Chapter Twenty
RONAN
Present Day
NEW YORK CITY
Normally, days off were my most cherished days except when I spent the morning of mine witnessing a bickering fest between Dillon and Arnoldo.
“You’re fucking your assistant,” Dillon said, shocked, as ironic as it sounds.
“Ex-assistant.” Arnoldo corrected as he fixed his tie. “Aren’t you doing the same?”
“I’m in a loving, committed relationship with mine,” Dillon pointed out.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I never slept with her.”
Dillon laughed at his statement. “He’s a manwhore and a liar.”
“Ronan,” Arnoldo called to me, “help a guy out?”
“I’m not getting involved,” I declared, fixing my burgundy tie and sitting upright.
“And to think, I had your file ready,” Arnoldo scoffed, a sly smile present on his face.
That bastard.
“What file?” Dillon asked, his confused hazel eyes trailing over to look at me. “Don’t you know everything about Nina already?”
Before I could even respond, Arnoldo did the honors. “The mystery man who gently kissed Nina’s cheek is today’s topic.”
“You’re better than me,” Dillon muttered. “He wouldn’t have lips to do it a second time.”
“We know,” we replied in unison, and Arnoldo passed the folder to me. Without even a thought, I opened it.
I spotted his name first—Alejandro Grazio—and damn, Reyes was thorough. How the hell did he even get the guy’s coffee order? Flipping through the pages, I absorbed every detail. He’d even hired a private investigator to track his routine.
Annoyingly, it all revolved around Nina.
His Instagram was flooded with photos of them together, each one stoking the fire of my jealousy.
I skimmed through notes on his daily habits, connections, and favorite spots—Reyes had left no stone unturned.
My grip tightened as I stared at Alejandro’s smiling photos with her, each one hitting like a gut punch.
“I take it you’re engrossed because you’re satisfied?” He asked, never missing a moment to glorify himself.
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated. Glancing at the message, the folder slipped from my hand, crashing loudly as dark anger surged within me.
What the fuck was I looking at right now?
The photo on my screen captured Nina and Alejandro at a fashion event. Nina was breathtaking in a black gown, accentuating her curves, her skin glowing under the soft lighting. Her eyes shone with happiness, and her smile—wide and sincere—made my chest tighten.
My gaze shifted to him—his suit, wrinkled and covered in lint, clearly didn’t fit him, nor did he belong beside Nina. Yet, there he was, hand possessively on her waist, fingers gripping her gown. The sight made my blood boil.
As I looked closer, I could see the way he leaned into her, his face uncomfortably close to hers.
He seemingly whispered something in her ear that made her laugh, her head tilting back in a way that exposed the graceful line of her neck.
She seemed to bask in his attention; her smile was bright and unguarded.
It was a smile I had seen many times before, but never like this—never directed at another man.
I clenched my phone tightly, the urge to throw it across the room nearly overwhelming. Time to move up my trip.
I swiped off and quickly called my assistant, “Get the jet ready. We’re going to Italy. Now.”
I didn’t even wait for her to respond, and I grabbed my things, about to storm out.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Arnoldo asked, confused.
“There’s an issue that needs my physical presence, apparently,” I noted as I stopped to answer him. “I will be back in a few days.”
Dillon’s eyes quickly glanced at my screen and whispered, “What the hell?”
Without another word, I left and speedily drove to Teterboro Airport, where my jet was being prepped for arrival, with a very confused Rachel on board.
“Ronan,” she called out, “Is everything—”
“We’ll know the answer to my question when we get to Tuscany,” I noted and spent the rest of the nine-hour flight awake, a sea of resentment roaming through my veins.
We landed with the sun in the sky. The jet lag would fuck me up, and before they even off-boarded the luggage, I requested to be driven to Nina’s boutique.
“But sir, we should get you settled in first, and the—”
“I appreciate it,” I interjected, “but I have to deal with this now.”
“Okay, sir, the car will be here soon.”
The bright neon pink sign of Nina’s boutique blazed, casting an eerie glow on the sidewalk.
Stepping inside, the cool rush of air conditioning and the scent of expensive fabrics and designer perfume in the air enveloped me.
“What are you doing here?” Inaya’s voice cut through the ambient noise, laced with irritation.
Ah. Inaya Abbas.
I fixed her with a steely gaze. “Where’s your boss?”
“Busy,” she replied, her tone dismissive.
“Sure,” I shot back, stepping further into the store.
