Author's pov 

Over the next few days, Alessandro’s men dug through every corner of Aarika Singh’s existence.

Financial audits, shell corporations, offshore accounts, social connections.

They found nothing dirty. No hidden scandals. No leverage. Her empire was clean and terrifyingly disciplined.

A self-made billionaire who did not inherit power but carved it.

That alone unsettled him.

Three days later, while reviewing the finalized guest list for the annual Moretti Charity Gala, Alessandro’s eyes halted on a single name.

Aarika Singh.

His jaw hardened.

“You didn’t RSVP,” Lucio said quietly behind him.

Alessandro’s lips curved slowly. “No. Because I personally approved every single guest.”

He adjusted his cufflinks, emerald stones glinting under the office light. “So either she believes she can walk into my event uninvited… or she believes she has every right to be there.”

Lucio cleared his throat. “Her company finalized the acquisition of Russo Holdings yesterday. That makes her an official partner in the foundation. Legal sent her the standard platinum-tier invitation.”

For a fraction of a second, Alessandro went very still.

Platinum tier.

Only shareholders and founding patrons received that classification.

“And,” Lucio continued carefully, “her corporate arm quietly pledged initial funding to the pediatric oncology wing two weeks ago. Five hundred thousand euros. It was processed through Singh Global Healthcare.”

Alessandro exhaled slowly. Not uninvited. Not reckless. Strategic.

“Make sure everything is perfect tonight,” he just said softly. “Especially security.”

The night of the gala arrived in a blaze of crystal chandeliers and champagne fountains. The Moretti mansion glittered like a crown under the Italian sky. A sea of couture gowns and tailored tuxedos swirled across the marble ballroom.

Alessandro moved through the crowd like a silent monarch surveying his kingdom. Every nod deferred to him. Every whisper bent around him.

Then he saw her.

Emerald silk. Deep, dangerous green that mirrored his own eyes. The gown hugged her figure with ruthless precision, flowing behind her like controlled fire. No escort. No hesitation. Just presence.

She did not enter the room. She claimed it.

Aarika greeted the French ambassador with composed warmth, spoke fluent Italian to an art curator from Florence, and debated infrastructure investment with the German trade minister’s wife as if she had lived in Europe her entire life.

She listened more than she spoke. When she did speak, people leaned in.

Alessandro just watched her.

Every man’s attention lingered too long. Every woman recalibrated.

He approached at last, the faint scent of his cologne preceding him, dark and expensive, the kind that lingered in memory.

“I did not expect to see you here tonight,” he said smoothly, his voice brushing over her like velvet. “Especially since I didn’t extend an invitation personally.”

Aarika turned toward him, calm as ever. Her perfume was subtle but intoxicating, something floral layered with spice. “I received a formal invitation, Mr. Moretti. Platinum tier, if I recall correctly.”

His gaze sharpened. “I personally review those.”

“Then perhaps,” she replied evenly, “you should review your legal department more closely.”

For a moment, silence crackled between them.

“I did not send it,” he said quietly. “So tell me, Ms. Singh, what exactly are you trying to prove by coming here?”

Her lips curved slightly. “Nothing. A formal invitation arrived. I support children’s healthcare initiatives. I came.”

He studied her face for cracks. There were none.

“A formal invitation,” he repeated slowly. “And you came purely for charity. Not to make connections. Not to expand influence. Just altruism.”

“Exactly, Mr. Moretti.”

At that precise moment, the auctioneer’s voice rose across the ballroom.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your generous bids tonight. However, our top donor has outdone herself. Ms. Aarika Singh has pledged five million euros toward the new children’s hospital wing.”

The room erupted in applause.

Aarika did nothing dramatic. She simply lifted her champagne glass with a polite, almost detached smile.

Alessandro did not clap.

He knew her net worth. Five million was not crippling for her. But it was bold. Strategic. A public move on his own chessboard.

He stepped onto the stage, taking the microphone from the stunned auctioneer.

“Impressive, Ms. Singh,” his voice echoed through the silent ballroom. “But I believe we can make this even more generous.”

His eyes locked onto hers.

“The Moretti Foundation will match her contribution. Another five million euros.”

Gasps rippled through the room. Cameras flashed like lightning.

He did not look at the crowd. Only at her.

This game just became interesting.

Aarika rolled her eyes faintly and shook her head.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Later, at the bar, she murmured softly while sipping her drink, “Such a show off.”

He stood beside her, ordering a whiskey. “Only when necessary. You began it with your little bid.”

“My little bid?” she repeated, amused while arching her brows. “You simply could not tolerate someone stealing your thunder in your own gala.”

