LOGINThe Raiders trickle back into the locker room, the euphoria of the final buzzer still vibrating in their veins.Elias quickly sheds his gear, slipping into his official team track jacket as he waits for the staff to usher them back out.The stadium operations are a well-oiled machine. Before Lucas and the others can fully settle into their victory gossip, the officials corral the team back to the ice.The Olympic anthem swells, wrapping the arena in a heavy, majestic echo.One by one, the athletes step onto the podium. As the team captain, Elias claims the dead center. When the Olympic committee member slips the heavy, solid gold medal around his neck, the icy, metallic weight grounds him.It's real. As the Canadian flag ascends toward the rafters and the national anthem plays, Elias stares ahead, his chest tight with a fierce, untamed pride.Following the ceremony, the gold medalists are herded into the mixed media zone. This is the moment Elias has been waiting for.The tunnel is a
The media is a beast with a thousand hungry mouths, and it is currently starving for a scandal.Publicists and clickbait tabloids are masters of the "calculated leap." They take a grain of truth—a long-distance relationship, a staggering wealth gap—and spin it into a web of inevitable heartbreak.To feed the frenzy, they manufacture narratives out of thin air.A five-minute polite conversation between Elias and a female business mogul at a charity gala is branded as "Elias Weston Moves On".A candid shot of Elias looking exhausted in the back of a towncar after a grueling day of corporate acquisitions is captioned as "Heartbreak in the Backseat: A Billionaire's Lonely Night".Elias's PR team, ever-watchful of the Weston Group's stock price, funnels these reports to him. Even if they didn't, Lucas and the rest of the Raiders are more than happy to shove the most ridiculous headlines in his face, laughing as they "mourn" his phantom breakup.Elias himself is baffled. He looks at the "ev
The stadium is a roaring furnace of national pride and blinding spotlights, but for Elias, the only audience that matters is a single woman somewhere in the sea of thousands.He slips his phone from the inner pocket of his bespoke suitand fires off a text.[Elias]: Did you see me just now?High in the logistics section, Mia is still coming down from the adrenaline of the Italian team's grand entrancewhen her phone buzzes.It's uncanny. Every time she thinks about him, he seems to sense it across the void.[Mia]:Which version?[Mia]: The star athlete, the billionaire sponsor, or the boyfriend I haven't seen in months?The reply is near-instant.[Elias]: To you, Elias only has one identity.Mia's heart flutters, a stubborn warmth blooming in her chest.***The ceremony concl
A year slips through the fingers like fine, dry snow.Milan has transformed. The ancient city breathes with a new, electric pulse—the colors of the Winter Olympics are draped over every historical facade.For Mia, this year hasn't been about the spectacle. It has been about the climb.She is no longer the "rookie" who entered the General Administration through her father's shadow.Through a year of grueling trials, Mia has shed her green, hesitant skin. She has fused her clinical expertise with innovative, international rehabilitation concepts, proving her worth in the high-stakes world of elite athletics. Her contributions to post-injury recovery and athlete potential-mapping have earned her more than just praise,they have made her a cornerstone of the medical team.Now, she sits as a lead expert, her name whispered with respect in international journals. She has reached the goal she once only dared to look up at, and yet, the view fro
Words are a luxury neither of them can afford right now.The quiet apartment is suddenly loud—the desperate hitch of Mia's breath, the wet, rhythmic friction of their lips, and the low, hungry growl vibrating deep in Elias's throat.Elias cinches his grip, his fingers digging into the soft curve of her hips as he hauls her flush against him."Finally," he breathes. "I finally have you.""Mm-hmm," Mia murmurs, her body feeling like liquid gold.A sudden gust of cold air from the still-open doorway cuts through the haze.Mia shivers, the chill snapping her back to reality. In a blur of movement, she detaches herself from his embrace, her face flushing a deep, vivid crimson as she realizes they've been putting on a public display of affection right in the hallway.She grabs him into the apartment. She peeks left and right, checking the silent corridor for any nosy neighbors before slamming the door shut with a definitive thud."Why so jumpy? It's not like we're a secret," Elias says. He
Milan's Porta Nuova district exists in deliberate contrast to the rest of the city. The UniCredit Tower's conference room on the thirty-second floor has a view of the Duomo's spires on clear days, though today's agenda has left no one with time to look.The table is long. Elias sits on one side. The Carbone Group's lead team sits on the other.He arrived from Toronto three days ago, went directly from Malpensa to the hotel and from the hotel to this building, and has not yet been to Milan in any meaningful sense—only to its conference rooms and its hotel corridors and its very good espresso."Mr. Carbone." Elias sets his pen down on the contract draft with the precise care of someone who has finished listening. "Fifteen percent channel management. I'll be direct—that number isn't one we can accept, and I'd prefer not to spend the afternoon pretending otherwise."Romano Carbone is the kind of Milanese businessman who has spent thirty years in rooms like this one, reading people faster







