CHAPTER 6: Duty against desire

CHAPTER 6

LEO’s POV

Duty against desire.

The room felt smaller after she pulled the strap down. Not because of that action but maybe because of the silence that followed.

Water still clung to her skin, tracing slow paths along her collarbone before disappearing beneath the thin fabric. The air carried the faint scent of soap and alcohol, warmth tangled with something fragile I couldn’t quite name. She watched me carefully, as though waiting for rejection before it arrived.

I forced myself to breathe evenly.

This was a mistake. All the impulses I had built over years—discipline, control, distance—rose at once, loud and insistent. Women in hotel rooms were never complicated. They were simple arrangements, temporary distractions that ended before morning. No expectations and certainly no weight.

But nothing about her felt simple.

Her fingers tightened around my wrist, not seductively but just afraid I might step away.

“Stay,” she murmured.

The word landed heavier than it should have.

I reached up slowly and caught the strap before it slipped any further, guiding it gently back onto her shoulder. Her brows knit together, confusion flickering across her face.

“You’re drunk,” I said quietly.

“And you’re not looking tempted” she replied, voice soft but sounding disappointed. “That sounds exhausting.”

A breath almost escaped me as a laugh, but it died before it formed.

My phone rang.

The sharp vibration cut through the moment like glass breaking. I cursed under my breath and stepped back, pulling the device from my pocket. The name glowing on the screen tightened something deep in my chest.

Father.

Of course.

I hesitated only a second before answering.

“Yes.”

His voice came through immediately, firm and controlled, carrying the authority that had shaped my entire life.

“Leonardo.”

He only used my full name when displeased.

“I assumed you landed already,” he continued. “Your driver informed me you declined the family residence.”

I glanced at Tessa. She had sunk onto the edge of the bed, watching me with distant curiosity, knees drawn slightly inward as if suddenly aware of herself again.

“I needed rest,” I replied.

A pause stretched across the line, heavy with judgment.

“Rest,” he repeated. “I hope that does not mean you are hiding in another hotel wasting time with women who add nothing to your life.”

My jaw tightened.

Behind me, Tessa tilted her head, clearly sensing the shift in atmosphere though she couldn’t hear the words.

“I’m handling my schedule,” I said evenly.

“You rarely handle anything when left unsupervised,” he replied. “The board has been asking questions again. Investors talk. Families talk. They wonder why my son remains unmarried while scandals follow him instead.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

There it was. Always the same conversation wrapped in a different language.

“Father, we have discussed this before. I…”

His tone sharpened. “ One week ago, photos of you and Lady Rosana leaked…the damn old lady has a husband…

“They’re divorced actually.” I corrected, interrupting him.

“Shut up!.”

I did.

“Three months ago your name circulated with a model in Milan. Before that, an actress. Before that, rumors you abandoned an engagement that never even existed. You give people stories to invent.”

I paced slowly toward the window, lowering my voice.

“What do you want, Father?”

“The family meeting,” he said. “Three days from now. Attendance is not optional.”

Outside, city lights shimmered against the glass like scattered fireflies.

“We will discuss succession plans, partnerships, and matters concerning your future. Including marriage prospects.”

Of course.

“And Leonardo,” he added, voice quieter now but heavier, “I expect you to arrive focused. Not distracted by temporary indulgences.”

My gaze drifted back to the bed.

She was absently twisting damp strands of hair around her finger. She looked smaller now, the earlier boldness fading into quiet uncertainty.

“I’ll be there,” I said.

The call ended without goodbye.

I lowered the phone slowly, the silence afterward louder than the conversation itself. A feeling close to frustration simmered beneath my skin, familiar and suffocating. Every discussion with him felt like being fitted into a suit tailored decades before I was born.

A knock came at the door before I could gather my thoughts.

I frowned. “Come in.” I said, expecting my secretary.

The door opened just enough for Charles to step inside, tablet tucked under his arm, expression politely neutral until his eyes landed on the scene behind me.

He froze.

His gaze flicked from me to Tessa, then immediately toward the ceiling as though studying invisible architecture.

“Sir,” he said quickly, “I apologize for the interruption.”

Tessa blinked at him, mildly fascinated, like a spectator watching a play she didn’t understand.

“What is it?” I asked.

Charles cleared his throat. “A reminder regarding tomorrow’s schedule. The appointment for hiring the business advisor is confirmed for three p.m. at the auditorium.”

Right. The recruitment session.

I nodded once.

“And,” he added cautiously, “I wanted to confirm you received the room arrangements without… inconvenience.”

My irritation sharpened instantly.

“This,” I said, gesturing vaguely around the suite, “is what you consider appropriate?”

Charles hesitated, clearly choosing his next words carefully. “Technically, sir, the hotel had excellent reviews. Five stars.”

“There’s a nightclub under the rooms.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “The website described it as… vibrant.”

I stared at him.

He attempted a smile. “I assumed a lively atmosphere might help you relax after the flight.”

I didn’t laugh.

The silence stretched long enough for realization to dawn across his face. His shoulders straightened immediately.

“My apologies, sir. That was a misjudgment on my part.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” I said. “And I’ll decide on an appropriate penalty.”

“Yes, sir.”

He bowed his head slightly and moved toward the door, pausing only long enough to add, “The meeting documents are prepared for review whenever you’re ready.”

Then he slipped out, closing the door softly behind him.

The room returned to quiet.

I stood still for a moment, letting the last threads of irritation settle. My father’s voice lingered in my head, echoing expectations I had never agreed to carry.

When I turned back, Tessa was watching me carefully.“You look different,” she said.

“How?”

“You look frustrated.”

The observation landed too accurately.

I walked toward her slowly. “You shouldn’t analyze strangers.”

She smiled faintly. “You don’t feel like a stranger anymore.”

The words stirred something uneasy inside me.

I stopped a step away. Up close, I could see exhaustion beneath her eyes, the fragile bravery she wore like borrowed armor.

“You don’t even know me,” I said.

“I know you didn’t throw me out,” she replied. “That’s already more than most people.”

Her honesty disarmed me in ways charm never could.

I exhaled slowly, tension still coiled beneath my skin from the call. Anger needed somewhere to go, pressing outward, searching for release. For once, control felt heavier than surrender. My father’s words echoed in my head. Duty against desire; I had to make a choice.

My hand lifted almost on its own, brushing a damp strand of hair away from her face. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned subtly into the touch, eyes softening.

“Fix my mood.” I said, almost realizing it sounded more like a command than a request.

The words surprised both of us.

Her shoulders relaxed, relief flickering across her expression. The distance between us dissolved gradually but not rushed. Just two people standing too close in a room that had already decided something neither of us planned.

My fingers moved to the edge of her sleeve.

I paused there, giving her time to pull back.

She didn’t.

Her breathing slowed, gaze fixed on mine, searching for hesitation and finding none.

Outside, faint music drifted upward from the club below, muted by walls and distance, like a heartbeat far away from the world we occupied now.

I slid the fabric gently down her arm, movements unhurried, deliberate. Not hunger alone guiding me—something quieter, heavier. A need to silence the echo of my father’s expectations, the constant demand to be composed, untouchable.

Her eyes closed briefly as if surrendering to the moment rather than inviting it.

Neither of us spoke.

The room held its breath while my hands continued, careful and slow, aiming to undo the knot of her lingerie which covered the clean shaved surface in between her thighs.