No.
That couldn’t happen.
I didn’t want anything from Valentina except her destruction.
I couldn’t want anything else.
Not when wanting her had nearly ruined me once already.
TWENTY
ENRICO FERRARA
SEVEN YEARS EARLIER
Punctuality was almost a religion to me.
Every minute of my day was rigorously scheduled, timed, and executed. My time was too valuable to be wasted on distractions. I didn’t run late, I didn’t tolerate lateness, and I certainly didn’t forgive the people who caused it.
But that morning, nothing was working the way it should.
The nine o’clock meeting had already started five minutes ago, and to make it worse, I’d received an irritating message from Eloá about some trivial family matter.
I drew in a breath, trying to tamp down the irritation simmering in my chest as I pressed the button for the executive elevator reserved for Ferrara Corporation leadership.
The doors were already closing when a woman slipped in at the last second—completely ignoring the bold notice:EXECUTIVE USE ONLY.
She was young, maybe mid-twenties, wearing a black pencil skirt and a white blouse chosen to look professional. But something about her contradicted all that formality.
Her dark—nearly black—hair fell in unruly waves over her shoulders. Her face was expressive and bright, lit by a wide,genuine smile—the kind of smile that had no business existing on a normal work morning.
Her energy was vibrant, almost reckless, and it clashed so sharply with the serious, silent air around me that it was like she’d turned on a light in a room I’d forgotten could be bright.
I frowned and forced my gaze away immediately, focusing on the illuminated panel in front of me.
She laughed into her phone, arms full of folders and an absurdly large cup of coffee, too distracted to notice me standing rigidly in the corner.
“No, of course not, Bia!” she laughed, voice bright enough to make my brow knit in annoyance. “The meeting isn’t for another half hour. I have plenty of time to go up and pretend I’m organized. No—I’m not organized at all! I’m a walking disaster!”
I exhaled through my nose, eyes locked on the panel as it ticked past the tenth floor. Fifteen more to go.
She was completely unbothered.
Her laughter was light—almost musical—as if real problems didn’t exist.
As if the world was something soft.
Then, suddenly, the elevator jolted.
The lights flickered.
And we stopped abruptly between floors, the impact strong enough to make her stumble. Her coffee cup hit the floor, splashing hot liquid across the tiles.
“Oh no—no, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, staring at the spill, then finally noticing me.
She blinked, big dark eyes widening—and to my complete disgust, she smiled.
“Good morning?” she offered uncertainly, eyes bright with curiosity as she took me in. Then she pointed at my feet. “Uh… I hope you don’t love those shoes too much.”