“What?”
“Go and get Nina,” I commanded, my voice brooking no argument. “Please.”
Inaya stood her ground, hands on her hips, her expression defiant. “I won’t be doing that.”
“Fine,” I muttered, determination hardening my resolve. “I’ll have to do it myself.”
I began my search, striding purposefully through the store. The seamstresses glanced up from their work, their eyes following my every move as I navigated the expansive space with complete shock on their faces.
Finally, I spotted a door at the end of the hall with a nameplate; the name written in a looping script only she was capable of writing: Nina’s Office.
I moved swiftly through the boutique, my footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. Each turn brought more luxury: mannequins draped in the latest fashion, mirrors reflecting my determined expression, and racks upon racks of clothing that seemed to stretch endlessly.
I finally reached the door to Nina’s office and paused for a moment. Through the frosted glass, I could see two figures in the dim light. Nina’s familiar silhouette and another—a man, tall and imposing.
Without hesitation, I walked towards Nina’s office, my footsteps echoing off the polished marble floor. The boutique’s opulent decor—crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, and gilded mirrors—blurred in my peripheral vision as I focused on the door ahead.
I slammed the door open, heart pounding. Nina stood by her desk, speaking quietly with him. They both turned, surprise turning to shock.
“Amore mia,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence.
Before she could respond, I shot a glare at the guy. “Get out,” I ordered, fury evident.
Nina
I immersed myself in the details of my sketches for the upcoming Louis Vuitton winter collection, a project that felt almost unreal.
The day kicked off with an unexpected thrill.
At exactly eight o’clock, the door to my office burst open.
A fellow designer, eyes wide with excitement, told me he’d seen my designs, gotten an astonishing reference from Vogue, and pitched them to Louis Vuitton.
The rest was history.
I was making history at twenty-nine years old.
What is my life?
I deserved this.
I deserved every bit of it.
But somehow, beneath the surface of accolades and success, lingered an unsettling feeling of impostor syndrome.
Growing up in the cramped confines of a rundown house, success, with its bright promises of a better life, seemed like a distant myth or a story reserved for others.
Though, against all odds, I defied expectations.
I clawed my way out of that suffocating existence, driven by a relentless hunger for more.
Now, surrounded by accolades and admiration, I found myself standing at the pinnacle of my achievements. The world saw a confident, accomplished individual, but inside, doubts gnawed like hungry wolves.
Did I truly belong here, among the elite and the celebrated? Or was I merely a novice masquerading as a seasoned professional?
The echoes of my upbringing whispered doubts in my ear.
How could someone like me, who once knew hunger and fear, now sit at tables adorned with fine linens and crystal glasses?
The shadow of where I came from still followed me, a quiet fear that one wrong step would expose me as an impostor.
Yet beneath the doubt, pride burned steadily. I hadn’t arrived here by luck. I had earned every inch of it. And perhaps, one day, I’d fully believe that.
My desk was a beautiful chaos of winter, sketches of high-collared coats, snowflake-stitched gowns, fur-lined gloves, feathered capes, and dresses that appeared spun from ice.
I called my mom first, her voice full of pride. Then Inaya, her joyful scream resulted in unrelenting laughter. We celebrated, our dreams finally real.
The door creaked open.
Alejandro stood there, grinning, two steaming cups of coffee in hand.
“Hey, superstar,” he greeted, setting a cup on my cluttered desk. “Thought you could use a pick-me-up.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
He leaned against the desk, his eyes scanning my sketches. “These are incredible. What are they for?”
“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip of the coffee. It wasn’t my usual espresso, but it worked. “A collaboration I have to do, but I still have a mountain of work to do.”
He chuckled. “You always say that, but you always deliver.”
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t suppress a grin. “I’m trying to keep my head above water here. Besides, it’s not like I had much of a choice. I needed something to distract me from everything else.”
He nodded, understanding without me having to say more. “What’s the inspiration behind them?”
I took a deep breath. “Winter. I wanted to capture that in the collection.”
He nodded along, though I had barely said anything. “I can see it like you’re bringing winter to life.”
I smiled, the tension in my chest easing slightly. “Thank you, A—”
The door swung open suddenly, and I whipped my head around. My heart stuttered as my gaze fell on the one person I hadn’t expected to see.
What the fuck was he doing here?
“Amore mia,” Ronan’s voice cut through the quiet, low and charged, sending a shiver down my spine.