The Night They Met

It was another busy day at the De Santis Group headquarters. Employees moved quickly through the halls as phones rang and documents passed from one desk to another. Computer screens were filled with reports and numbers, and everyone seemed focused on their work, aware that even the smallest decision could have consequences beyond a single office.

But on the upper floor, Monica De Rossi was the first to arrive at the boardroom. She took her usual seat at the head of the long table, placed her file in front of her, and opened her laptop without looking around. She already knew everyone would follow in time as they always did.

Minutes later, the board members began entering one by one until the room was full.

Marco entered last and closed the door behind him.

"Let’s begin," she said without preamble, clasping her hands together on the table.

The lights dimmed slightly, and a large map of Amalfi appeared on the screen, centered on a massive project, Amalfi Prestige Resort.

One of the board members shifted in his seat, "It is an ambitious project, but the timing is sensitive. The market does not appear fully stable," he said.

Monica didn't look away from the screen. "The market is never stable." She turned her attention to him. "If we wait for stability, we will never start anything," she continued.

Another member intervened, "But the investment is massive, and there are operational risks that cannot be ignored."

She met his gaze and nodded. "The risks are calculated, Mr. Stefano." Then she added, "And the project has been delayed long enough."

The members exchanged short glances, but no one objected directly.

Marco opened his file and said, "There is one point that needs confirmation—the timeline for phase one is extremely tight."

She responded immediately, "Because delay is no longer an option."

A voice from across the table asked, "And what about the pressure on internal teams?"

"Those who cannot work under pressure have no place in this project," she said firmly.

It wasn't a threat — but it was clear enough.

For a moment, no one spoke. The tension in the room was clear, but she remained steady and composed.

After a few minutes, the discussion ended when Marco announced, "By majority vote, the project is approved."

She smiled with confidence and satisfaction as she closed her tablet. "The meeting is over," she concluded.

Chairs shifted as the members began leaving the room, and their low voices fading into the hallway one after another.

------

At the same time, Marcello arrived at a luxury hotel in a taxi and stepped out, rolling his suitcase beside him.

Rain had lightly touched the streets earlier, leaving the pavement glowing and wet.

He entered the hotel. At the reception, the clerk smiled politely. "Good evening, how may I assist you?"

"A suite overlooking the city," he replied, taking the key before heading toward the elevator.

In the elevator, the floor numbers passed in front of him. Then he caught his reflection in the mirror but looked away, unable to understand why.

When he arrived, he entered the room. It was elegant, refined, and modern. A large window overlooked the city—no sea, no noise, only an endless flow of movement in the distance.

He closed the door behind him, dropped his bag aside, and stood by the window for a long moment without speaking.

The city moved beneath him, but he wasn't part of it yet. For now, he remained nothing more than a stranger moving through the city, carrying memories it had long buried.

He walked to the leather sofa and sat down, leaning back against it and resting one arm on the backrest while holding his phone in the other hand.

A few seconds later, he received a notification for an email he had been waiting for. He opened it. It contained additional information about Monica, along with another photo of her standing in front of her company today, talking on the phone. He zoomed in on her face, his fingers gently tracing it on the screen, his gaze filled with admiration.

"You’re incredibly beautiful, Monica," he said softly to himself. "I can’t believe the woman I once met by chance on the beach two years ago and was drawn to—only to discover she was the daughter of my enemy. What a pity." He had never forgotten the day he had someone gather information about them. The first time he saw her photo, he was genuinely shocked.

He turned off the phone. "Monica De Rossi." He whispered her name.

A faint smile touched his lips but didn’t fully form. Then he added, “We will meet again soon." His mind drifted back to the day they first met.

Two years ago...

During a one-week trip to Naples, Monica and her fiancé were staying at the hotel. Sam wasn’t with her at the moment, as he had gone out shopping for some things, and they had agreed to meet later by the beach.

