Scarlett walked briskly through the narrow, lantern-lit streets of Bologna, her sketchbook tucked tightly under her arm. The evening air carried the scent of baked bread and espresso from nearby cafés, a warm contrast to the cold ache curling in her chest. She had survived the gala, kept her composure, yet her mind wouldn't stop replaying Nicolas Volkov's indifferent gaze.
Her heels clicked against the cobblestones, echoing softly in the empty alleyways. She tried to convince herself she was calm, that she had moved on from childhood crushes and long-lost memories. But then she felt it — a presence behind her, deliberate and controlled, yet impossibly close.
She glanced over her shoulder. Shadows shifted beneath the streetlamps. And there he was: Nicolas, watching her with an intensity that made her heart stutter. His black jacket contrasted sharply with the golden glow of the lights, his expression unreadable, yet every movement spoke of suppressed emotion.
Scarlett quickened her pace, feeling a thrill of excitement and anxiety ripple through her. Every step she took, he mirrored, never too close to alarm her, yet never far enough to let her forget he was there.
For Nicolas, it was torment. He shouldn't care. He shouldn't feel a tug toward a girl he had supposedly forgotten. And yet, as he traced her silhouette through the plaza and narrow streets, a part of him — buried under years of control, secrets, and training — couldn't look away. The faintest flicker of curiosity, maybe even longing, burned in his chest.
Meanwhile, in the imposing halls of the Meng estate, Alisa Meng watched the unfolding events with sharp green eyes. Her fingers drummed against the polished oak desk as she studied reports from her allies. Joanna had already been dispatched to discreetly shadow Scarlett, to gather information about her movements and weaknesses.
Alisa's lips curved into a measured smile. "Scarlett Rose may think she can walk in our world untouched, but she has no idea whose attention she has drawn."
Joanna nodded nervously. "What do you want me to do next, Alisa?"
"Observe. Report. And when the opportunity comes…" Alisa leaned back in her chair, her voice soft but cold as ice. "…strike. Every move must be subtle, like a whisper. But believe me, the consequences will be felt."
Alisa's mind raced with possibilities. Her father, Moretti Meng, had made his intentions clear: Nicolas Volkov's family was the key to elevating the Meng empire into untouchable heights. And yet, here was Scarlett Rose — a wild card, fearless, and dangerously capable of drawing Nicolas's attention. Every second Nicolas's gaze lingered on her, every hint of curiosity or suppressed recognition, fanned the flames of Alisa's jealousy.
Back in the cobblestone streets, Scarlett finally paused near a small fountain, the soft trickle of water grounding her thoughts. She sensed him even before she saw him fully, that presence — unwavering, patient, impossibly still.
"You're following me," she said softly, her voice cutting through the night air, firm yet tinged with amusement.
Nicolas's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "I could say the same to you," he replied, his tone low, steady, but carrying an unspoken weight.
Scarlett's chest tightened. The same man she had adored for years, the boy she had once known so intimately, now stood in the shadows of the plaza. His eyes were cold, controlled — yet, she could sense the hesitation, the flicker of something buried deep inside him.
He should have walked away. He shouldn't care. And yet he couldn't.
Alisa Meng's influence and scheming loomed like an unseen storm. The Meng family's ambition, coupled with the silent, terrifying weight of the Volkov legacy, created a dangerous web that Scarlett had only just stepped into. And Nicolas — the enigmatic, untouchable man — was caught between the pull of family, duty, and something he could not name.
As Scarlett turned and walked toward her apartment, Nicolas followed silently behind, each step measured. In the distance, Alisa plotted, every scheme precise, her jealousy a burning force that would not be ignored.
And in the shadows of Italy's cobblestone streets, destinies began to twist together — dangerous, unpredictable, and undeniably magnetic.