He took a slow sip, studying her profile in the mirrored bar wall. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I do not enjoy being surprised. But simply I just wanted Singh and Moretti’s name together on the children's wing.”

“I am not interested in having my name engraved on walls,” she replied calmly. “I wanted to contribute. I did. That is all.”

“Of course,” he said dryly. “Because Aarika Singh is above recognition.”

“I am,” she replied without hesitation.

He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Your lack of ego is refreshing.”

And then paused.

“And infuriating.”

She smiled faintly. “Think whatever you like. I do not have time for your show off games. Good night, Mr. Moretti.”

“As you wish, Ms. Singh.”

He watched her leave, emerald silk trailing behind her like a banner of quiet war.

Outside, her car disappeared into the night.

Alessandro stood still for a long moment, whiskey glass untouched in his hand. She had entered his territory, challenged him publicly, refused to be dazzled, donated more than half the room combined, and left without waiting for applause.

No flirtation. No manipulation. No begging.

Just precision.

His jaw tightened, but there was something dangerously close to a smile on his lips.

For the first time in years, he was not bored.

And he intended to make sure she would not remain neutral for long.

Weeks passed after the gala, yet Aarika Singh seemed to vanish from the public eye.

Her name stopped appearing in the society pages that documented every lavish party and philanthropic gathering across Europe.

There were no photographs of her stepping out of black cars in Paris, no champagne flutes raised beside powerful men in Monaco, no smiling appearances beside designers at fashion galas in Milan.

The social circuit continued its endless parade of wealth and vanity, yet the woman who had shaken the room at the Moretti Charity Gala simply disappeared from it.

To the outside world it looked like indifference.

To Alessandro Moretti, it was deeply irritating.

He had expected something else. Women like Aarika did not simply fade into the background after making a move that bold. Normally they capitalized on attention, expanded influence, inserted themselves into the elite circles where power was quietly exchanged over champagne and handshakes.

But Aarika Singh did none of that and that absence became impossible for him to ignore.

More than once during the following weeks he found himself glancing toward entrances at events, half expecting emerald silk to glide through the doors again. It never did. Occasionally he caught himself studying photographs from gatherings where she should have been present but was not. Even more frustrating was the way she began appearing in the most inconvenient place possible.

His thoughts.

There were moments when he stood beside other women during dinners or negotiations and fucking, for a brief instant, imagined Aarika standing in their place instead. The same calm brown eyes. The same infuriating composure.

It was absurd and yet the curiosity only grew.

Until one evening when it finally ended.

The conference room in the Palazzo Bianchi tower overlooked the glowing skyline of Milan. Floor to ceiling glass framed the city like a painting, while inside the long marble table was surrounded by some of the most powerful businessmen in Europe.

Real estate tycoons, venture capitalists, corporate chairmen and international developers filled the room with quiet authority.

At the head of the table sat Alessandro Moretti, his cold eyes scanning the room as if evaluating prey rather than partners.

The meeting concerned a luxury real estate development in the heart of Milan. The land was prime, the investors wealthy, and the projected profits enormous.

Every man present wanted control of it.

Low conversations faded when the door opened and Aarika Singh stepped inside.

Silence settled over the room almost immediately.

She wore a sharply tailored ivory suit that balanced elegance and authority in perfect proportion. The jacket cinched neatly at the waist while the trousers flowed in clean lines down to her heels. Her dark hair fell smoothly over one shoulder, and her expression carried the same calm confidence Alessandro remembered.

He had not realized how much he had anticipated seeing her again until that moment.

His gaze fixed on her without restraint.

She walked toward the table with effortless composure, greeting no one yet acknowledging everyone with a quiet nod that somehow commanded respect rather than asking for it. The room was watching her, every single man measuring her in his own way, and Alessandro immediately disliked the attention she was receiving.

Their eyes followed the movement of her steps far too closely. His jaw tightened. When she reached the table she paused briefly beside the empty chair next to him.

Then she sat.

For the first time since entering the room, she turned toward him.

"Mr Moretti." Her voice carried the faintest trace of amusement.

"Ms Singh." The exchange was brief, polite, and perfectly neutral, yet something electric lingered beneath it.

Then the meeting began.

Presentations filled the first half hour. Slides flashed across the large screen as consultants described projected returns, infrastructure plans, zoning approvals and architectural proposals. Numbers flowed across the room like currency.

The project was worth billions and everyone wanted a piece.

When the bidding discussion finally began, Alessandro spoke first.

His syndicate had already prepared their offer. His voice remained calm as he leaned slightly forward and announced the number.

