When I woke up, sunlight poured through the curtains of my room.
The view outside was beautiful, but the window itself was old-fashioned — the kind with carved wooden frames that showed elegance but blocked half the scenery. The curtains were royal in color, deep crimson, but the fabric felt worn and heavy.
I walked around, taking notes. The room carried a legacy — golden mirrors, thick carpets, and antique lamps — but time had stripped away its charm. It was clear this hotel hadn't been updated in years.
There was no coffee maker, no modern mini-fridge, and the television looked like it belonged to another decade.
It's not bad, I thought. But it's trapped in the past.
My mind began spinning with ideas — ways to blend the royal aesthetic with something fresh and modern. The soul of the hotel deserved to stay, but it needed a new life.
Later that morning, I met a few staff members and long-time guests. They shared stories of how, years ago, this hotel was one of the best — a place of elegance and prestige. But now, most guests only came for a single night, just to see the old charm, not to experience it.
The younger generation, they said, found it outdated.
I listened carefully, jotting down notes. By the time I checked the clock, it was almost seven.
The meeting is at nine, I remembered, and headed back to the hotel to get ready.
When I returned, my report was already organized — notes on architecture, furniture, food quality, and service. Everything aligned with my plan. I found Dante in the lounge, reviewing his tablet.
"Hey," I said, sitting beside him. "We might need to adjust our presentation. The structure is solid, but we should emphasize the new elements more."
He looked up from his screen and nodded thoughtfully. "Alright. Bring it up tonight. Let's see what Mr. Alex thinks."
We arrived at the conference room just before nine.
The air was formal, filled with quiet conversations and the faint aroma of coffee. Mr. Alex and his wife were already seated with their team. Across from them sat representatives of the MS Group — except for one empty chair at the end of the table.
I greeted Mr. Alex and the others politely.
We exchanged small talk while waiting. Dante leaned toward me and whispered, "Looks like their CEO is running late."
I smiled faintly. "Maybe he's the type who likes a grand entrance."
A few minutes later, the door opened.
An assistant entered first — then him.
For a second, my heart stopped.
The CEO of MS walked in with calm confidence, his presence commanding the room without effort. But I didn't need an introduction. I already knew that face, that watch glinting beneath the golden light, that familiar scent carried by the breeze when he passed.
Sky.
He looked exactly the same — except colder. His eyes swept across the room, landing on me for a brief moment before moving on, as if I were just another stranger in the meeting.
My hands trembled slightly under the table, but I forced myself to remain composed. Not here. Not now.
The meeting began.
Sky sat across the long mahogany table, a laptop open before him, posture straight and unreadable. The golden lights of the conference room reflected off his watch — the same one from that night in Italy.
Mr. Alex started speaking. "Thank you all for being here. As you know, this collaboration is a chance to merge the legacy of this hotel with modern innovation. Our goal is to preserve its soul while creating something new."
Dante nodded beside me. "Exactly. We're not trying to erase history — we're giving it a second life."
Sky's gaze flicked briefly toward Dante, then to me.
"That's a beautiful way to put it," he said smoothly. "But the balance between legacy and modernization isn't easy. Most people lose one while chasing the other."
I met his eyes — steady, sharp, and cold. Once, they used to hold warmth.
"That's true," I said softly. "But sometimes, history doesn't need to be rewritten. It just needs a better frame to fit in."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Wise words, Miss Isabella."
Mr. Alex clapped his hands lightly. "Good, good. I like this energy. Now, let's hear Isabella's analysis from the site review."
All eyes turned to me.
I stood, opened my notebook, and began. "The hotel carries royal architecture and design elements that once defined luxury," I said. "But over time, it stopped adapting. Guests now see it as something to visit, not to stay in."
I showed photos I had taken earlier. "My suggestion is to merge its royal essence with modern hospitality — soft gold tones, lighter textures, and a balance between tradition and technology. We preserve the memory, but bring it to life again."
Sky watched me closely. Not just the words — me.
He leaned back slightly, folding his hands. "And what about the name? You'd keep it?"
"The name holds value," I replied. "It's tied to the story of its founders. I'd keep it — but refresh the identity. Let it breathe again."
Mr. Alex smiled proudly. "Beautifully said. You have an eye for vision, Miss Isabella."
Dante nodded approvingly. "I agree," he added. "It's balanced — classic yet modern."
Sky's expression didn't soften. "Impressive," he said quietly. "Almost like you've done this before."
His tone carried something deeper — a challenge, or maybe an accusation.
I met his gaze again. "Maybe I have."
For a moment, neither of us looked away.
The others kept discussing timelines and costs, but the air between us grew heavier — a silent storm between two people who pretended the past was gone.
When the meeting ended, Mr. Alex's assistant handed everyone a folder. "We'll continue tomorrow morning. Tonight, you're all invited to the dinner in the west hall."
I nodded politely, gathering my notes. My hand brushed the cool edge of the table — steadying myself.
When I looked up, Sky was already standing.
"It was good meeting you again, Miss Isabella," he said softly, his tone deliberate — just loud enough for me to hear.
My breath caught. Again.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
He left the room before I could respond.
I exhaled, pressing a hand over my wrist to feel the rhythm of my pulse. Dante placed a hand on my shoulder.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Just… tired."
But inside, my thoughts were far from calm.
Oh my God… why did I have to meet him like this?
His behavior toward me — that calm distance — he was upset. I knew it.
How do I even explain everything?
I left him at the airport that day… but he also left me when I was injured.
What is happening between us?
Is he angry… or just pretending not to care?