Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 181 - Chapitre 190

The private jet touched down at Rome's Fiumicino Airport at 2:47 PM.Damien had been awake the entire flight, seven hours.Marcus was beside him as always, tablet in hand, running through the day's itinerary as they descended the stairs to the tarmac."Your ground crew has confirmed arrival protocols," Marcus said smoothly. "The villa is prepared and ready. Your wardrobe has been pressed for tonight's event. All security measures are in place."Damien nodded, only half-listening. He was reading the message that had come through just before they landed.The car was waiting on the tarmac...black, sleek, tinted windows. His Rome operations manager was already inside, having flown in two days prior to prepare everything.As Damien settled into the leather seat, Marcus took the seat across from him, continuing his briefing."The Solare event is scheduled for 8 PM at their flagship showroom in the historic center," Marcus said. "Black tie. All major design houses confirmed in attendance. Vi

The notification came through at 9:47 AM.Lyra was sitting on her sofa with a cup of tea, scrolling through her phone mindlessly, checking emails and social media like she did every morning. She'd been back to Rome for two days now. Two days of settling back into her apartment, finding her rhythm, preparing for the interviews she had scheduled.The notification was from a design news app she followed."Solare Design House Launches Sustainable Luxury Collection at Exclusive Rome Event"She almost didn't click on it.But something made her. Some instinct. Some pull toward the story that she couldn't quite explain.She opened the article.The event had been last night. The Solare showroom in Rome's historic center. An exclusive product launch for their new sustainable luxury collection. High-profile attendees, impressive pieces, visionary design.And then she saw the photo.It was a candid shot taken in what looked like a private lounge area. Damien was standing near one of the featured

Lyra followed her through the office, taking in everything. The way the space was organized. The energy of the people working. The quality of the materials. Everything told a story about what this firm valued.The conference room overlooked the courtyard. The table was long and made of reclaimed wood. There were sketches on the walls, design work in various stages of completion. It felt like a creative space, not a corporate one.Two people were waiting for her.One was a woman in her late forties, dark hair pulled back, with sharp eyes and an even sharper smile. She stood and extended her hand immediately."Lyra, I'm Giuliana Rossi. I'm the creative director here. This is Marco's friend, yes? He spoke very highly of you.""Thank you so much for having me," Lyra said, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm, confident.The second person was a man, slightly younger, with kind eyes and an open expression."I'm Paolo," he said. "I oversee our sustainable materials sourcing. Marco told us you

The city of Rome stretched out below him like a painting.Damien stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the villa, a glass of whisky in his hand, watching the lights of the city twinkle and shift as evening deepened into night. The view was extraordinary, the Colosseum in the distance, the dome of St. Peter's Basilica, the winding streets of the historic center where people were still moving, still living, still existing in their small human dramas.Somewhere in that city was Lyra.He'd been in Rome for two days now, and he hadn't made a move to contact her directly. He'd been patient. He'd been respectful of her boundaries.But patience had limits.He took a sip of the whisky. It burned going down his throat, but he didn't react.There was a knock on the door.Damien didn't turn around."Come in," he said, his eyes still fixed on the city below.Marcus entered with the quiet efficiency he always brought to everything. "Boss," he said simply.Damien still didn't turn. He just stood

The restaurant was the kind of place that existed in Rome without fanfare.No sign above the door announcing its name. No reviews plastered on the window. Just a small trattoria tucked into a narrow street in the Trastevere district, where locals came because their parents had come, because their grandparents had come, because the food was good and the atmosphere was warm and nothing had changed in probably thirty years.Marco was already waiting when Lyra arrived.He sat at a small table near the window, watching the street outside, a glass of wine in front of him. When he saw her, his face lit up immediately. He stood, spreading his arms in greeting."Lyra!" he said warmly, pulling her into an embrace. "You look wonderful. Rome agrees with you.""Marco," she said, hugging him back. There was genuine affection there, the kind that came from having worked together, from having mutual respect, from history. "Thank you so much for inviting me. It means a lot."They sat down. A server ap