Aarika’s POV

The ancient stone archway faded behind me as I walked the last stretch to my hotel, the warm Roman air carrying the faint scent of the Tiber.

Alessandro Moretti’s words still hung in the night, but they slid off me like water on silk. I knew precisely what he intended.

The deliberate brush of his fingers against my cheek, the way he had drawn me close under that arch, the low promise in his voice when he spoke of war and coming for me. He wanted me. Just like every other man. Not as an equal in business, not even as a partner in conquest.

He wanted to possess me, to break through the calm I wore like armor and claim the woman who was dismantling his city from the inside. His obsession was clear in every glance, every touch, every calculated step closer. I could feel the heat of it rolling off him like a storm about to break.

Yet I gave him nothing. No flicker of recognition. No smile that might encourage him. No word that would reveal I saw straight through his hunger.

Because to do so would invite complication, and complication had no place in my world. My focus was razor sharp and it always had been power. Only power. The kind that turned centuries old empires into footnotes in my ledger.

I thrived on nights like this one. The meeting with Carlo Ricci earlier today had been a masterpiece. Watching that arrogant man shift from amusement to sweat soaked panic while I laid out numbers he could not refute filled me with a satisfaction no man ever could.

Tomorrow I would do the same to the next family, and the day after to the one after that.

Rome believed its bloodlines and history made it untouchable. I was proving them wrong with every contract I stole, every board I infiltrated, every outdated empire I absorbed into Singh Global.

The rush of it coursed through me stronger than any wine or praise. This was why I rose before dawn and worked past midnight. This was the only hunger I allowed myself to feed.

Alessandro could burn with his desire. He could watch my every move from the shadows and plot how to make me his. It changed nothing. I would not let his intentions slow me for even a second.

My career, my empire, my ascent were everything. One wrong glance, one moment of indulgence, and the foundation I had built brick by brick could crack. I had not come this far by letting men like him distract me. I had come this far by making sure no one ever stood in my way.

By the time I reached the hotel lobby the night porter nodded respectfully and I returned the gesture with the same calm smile I gave every room of powerful men.

In the elevator I watched the numbers climb and allowed myself one small private moment of triumph. Another day in Rome conquered. Another dynasty bent. The city was mine to take and I was taking it faster than anyone expected.

Inside my suite I slipped off my heels and stood at the floor to ceiling window overlooking the illuminated Colosseum. The lights of Rome glittered below like jewels waiting to be collected.

I poured a single glass of wine and took a slow sip, letting the satisfaction settle deep in my bones. Alessandro Moretti could plan his war all he wanted. I would continue mine in silence, striking with precision and leaving no room for anyone to derail me.

My phone buzzed with the latest reports from my team. Three more families were already requesting urgent meetings. Perfect.

I set the wine down and opened my laptop, the glow of the screen washing over my face. Tomorrow I would walk into those rooms and take what I wanted. And Alessandro could keep his obsession. It would remain his alone.

Because my only loyalty was to the empire I was building. Nothing else. No one else. Not even the most eligible bachelor in Italy.

Five days later, I walked into another boardroom.

This one was smaller than the Ricci headquarters but far more volatile. The company up for acquisition was Valenti Infrastructure, a mid-sized construction firm with decades of reputation behind it.

On paper, it looked like a golden opportunity. Strong goodwill, legacy contracts, a name that still carried weight in Rome’s older circles.

But I knew better. I had known the moment the file first crossed my desk and I had waited.

Now I sat at the table, calm, composed, already aware of how this meeting would end.

Across from me, Alessandro Moretti leaned back in his chair, his expression relaxed but his eyes sharp. He looked at ease, but I could see it clearly now. Not just interest. Not just curiosity.

It's a challenge.

The room was filled with other investors, but they barely mattered. This was not their game. This was his and mine.

The presentations ended quickly. The numbers were presented, projections laid out, risks minimized in carefully chosen language.

A perfect illusion.

The bidding began and one of the minor investors placed an opening bid. Conservative. Safe and totally irrelevant.

I leaned forward slightly, my voice steady. "I will offer twenty percent above valuation for a controlling stake."

The room went quiet and across the table, Alessandro’s gaze locked onto mine. There was no surprise in his expression. Only interest.

Then a faint narrowing of his eyes. He knew or at least, he suspected that I knew something.

He leaned forward slowly, fingers tapping once against the table before he spoke.

"I will match that," he said calmly, "and add another ten percent."

A murmur spread across the room. I held his gaze and then raised it again. "Thirty percent above valuation."

A sharper reaction this time. Someone shifted uncomfortably. Another investor whispered under his breath. The numbers were climbing too fast now, too aggressively and exactly as I wanted.

