Minutes later, Isabel stepped out of Damian's private suite at the villa, her lipstick slightly smudged, her short dress clinging to her frame.
She carried herself with that same sway she had used to draw him in, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor.
Standing by the corridor was Damian's secretary.
Isabel caught his gaze and smiled, deliberately adjusting her hair as though proud of what had just happened.
"At least," she whispered under her breath as she brushed past him, "someone still knows he's mine."
The secretary said nothing, only gave her the professional nod he gave to all visitors.
But as soon as Isabel's perfume faded down the hall, he straightened his tie and went into Damian's suite.
Damian was by a table, shirtless. His eyes were cold again, as though the haze Isabel had stirred a few minutes ago was already burning away.
"Sir," the secretary began, his voice clipped, "the Milan partners confirmed the new contracts. The documents are ready for your approval."
Damian nodded once, flipping a pen between his fingers. "Good. Make sure the clauses about confidentiality are tightened. I don't want anyone sniffing around."
"Yes, sir." The secretary hesitated, then added, "There's also the matter of tonight. You were invited to the investor's party at the Rossi estate.
A number of shareholders are expecting you. I suggest attending—it will strengthen your standing after the last negotiation."
Damian leaned back in his chair, jaw tightening. A party. Crowds. The kind of things he hated but the partnership mattered and he couldn't let it slip.
"Fine," he said finally, his tone flat. "Prepare the car for nine. Have the files ready before then."
"Yes, sir." The secretary bowed slightly, then paused, as though remembering something. "One more thing, sir."
Damian's gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade. "Speak."
The secretary cleared his throat. "I received a call from your butler at the estate. He wanted to give you updates from home."
Damian's hand stilled on the desk. His eyes narrowed. "And?"
"He said Miss Elena asked about you when he informed her you had traveled."
The words hung in the room, deceptively simple. But to Damian, they carried weight. She asked about him.
***
Elena's phone lit up with an unknown number, and when she answered timidly, a soft, refined voice filled the line.
"Elena, darling, it's me," "Damian's mother."
Elena almost dropped the phone. Her heart thudded. "Oh… g–good morning, ma'am."
A light laugh followed. "Please don't call me ma'am, it makes me feel old.
I was thinking… why don't you come with me today?
It's been far too long since I've had a proper shopping day with company, and Tatiana is always busy. I want to spoil myself—and you too."
Elena hesitated. Shopping? With Damian's mother? That sounded terrifying, but the warmth in Irina's tone disarmed her.
"Yes… of course," Elena replied nervously.
"Perfect! Come to the mansion, and we'll go together," Irina said brightly before ending the call.
A few hours later, Elena arrived at their grand estate.
Irina was already waiting, dressed elegantly in a cream-colored suit, her hair perfectly styled, diamonds glittering at her wrists.
"There you are," Irina said, her eyes softening when she saw Elena.
"Tatiana wasn't exaggerating when she said you get prettier day by day. Let's go, darling."
The driver opened the sleek black car, and Elena followed her inside.
She tried to calm her nerves as Irina chatted effortlessly about fashion, childhood memories, and her latest charity gala.
By the time they arrived at Milan's most exclusive shopping district, Elena was breathing easier.
Irina was… actually kind. Nothing like Damian's cold, unpredictable temper.
Inside one of the most luxurious boutiques, racks of silk, lace, and designer gowns shimmered under golden lights.
Irina swept through like royalty, attendants bowing and rushing to her service.
"Elena, try this one," Irina insisted, holding up a soft blush dress. "And this. Oh, you'll look divine."
Elena smiled shyly, taking the hangers, but after a while, she excused herself politely. "I'll just use the restroom."
Irina nodded with a distracted smile, busy selecting half the store.
Elena wandered down the hall but missed her turn.
She ended up at the wrong section of the boutique, a quieter corridor lined with suits and men's clothing. Just as she turned to retrace her steps—
BAM.
She collided into a tall, broad figure.
"Oh! I'm so sorry," Elena gasped, stumbling back.
The man caught her arm gently, steadying her. His voice was deep, smooth, and polite.
"No, it's my fault. I wasn't looking."
She looked up and froze. He was… striking. Dark hair, neatly styled.
Sharp jawline softened by a warm smile. His tailored shirt fit too perfectly not to notice.
"It's alright," Elena murmured, embarrassed.
You look like your lost' he teased
"Yes… I just got lost on my way to the restroom," she admitted, cheeks warming.
He chuckled. "Ah, Happens to the best of us."
There was an ease about him that immediately settled her nerves.
Unlike Damian's presence—which always swallowed her breath—this man's presence felt… calm. Inviting.
"I'm Alex" he said suddenly, extending his hand.
She blinked, then slowly shook it. "Elena."
"Pretty name," Alex said with a smile. "Are you here alone, I don't want you to lose on your way back?"
She laughed softly. "I came with someone."
