Beatrice Medici's Perspective
Beatrice was living a dream.A true dream — the kind of fantasy that, for years, had only existed in the quiet folds of her mind, somewhere between midnight and dawn.
She had never imagined it would actually happen.How many times had she dreamed of sitting across from Alessio Leone, talking, laughing, exchanging ideas?In her dreams, of course, the setting was always different — usually a college classroom, an academic debate, an argument over a seminar or group project.But now, the topic was another: the hierarchy and politics of an organization inside the Black Tower.
And strangely enough, she had no reason to complain.
Because, in the end, everything that truly mattered was happening exactly as she had dreamed.She was with him — talking, listening, sharing a moment that, to her, meant far more than he could possibly imagine.
As he spoke, Beatrice watched him closely — more closely than she should have.
Alessio kept his usual disciplined tone — the kind of voice made to give instructions.He spoke calmly and methodically, explaining the importance of a clear chain of command, the need for trust between members, the value of defining objectives before recruiting anyone.Everything about him was focus and precision.
And yet, every small gesture of his drew her attention in a way that was almost hypnotic.
He held his fork with the same precision with which he shaped his ideas — firm, controlled movements, never rushed.He ate slowly, undistracted, his gaze shifting between the plate and the notes she had written, as if he were solving an invisible equation.From time to time, he lifted his eyes to meet hers — and in those brief moments, the world seemed to go still.The sunlight spilling through the window cast a golden reflection across his dark hair, and the sharp line of his jaw — always tense, always defined — looked even more sculpted in that light.
The black compression shirt he wore revealed the firm outline of his chest — the contrast between bronze skin and dark fabric striking under the sun.And when he leaned slightly over the table to point at something in her notes, the faint scent of soap and wood followed him, subtle and clean, filling the air between them.
Beatrice listened as he spoke of "command sectors," "resource management," and "expansion models," but in her mind, the words blurred into something else — the quiet awareness of simply being there, watching him, living a moment that had once existed only in daydreams.
He was there — real, solid, and impossibly close.Discussing plans, sharing ideas.And even if the subject was a virtual guild, Beatrice knew: this was the closest she had ever come to her dream.
The longer she stayed in that room, the less she wanted to leave.The elegant setting, the absorbing conversation, the sunlight reflecting in Alessio's eyes — all of it worked together to create an almost perfect illusion.For a few hours, it felt like the world outside didn't exist.
But she knew time never stopped.And no matter how hard she tried to hold onto that moment, the clock refused to listen.
Her most daring — and most obvious — strategy had failed.
When lunch was nearly over, Beatrice leaned slightly forward and, with a voice that was sweet yet deliberate, suggested,"Why don't we order dessert?"
His reply came immediately — dry, direct, and as practical as the man himself."I don't eat sweets."
Outwardly, she smiled with grace.Inwardly, she sighed.
Of course he didn't.Alessio Leone was discipline made flesh — a man who turned self-control into a virtue and constancy into armor.Naturally, even the pleasure of something sweet was off-limits in his perfect routine.
Still, she tried to prolong the meeting as much as she could.She asked more questions, proposed new ideas, took extra notes — any excuse would do to stay near him.And for a brief moment, she managed to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could hold onto that little world the two of them had built for a while longer.
But inevitably, the lunch came to an end.
As they crossed the glass doors of the restaurant, the real world greeted them again — cruel in its contrast.
The air outside was warm and heavy, laced with the distant scent of asphalt and gasoline.The afternoon breeze — thick and persistent — brushed against her skin, tugging gently at the golden strands that had escaped her hairpin.The muffled noise of traffic mixed with the chatter of pedestrians and the clinking of silverware from nearby cafés, forming a living, imperfect symphony that almost irritated her.
Beatrice was still smiling.It was a light, natural smile, born from a warmth that came from within — the kind of expression that happens without effort, when the heart is still tied to something good.She turned slightly toward Alessio, ready to say something — anything to stretch that instant a little longer.
Maybe a comment about the meal.Maybe a tease about the guild's name.Or simply a "thank you."Any word would do, as long as it kept him beside her for a few more seconds.
But before she could open her mouth, a metallic sound cut through the air.
Clack.
The noise echoed across the parking lot, sharp and final — the sound of a car door opening.Beatrice blinked, instinctively turning toward it.
The sun's reflection on the vehicle's surface forced her to narrow her eyes.The car was large, black, its lines sleek and austere — the kind that radiated authority.The chrome on its wheels spun once before settling as the front door swung fully open.
From inside, a tall silhouette emerged — a man with rigid posture, his movements precise, his presence commanding.The way his first step hit the ground made the air itself feel heavier.
And in that instant, Beatrice's smile vanished.
The glow in her eyes dimmed, and the warmth of the afternoon turned into a weight pressing on her chest.Her heart — which moments ago had been beating in quiet rhythm with their conversation — stuttered once, sharply.A silent warning.
She didn't need to see him fully to know who it was.The way the door shut behind him, the calculated precision of his movements, the muted sound of his shoes striking the pavement…Her body recognized him before her mind did.
In seconds, the dream unraveled like mist.Reality returned — harsh, cold, and, to her misfortune, accompanied by the one person she least wanted to see.
A man stepped out — his blond hair styled to perfection, not a strand out of place.His dark suit fit him with surgical precision, every line immaculate.The silver watch, the folded pocket square, the flawless knot of his tie — all screamed wealth and control.
But to Beatrice, that face was anything but elegant.
The cold, calculating gaze.The firm lips.That expression blending superiority with disdain — all of it made her stomach turn.Just the sight of him was enough to erase every trace of peace the afternoon had left behind.
Her stomach tightened.The rigid posture, the air of authority, the way he looked at everything with restrained contempt — nothing had changed.The same arrogance.The same suffocating control.
She hated that man.Hated the way he always appeared when she least expected it — a shadow that refused to fade.
And now, he was here.Standing right in front of her.The enemy she had never wanted to face again — and the last person she wanted Alessio Leone to meet.