Alessandro’s lips curved slightly. There was admiration in his eyes. But today, there was something else too.

Ego.

The memory of that night outside the hotel. The challenge we had thrown at each other beneath the archway. The promise of war. He was not going to step back. Not today.

"Forty five percent above valuation," he said, his voice steady but edged now.

The room fell silent. All eyes moved between us. I could feel it.

The shift. The tension tightening like a wire pulled too far.

I leaned back slightly in my chair, studying him. Then, without hesitation, I spoke again. "Sixty percent above valuation."

This time even the seasoned investors reacted. One of them let out a quiet laugh of disbelief. Another shook his head.

This was no longer normal negotiation. This was escalation.

Across the table, Alessandro went very still. For a fraction of a second, I saw it. No doubt. Just excitement.

Then his jaw tightened and his voice dropped lower. "Seventy five percent."

The room went dead silent. No one spoke. No one moved. Because everyone in that room understood one thing, that number was irrational and yet he had said it without hesitation. Because this was no longer about the company.

This was about winning. About not losing to me. About not stepping back after declaring war.

I held his gaze for a long moment. Then slowly, I leaned back and smiled faintly.

"Congratulations, Mr Moretti," I said calmly.

The tension broke as I stepped back. A ripple of murmurs spread across the table as the deal was declared his.

He had won. The papers were signed. The room began to buzz again. Investors spoke in low voices, some impressed, some skeptical, some already calculating what this meant.

I gathered my documents quietly and didn't even look at him again. Because I already knew what would happen next.

He approached me as I stepped out into the corridor. Of course he did.

"You backed off," he said, his voice smooth, but there was something beneath it. Satisfaction. Victory. Just a hint of arrogance.

I turned toward him. "Congratulations," I repeated simply.

His eyes searched my face because he was expecting something else.

Resistance. Annoyance. Perhaps even frustration but he found none.

"I thought you would push further," he said.

"I could have," I replied calmly. "But the company is yours now."

A faint smirk touched his lips. "I always win."

I held his gaze for a second longer. Then gave a small, almost polite smile. "We will see." And I walked past him.

He watched me leave confident, certain and unaware.

Three days later, I sat in my suite with a newspaper spread across the table and the headline was exactly what I had expected.

Valenti Infrastructure Faces Immediate Financial Collapse Post Acquisition

I took a slow sip of my coffee, a faint smirk forming on my lips.

Inside pages detailed the situation. Hidden debts surfacing. Delayed payments from government contracts. Legal disputes tied to land acquisitions.

And most importantly, a liquidity crisis that had been carefully concealed under layers of restructuring.

The previous owners had maintained impeccable goodwill. Clean presentations. Strong public image. Enough to attract buyers willing to overlook deeper scrutiny.

But not me.

I had seen it early.

Not in their balance sheets. Those had been polished perfectly. I had found it elsewhere.

In delayed supplier payments buried in minor subsidiaries.

In inconsistencies between project completion timelines and actual site reports. In a quiet legal notice filed in a regional court that never made it to mainstream attention.

And most telling of all, in the urgency with which the owners had pushed for acquisition talks.

That's when I buy someone from the inner circle of that company to know the actual position because that amount was far less than what I would have lost on that dead company.

They were not selling success. They were escaping collapse and I had increased my bids deliberately. Again and again.

Not because I wanted the company. But because I knew Alessandro would not step back. Because I knew his ego would not allow it. Because I knew he would match me and then surpass me.

Exactly as he had and now he owned it. The losses. The liabilities. The illusion. All of it.

I folded the newspaper neatly, setting it aside.

A quiet satisfaction settled in my chest.

This was not luck. This was precision.

War, as I had told him, allowed everything and I had just made my first real move.

Silently. Deadly and exactly as promised.

Five days after I handed Valenti Infrastructure to Alessandro like a poisoned gift, Rome’s old money threw one of their legendary soirées at the Villa Borghese.

The guest list read like a who’s who of Italian power: politicians, old aristocratic families, foreign diplomats, and every major construction magnate still standing after my recent raids.

I chose the wine-red silk saree deliberately. The fabric clung to every curve, and will shimmer like fresh blood under crystal chandeliers.

The blouse was completely backless, held only by delicate strings that left my entire spine bare from neck to the dangerous dip just above my hips. I knew exactly what I was doing. After letting him win that rotten company, I wanted him to burn.

The moment I stepped into the grand ballroom, I felt his gaze like a brand on my skin. It always found me first. Heavy. Hungry. Possessive. I did not need to look to know Alessandro Moretti was watching me from across the room, his stare tracing the naked line of my back as if he could taste it. Good. Let him look. Let him ache.