"Ah," Alex brows lifted slightly, though he masked it quickly. "That explains it."
"And you?" she asked politely, curiosity winning. "What are you doing at a women's boutique?"
His lips tugged into a grin. "Well… I'm here because of my niece. I promised her I'd bring back something from Milan.
She calls me her favorite uncle—of course I had to deliver to keep that title."
Elena chuckled at the way he said it, easy and natural.
"But…" he sighed dramatically, holding up a sequined dress with a helpless look.
"I'm absolutely hopeless with fashion. I was about to give up when I ran into you."
Her brows lifted. "Are you asking me for help?"
"Yes," he admitted shamelessly, flashing a charming grin.
"You look like someone with good taste. Please, save me from being the uncle who buys his niece something hideous."
Elena bit her lip, torn between shyness and amusement. But his earnestness, the warmth in his voice—it tugged a smile from her.
"Alright," she said softly. "I'll help."
"Thank god," Alex exhaled with mock relief, making her laugh again.
"Come on then, partner. Let's find something worthy of my niece before she disowns me."
Together, they walked toward the racks,
Elena pointing out colors and styles while Alex played the role of the hopeless shopper, dramatically holding up the ugliest options and making her laugh harder than she expected.
Elena moved quickly along the racks, scanning through dresses with an almost natural instinct.
"How old is your niece?" she asked, tilting her head at Alexei.
"Seventeen," he answered, watching her thoughtfully. "She thinks she's grown, but she's still a child in my eyes."
Elena smiled faintly, pulling out a soft lavender dress with delicate embroidery.
"This one. It's youthful but elegant. She'll love it."
Alexei stepped closer, brushing his hand over the fabric. His brows lifted.
"You found that in less than a minute. I've been wandering in circles for twenty."
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus back on the dress. "Try this. Trust me."
He accepted it with a small bow of his head. "If my niece squeals when she sees this, I'll owe you my life."
"You don't owe me anything," Elena said quickly.
"Oh, but I do." He tucked the hanger over his arm and looked at her again, eyes catching hers.
There was admiration there, lingering, as though he were trying to memorize her face.
It made her uncomfortable—but not in a bad way. She wasn't used to being looked at like that.
"Well," Alexei said at last, straightening. "You've saved me. And I think it's only fair that I get to thank you properly."
"Maybe we have din..."
"No its fine" she cut his words.
Before Elena could step back, he leaned in and hugged her—warm, firm, but brief.
Still, her body stiffened for a second in surprise.
"Thank you, Elena," he murmured near her ear.
She pulled away quickly, heart thudding, but managed a polite nod. "You're welcome."
"And before I go…" He pulled his phone from his pocket, casual but certain.
"Let me have your number. My niece will want to thank you herself when she gets the dress."
Elena hesitated, glancing around nervously, then finally gave it. He typed it in carefully, then slipped the phone away with a smile.
"Goodbye, Elena," he said smoothly. "Until next time."
She only managed a quiet "Goodbye" before he disappeared down the hall, dress in hand.
By the time Elena returned to where she left Irina, she found the older woman sitting regally on a velvet chair, surrounded by piles of boxes and bags.
Champagne flutes clinked on a silver tray, and attendants fluttered nervously as if afraid they hadn't done enough.
"There you are, dear," Irina said, her tone warm but laced with gentle reproach. "You took quite a while. I was about to send someone to look for you."
Elena smiled faintly, careful to mask the truth. "I got a little lost, but I found my way back."
Irina waved a hand as if it were nothing. "These boutiques are like mazes. Don't worry."
She picked up her glass of champagne, the golden liquid catching the light.
"Come, sit. Have a drink with me. Shopping is always more enjoyable with a little sparkle."
Elena obeyed, sitting beside her, taking the flute that was offered.
She wasn't used to such extravagance but she sipped it politely.
Irina laughed, watching her expression. "You're not a drinker, are you?"
Elena shook her head. "Not really."
"Good. Don't become one," Irina said, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "It ages you terribly."
Then she leaned back, elegant as ever, and clapped her hands lightly. "Now, let's finish here. I think I've nearly bought half the store."
Nearly wasn't an exaggeration. As they moved from rack to rack,
Irina pointed at gowns, blouses, and accessories without hesitation, attendants trailing behind with arms full.
Elena felt her palms sweat when she heard one of the clerks whisper the running total under his breath—
it was more than she had ever imagined anyone could spend in a single day.
"Relax, darling," Irina said, catching her worried look. "Money is just paper. Style is eternal."
Elena laughed nervously, though inside she was reeling.
Hours later, they finally emerged, the boutique staff bowing and thanking them profusely as an army of men carried out the mountain of bags and boxes.
Irina looked perfectly content, slipping her sunglasses over her eyes like a queen leaving her court.
"Well," she said as they stepped into the car, handing Elena another glass of champagne poured from the bottle waiting inside.
"That was delightful, wasn't it? Nothing like retail therapy."