossible to look away from, meeting his with an openness that made something in his chest tighten.
Heterochromia.
For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze lingering on her as she shifted nervously under his captive gaze.
"Good morning, Mr. Maroni," she said, her voice soft but steady. There was a hint of nervousness in her tone, but she stood her ground, clutching a slim notebook to her chest like a shield.
Her voice held so much innocence as her eyes stared up into his.
Beautiful.
He took a step toward her, his imposing height and presence immediately filling the space between them. "Lenora Williams," he said, his voice low and assessing. He had checked her resumé seconds before she knocked.
"You're younger than I expected."
Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded. "I know I don't have as much experience as others, but I'm hardworking, and I can meet your expectations."
Luca's lips twitched in what might have been amusement, though his expression remained unreadable. "Hardworking," he repeated, his voice low and skeptical. "Do you know what that word means here, Miss Williams?"
"Yes, sir," she said, her tone steadier now. "It means no excuses, no mistakes, and no hesitation."
That caught his attention. For someone so seemingly delicate, she had a surprising edge of determination. He took a step closer, watching as her mismatched eyes tracked his every movement.
Interesting he said, almost to himself. Then, louder, "Tell me, Miss Williams, why should I believe you can keep up? Because if you can't, I won't waste my time—or yours."
Her cheeks flushed a deeper pink.
"Mr.Maroni, I know I have a lot to prove, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to succeed."
Luca raised an eyebrow, his cold gaze sweeping over her once more. There was no trace of guile in her expression, no hidden agenda lurking behind those innocent mismatched eyes. It was almost...disarming.
"Prove yourself," he echoed, his tone skeptical. "You'll find this isn't a place for mistakes, Miss Williams. I expect precision, efficiency, and results. Can you handle that?"
She straightened her shoulders, a spark of determination flashing in her eyes. "Yes, Mr. Maroni. I can."
He stared at her for another long moment, weighing her words. There was a fragility to her, but beneath it, he sensed a quiet strength. It intrigued him, though he'd never admit it.
She intrigued him.
"Very well," he said finally. "You'll have your chance. But understand this—if you can't keep up, you won't last long here."
After all there was no space for lazy people here.
"I understand," she replied, her voice steady and quiet despite the weight of his words.
He turned away, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "Your desk is outside. I'll need you to compile the latest projections for the Dubai merger by noon. Don't waste my time with questions."
"Yes, sir," she said, her voice firm. She turned to leave, but as she reached the door, she hesitated.
"Is there something else?" he asked, his tone sharp.
She glanced over her shoulder, a small, uncertain smile playing on her lips. "Just...thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Maroni. I won't disappoint you."
He didn't respond, watching as she disappeared through the door. Once she was gone, he let out a low breath, his gaze flicking back to the skyline.
Lenora Williams, he thought. Innocent, determined, and utterly out of her depth.
He didn't have time for distractions—but for the first time in years, Luca Maroni felt the faintest crack in his carefully constructed armor.
And he didn't like it.
She was innocent, beautiful, and entirely out of her depth in his world. And yet, there was something about her—something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Those mismatched eyes had unsettled him, as if they saw more than they should.
Shaking his head, he returned to his desk, forcing himself to focus on the work at hand. He didn't have time for distractions.
But as he picked up his coffee, he realized it was no longer scalding. It had gone cold, unnoticed.