"Two hundred million euros for a forty percent stake."

The reaction was immediate. Murmurs rippled across the table as executives exchanged quick glances. The offer was aggressive. Alessandro had essentially forced the room into a corner by placing a figure that few could comfortably match without risking their capital.

It was a strategic move.

Most investors were already calculating their exit.

Then Aarika spoke. Her voice was calm and steady. "I will take sixty percent. For three hundred million."

The room froze.

For several seconds no one moved.

Men stared at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head. The silence was thick with disbelief. Women rarely dominated these negotiations, and certainly not one who looked like she had stepped out of a fashion campaign.

Alessandro felt his lips curve slightly. He had expected something like this.

An older executive finally cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Ms Singh," he said cautiously, "that is a very ambitious bid."

A few uneasy mocking chuckles circled the table.

Aarika remained completely unbothered. "Of course it is," she replied calmly.

Another investor spoke up, his voice skeptical.

"And may I ask where you intend to source such a large sum? That is not a small amount of capital to secure majority control."

“If women start showing up to do business like this, what else can you expect from them except such foolishness?” Another one mocked.

Alessandro remained silent, watching her closely.

This was the moment.

Pressure often revealed weakness. Instead, Aarika simply folded her hands lightly on the table.

"I believe within the next two years all of you will receive the answer to that question. At that time you may decide whether my decision was foolish or not."

The room erupted with murmurs. Several executives laughed openly now. To them the statement sounded like arrogance wrapped in speculation.

A few began whispering to one another as if the matter had already been settled.

Alessandro's eyes gleamed with interest.

There it was again. That steel beneath her calm voice.

He leaned forward slightly, his deep voice cutting cleanly through the noise. "Ms Singh, in this business we do not deal in future promises. We require assurances now."

Aarika turned toward him. Her gaze held his easily. "Mr Moretti, I believe you are the only man in this room with enough foresight to recognize opportunity when it appears. Do you truly expect me to reveal all my cards in front of these lunatics?"

The room went silent again.

She had just called some of the wealthiest investors in Europe lunatics to their faces.

Alessandro almost laughed. He respected the audacity more than he could admit.

A French investor slammed his palm lightly on the table, his face turning red. "Ms Singh, you cannot possibly expect us to take you seriously with answers like that."

Voices rose immediately after that. Executives began speaking over one another, criticizing her proposal, questioning her numbers, pointing out the risks.

Through it all Aarika sat perfectly calm. She did not interrupt. She simply listened.

Finally Alessandro raised his hand and the room fell silent almost instantly. "Gentlemen," he said smoothly, "Let her speak. Or are you all too scared of a woman with balls of steel?"

The room fell silent again. No one dared to respond.

He turned back toward her, a faint smile lingering on his lips. "Please continue, Ms Singh."

She gave a small nod. "I appreciate the opportunity, Mr Moretti. This investment may appear uncertain to you now, but within a few years this location will become one of the most desirable districts in Milan. When that happens the returns will exceed one thousand percent."

The French investor snorted loudly. "And what makes you so certain of that? Real estate markets are not predictable."

Several others nodded in agreement.

Aarika looked around the table calmly. "What makes me certain is very simple. Mr Moretti's foundation has already begun constructing hospitals and schools in this district. When families realize they can live near world class healthcare and education without traveling across the city, the demand for property here will skyrocket."

The room fell silent.

Slowly every head turned toward Alessandro.

He remained perfectly still.

She had just revealed a development project he had deliberately kept confidential to ensure maximum profit before competitors caught on.

Whispers spread across the table as the investors began reconsidering the potential value of the land.

Aarika rose from her chair confidently after she won the bid. "Unfortunately I don't even feel pity for all of you," she said calmly, "because all of you lose and the majority of the profit will belong to me."

She collected her documents. "Good night, gentlemen and suck your balls."

The room exploded into shocked laughter, disbelief and furious murmurs as she walked toward the door without looking back.

She'd just told a room full of powerful men to'suck their balls' after outsmarting them all.

Alessandro threw his head back and laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that shook his shoulders.

He had not enjoyed a negotiation like this in years.

Perhaps decades.

Across the conference room several executives were still arguing while others sat in stunned silence.

But Alessandro was not looking at them.

His gaze followed the door where Aarika Singh had just disappeared.

His smile never faded.

She had walked into a room full of powerful men, outmaneuvered them all, exposed a secret advantage, secured majority control of a billion euro project and left without waiting for anyone's approval.

Fearless.

Brilliant.

Infuriating and far more interesting than he had initially realized.

For the first time in a long time Alessandro Moretti felt something dangerously close to fascination.