I moved through the crowd with practiced ease, exchanging pleasantries with a French diplomat and then a German investor, all the while aware of the heat following every step I took.

When I deliberately bent slightly to pick up a champagne flute from a passing tray, the saree pooled gracefully at my feet and the backless blouse revealed even more of my skin. I heard the sharp inhale from somewhere behind me. I knew it was him.

Before I could straighten fully, a large, warm hand pressed possessively against my bare lower back. The touch was bold, claiming, and sent an unwelcome spark straight through me. His body heat engulfed me as he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“Wearing that just to ruin me?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Low blow, Signorina.”

I straightened slowly and turned to face him, keeping my expression perfectly neutral, almost innocent. His hand stayed firmly on my bare skin, thumb already tracing small circles as if he had every right. I raised an eyebrow.

“First of all, Mr Moretti, I did not give you permission to touch me.”

His lips curved into a dark smile. He did not remove his hand. If anything, he pressed it harder against my spine, pulling me a fraction closer.

“First of all, I never ask permission,” he shot back, Italian accent thickening with every word. “Second, you set me up. That company was rotten to the core. You let me buy it at inflated value just to watch me lose.” He leaned in until his breath ghosted my neck. “And third, you are wearing that saree just to drive me insane. That backless blouse should be illegal. You are making grown men hard like fucking teenagers.”

I kept my face calm, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “I did not wear this saree to make anyone insane.”

“Sure you did not,” he smirked, gaze dropping to my lips before sliding back up. “You walked into this party wrapped in wine-red silk and nothing on your back just to remind every man here what sin looks like. And it is working.”

I kept an innocent expression on my face, even though I was anything but innocent here.

"You're telling me this isn't a game?" he challenged, his eyes searching mine. "Because it feels like one. You set me up professionally. Now you're here, looking like every wet dream I've ever had wrapped in silk and spice."

He paused, his jaw tightening as he realised what he had just said in the heat of the moment.

I blinked slowly, lashes fluttering in mock surprise. “You had wet dreams about me?”

The question caught him off guard. For half a second his composure slipped, raw hunger flashing across his face before he recovered with a low growl.

“Don’t play dumb,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You know exactly what you do to me. That saree is going to haunt my dreams tonight.”

I let a small, knowing smirk curve my lips. “Then do not sleep.”

Without another word I stepped away from his touch, turned, and walked deeper into the crowd, the silk of the saree whispering against my legs. I could feel his hungry stare burning into my bare back the entire way.

Hours later, when I finally returned to my hotel suite, a delivery man was standing outside my room with a sleek black box in his hands for me.

Inside lay a stunning big black sapphire pendant on a delicate platinum chain, the stone so dark it seemed to swallow light. The note was written in strong, elegant handwriting.

“Per la donna che mi fa impazzire.” (For the woman who makes me crazy.)

When I asked the messenger who sent it, he only bowed his head and replied, “Un italiano molto insistente. (A very persistent Italian.)”

I closed the box, changed into a sharp black suit, and headed straight to Alessandro’s office in the heart of Rome.

Now you must be wondering how I know he’ll be in the office, right? Well, finding that out isn’t that difficult.

I barged in without knocking. He was on the phone, back to the door, speaking rapid Italian. The moment the door slammed behind me he stiffened, then snapped into the receiver, “I will call you back,” and hung up without waiting for a reply.

He turned slowly, leaning against the edge of his massive desk with arms crossed, looking every inch the dangerous predator. His eyes raked over me, dark and heated.

I placed the box on his desk with a soft click and said directly. “I do not take gifts.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my abrupt entrance and even more abrupt rejection. He picked up the box, opened it, and let the black sapphire catch the light before closing it again.

“Most women would kill for a Moretti diamond,” he said softly with a smirk. “Especially one this big.”

“Then give it to them,” I replied bluntly.

His smirk widened even more and pushed off the desk, walking around it until he stood inches away from me. The air between us crackled.

“I did not buy it for them,” he murmured, accent thick. “I bought it for you.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering. “And I do not take no for an answer.”

I crossed my arms, tilting my head. “Can I ask why this generosity?”

“Because you deserve it.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower. “And that wine-red saree needed something stunning to match it. Something that says taken.”

“Taken?” I scoffed, arching one eyebrow. “By whom?”

Alessandro’s expression darkened with pure arrogance. He stepped even closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“You are not that naïve, Aarika. You know exactly who.”

The tension between us thickened, raw and electric. His eyes burned with hunger, possession, and something far more dangerous. I held his stare without flinching, refusing to give him even an inch of reaction.

Because no matter how fiercely he wanted me, no matter how hot the pull between us became, my empire came first.

And I would burn him before I ever let him burn me and my ambitions but his next words left me totally shocked.

"Marry me."