When Monica arrived at the beach, it was dark and poorly lit, making it hard to see clearly. From a distance, she spotted a man standing right in front of the sea, his back turned toward her, and she assumed it was Sam. She walked toward him slowly, a soft smile on her face. Then she slipped her arms around his waist from behind and rested her head against his back, hugging him as she spoke, "I missed you so much, my love." Her eyes closed as she embraced him.

At first, Marcello was completely startled by the arms suddenly wrapping around his waist. His eyes flew open, and for a moment he thought it might be a thief or someone with bad intentions. But he quickly relaxed when he heard her soft, gentle voice saying she had missed him.

He gently took her hands from around his waist and pulled them away, then turned around so she would realize he wasn’t the person she was expecting.

She was shocked. She froze, her mouth slightly open when she saw him, realizing she had mistaken him for her fiancé. "I’m really sorry," she said, stammering. "I thought you were someone else."

He was stunned by the goddess of beauty standing before him and was completely captivated by her unique charm. He had never seen this kind of pure beauty in his life, a beauty blended with sharpness and strong features that seemed to dominate her entire presence. He was lost in the deep blue of her eyes, his gaze wandering over every inch of her face. Her features were beyond perfection.

She was wearing a royal blue dress, the same color as her eyes, wrapping around her slender, average-height body with unmistakable feminine curves. The dress was bold and long, with two high slits extending from mid-thigh down to her feet, revealing her slightly full, fair thighs. It was backless, with thin straps, highlighting part of her chest.

Her wavy red hair was blowing in the strong wind, falling across her face. She looked enchanting—If this woman was not Aphrodite, then what was she? Or perhaps a mermaid.

As for her, her eyes wandered over his facial features, stealing a glance or two at his body without him noticing. She had met many handsome men in her life, but his attractiveness was completely different—nobility mixed with authority and presence. A quiet guilt stirred within her as she reminded herself that she was already engaged. She shouldn't have been admiring him; it felt like a betrayal, and it was never in her nature to look at another man that way. Yet there was something about him that drew her in, something she couldn't explain no matter how hard she tried.

He was tall, with an athletic build and broad shoulders, standing proudly in a white shirt that highlighted his strong muscles, the first four buttons open, revealing his firm chest. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, and he wore black trousers.

Monica studied his facial features carefully: light bronze skin, a sharp, strong jawline, captivating blue eyes, a clean-shaven chin, and dark brown hair with a few strands falling over his forehead.

He snapped back to reality and broke this mutual gaze that had lasted for a moment longer than expected. He spoke politely, "Don’t worry, I know the beach is dark and visibility isn’t very clear," he replied.

"Yes, I thought you were my fiancé," she murmured.

He thought to himself, Wait… did she say fiance? What bad luck!

He nodded slightly, "Would you like me to stay with you until he arrives? I mean, it’s very late and the beach isn’t safe for a lady like you," he continued.

"No, thank you. I can take care of myself," she smiled.

"Alright, I will go then."

"Of course."

He walked away slowly, while she turned her back to him, looking at the sea.

But after taking a few steps, he couldn’t move any further. He was afraid that some man might harm her while she was alone at this time of night. He kept watching her from a distance for about twenty minutes until Sam arrived.

Marcello looked at them for a moment with regret. He thought to himself, “You are a lucky man,” then he left.

The memory faded, and his gaze returned to the photo on the screen. He locked his phone and placed it on the table in front of him. He got up from the sofa, turned off the lights and walked toward the bed, finally intending to get some sleep.

But just as he was about to lie down, his phone rang. The sound cut through the darkness sharply. Then he reached for the phone.

The name on the screen made his expression shift. He answered immediately. "Did you find anything else about Monica?" he asked, his voice carrying clear impatience.

"Yes," the other man replied. "I found something, but I'm not sure if it will matter to you."

"Tell me what you have. I'll decide what matters and what doesn't." His jaw tightened.

"Her fiancé is cheating on her with another woman in Rome," the man said. "A friend of mine who lives there took photos of him kissing her at a restaurant."

A sly smile appeared on Marcello’s lips, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. "Very good. Send me those photos. They may become my trump card when the time is right."