And the more he thought about her, the more certain he became of one thing.

His curiosity about Aarika Singh had only just begun.

The bass from the main club throbbed through the walls like a distant heartbeat, but inside Alessandro's private lounge on the top floor, the sound was muted to a low, sensual pulse. The room was all dark velvet and gold accents, floor-to-ceiling windows framing Milan's glittering skyline. A single low lamp cast warm amber light over the deep sectional sofa where he had her pinned.

She was Indian, stunning in a way that had caught his eye downstairs: long black hair cascading over bare shoulders, a tight black sequined dress riding high on her thighs, full lips painted deep red. Perfect distraction to fuck out Aarika out of his head.

She had smiled when he beckoned her over, whispered her name Priya against his ear as he walked her towards his private space in that club. Easy. Willing. A perfect distraction.

Alessandro had her wrists locked above her head in one large hand, his body caging hers against the cushions. He thrust into her hard, rough, relentless, the kind of pace meant to erase thought. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, her moans sharp and breathy.

"Fuck, yes... harder, Alessandro," she gasped, arching up to meet him, nails raking down his open shirt.

He barely heard her. His hips snapped forward again, burying himself deep, but his mind was elsewhere. The rhythm was brutal, punishing, but it was not enough. Nothing was enough tonight.

"Aarika," he growled low, the name slipping out unbidden, rough and raw.

Priya froze for a second, then tried to laugh it off, rolling her hips to pull his focus back while scraping her nails against his jaw sensually. "My name is Priya, baby. Say it. Priya."

He did not correct himself. Instead he tightened his grip on her wrists until and again pinned them about her head, she whimpered, pounding into her faster, deeper, chasing something he could not name.

"Aarika... fuck."

Priya's expression shifted into confusion, then irritation. She twisted under him, trying to reclaim control while kissing him. "Hey, stop that. Look at me. I'm the one here. Priya. Say my fucking name."

"Shut up," he snarled, voice thick with frustration, Italian accent heavy. He released her wrists only to flip her over roughly, yanking her hips up so she was on her knees, face pressed into the velvet. He entered her again in one hard thrust, hand fisting her hair to arch her back. "Just take it. Take it and be quiet."

She cried out, half pleasure, half protest, pushing back against him anyway because the roughness felt too good to stop. "You're thinking about her... whoever the fuck Aarika is. I can feel it. You're not even here with me."

Alessandro's response was a low, guttural sound. He slapped her ass once, hard, the crack echoing in the room, then gripped her hips with bruising force, driving into her so deep she gasped for air. Sweat slicked his chest, his shirt hanging open, muscles flexing with every punishing stroke.

"Aarika," he muttered again, almost to himself, eyes squeezed shut as if the name alone could summon her. 

The word fueled him, made his thrusts erratic, desperate. He was close, so fucking close, but the edge kept slipping away. No release. No satisfaction. Just building pressure and her face burned into his brain, those calm brown eyes, that infuriating composure, the way she had walked out of his gala and his boardroom like she owned both.

Priya moaned louder, trying to match his rhythm, fingers clawing at the cushions. "Come on... finish. Cum inside me. Forget her. It's me. Me. Fill me baby."

But he could not. The more she spoke, the more distant the pleasure felt. His body moved on autopilot, rough and mechanical, chasing a ghost.

He reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing hard circles to force her over the edge first, anything to end this faster.

She shattered quickly, crying out his name, his actual name this time, body convulsing around him. But when her orgasm faded, he still had not come. He kept thrusting, slower now, frustrated, angry at himself.

Priya collapsed forward, panting, then pushed up on her elbows to look back at him. Her mascara was smudged, lips swollen. "You're not going to finish, are you? Because of her."

Alessandro pulled out abruptly, breathing hard, cock still hard and aching. He stood, raking a hand through his damp hair, turning away to stare out at the city lights. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.

Priya sat up slowly, adjusting her dress, voice quieter now. "Whoever she is... she's in your head bad. You should deal with that before you drag someone else into it."

He did not answer. Just buttoned his shirt with jerky movements, jaw clenched.

She stood, smoothing her hair, dignity intact despite everything. "Thanks for the invite, I guess. But next time... maybe invite the right woman."

The door clicked shut behind her a minute later.

Alessandro stayed there alone, staring at the skyline, the ache in his body refusing to fade. He poured a whiskey with shaking fingers, downed it in one swallow.

Aarika Singh had not touched him once and yet she had ruined him for anyone else.

He set the glass down hard enough to crack it.

This obsession was no longer amusing.

It was dangerous and he was going to end it one way or another.