Chapter 7
The fireworks continued outside, but the sound had faded to a distant roar. Inside the apartment, there was only the two of them.
Mila was still pressed against Luca’s chest. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. She could feel the weight of his arms around her, holding her like she was something precious.
“I see you every day,” she whispered.
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Fragile and honest in a way that made her chest ache.
Luca didn’t interrupt. He never did when something mattered.
“You never look at anyone like they matter,” she went on. “Not the executives. Not the partners. Not the people who try so hard to impress you. You look through them like they’re noise.”
She pulled back to look at him.
“But you don’t look through me.”
His eyes held hers. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because most people are noise,” he said. “You’re not.”
She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to matter to you.”
“You didn’t try,” he replied. “That’s the difference.”
The truth of it settled between them. She hadn’t tried to impress him. She hadn’t flirted or angled for his attention. She had just been herself — quiet, careful, invisible — and somehow that had been enough.
“People like you don’t notice people like me,” she said.
He stepped closer. This time there was no space left between them.
“People like me notice exactly who they choose to,” he said. “And once we do, it doesn’t go away.”
Her pulse raced. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is,” he agreed. “For both of us.”
She searched his face for regret. She found none. Instead, there was restraint. Tight, deliberate, barely holding back something intense and deeply personal. The kind of feeling that didn’t flare quickly, but burned slow and steady once lit.
“I’ve watched you,” he continued, “longer than I should have.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I knew where it would lead.”
“And now?”
He looked at her. The mask was gone. “Now you called me.”
She reached up and touched his face. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, the faint scar near his chin. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said.
“You should be.”
“I’m not.”
He opened his eyes. They were dark and intense, holding her gaze with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“Then you understand,” he said slowly, “that once I claim something, I don’t let go.”
“Claim something?”
“You, Mila. I’m claiming you.”
Her heart stopped. Then raced.
“Luca — ”
“I know it’s fast. I know you’re scared. I know you didn’t expect this tonight.” He cupped her face in both hands. “But I’ve been waiting months to tell you that you’re mine. And now that you’re here, in my arms, I’m not letting you go.”
She should have been terrified. She should have pulled away. She should have told him this was too much, too fast, too dangerous.
Instead, she leaned into him.
“Then don’t,” she whispered.
He kissed her.
The kiss was not gentle. It was not slow. It was claiming — deep and certain and full of everything he had been holding back for months. She melted into him, her hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“Happy New Year, Mila.”
She laughed. The sound was shaky and joyful and full of relief.
“Happy New Year, Luca.”
May you like
He held her close. The fireworks faded. The city began to quiet. The night stretched on, full of promise.
But Mila knew that nothing would ever be the same. And for the first time in her life, she was grateful for it.
