"Have you emailed them last night as I requested, Nina?" Ethan's sharp gaze locked onto his receptionist. She looked momentarily startled before frantically clicking through her computer.
"Yes, twice last night and once more this morning. I also called them a few times," she clarified.
His jaw tensed. He glanced at his watch. 8:58 AM.
"Then where the hell are they?"
Annoyance simmered beneath his otherwise composed exterior. Without another word, he turned and stepped into the meeting room. Today 's agenda was simple: finalize the Luxe Haven penthouse renovation. It should have been a straightforward discussion-if the designers had shown up on time. But they weren't here.
Time was tight. His flight to Barcelona was scheduled for 12:00 PM, and he had a meeting there at 2:00 PM. The faster this discussion wrapped up, the better. He had no idea who the designers were. They had been recommended by Mr. Lorenzo Stark, a man he trusted but sometimes found infuriating.
"You need them, Ethan," Mr. Stark had told him. "She design with heart, not just for aesthetics. Your penthouse should be more than just another luxurious space-it should have a soul. Let her build that for you."
Ethan had agreed-somewhat reluctantly. Now, as he checked the time again, he was beginning to think it was a mistake. Then he heard laughter. His gaze flickered toward the door. They were here. He knew because no one in his office dared to be that 'carefree' during working hours.
The door opened, and two women entered. The first woman, dressed in a well-tailored suit, carried nothing but her handbag, exuding confidence.
The second, her dark brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail, a floral blouse neatly tucked into her navy skirt-walked in carrying a large architect's bag and a laptop. 'The assistant, probably.'
Ethan straightened and coolly stated, "You're late. Six minutes late to be exact." He slowly turned to face them, expecting the suited woman to respond. Instead, to his surprise, the petite one spoke.
"And that's partially our fault. The other part is yours. So, I forgive you, and you should forgive us. How about we not waste more time and start now?" She barely spared him a glance as she unpacked her sketches and notes onto the table.
Ethan blinked.
Did she just-?
He was too stunned to respond immediately.
No one spoke to him like that. Clients, employees, even business tycoons-everyone was careful around him. But this woman?
She wasn't afraid of him. His curiosity was piqued.
Throughout the next two hours, he found himself watching her more than listening. Her voice was soft but assertive, her expressions composed yet passionate. Every time she spoke, it was with deliberate confidence, as if she knew exactly what she wanted-and exactly how to get it. When she finally stopped talking, her dark brown eyes locked onto his.
"Do you have anything to add, or shall we proceed as presented?" The girl looked at him.
Ethan barely caught her words.
He exhaled, regaining composure.
"As per Mr. Stark's high praises, do your best. Budget is not an issue. I'll be checking the progress weekly."
With that, he stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and strode toward the door. As the elevator doors slid open, his assistant Luca followed closely behind. At the last second, Ethan glanced back-realizing something. He never asked for her name. The elevator doors shut before he could turn back.
Later, on the way to Barcelona as settled in his private plane, Ethan reviewed the project tender. Beyond work, another matter weighed on his mind. His phone buzzed. A message from his parents.
Mom: Can you come home? We need to talk.
A simple request, yet so unlike them. His parents rarely contacted him, and at their age- almost 65-they weren't the type to reach out unless it was serious.
After his meeting in Barcelona, he planned to drive to Fiumicino, a 40-minute trip from Rome, to see them. He planned to spend the night there before flying back to Milan the next day. But before his thoughts could dwell further, a question nagged at him. He turned to Luca.
"What's the name of the designers who came today?" he asked.
Luca immediately pulled out his phone, cross-checking files on his laptop. "They're from Ava's Impressions Firm. Owned by Ava Sinclair. Three staff members: Maya Amato, Alessia Pesci, and Milo Amato. Established a year ago. Their notable projects include Lorenzo Stark's private garden, which won 'The Most Therapeutic Garden of All Time' on Rai News 24."
Ethan leaned back, staring out the window.
Ava Sinclair.
His fingers tapped absentmindedly against his knee.
'Who even are you, Ava Sinclair?'