The rain had rinsed away the tension of yesterday, but by morning, it had all returned. The sun was up, the sky clear, and the pressure coiled tight around Dante Blackwood’s shoulders like a vice. The meeting he’d been preparing for—fighting for—was finally here. Today wasn’t just important. It was everything.

In the mirror, he adjusted his cufflinks with practiced precision, the navy suit hugging his frame immaculately. Not a thread out of place. His reflection was composed, confident, in control—exactly how he needed to be.

Across the suite, Sienna worked with quiet urgency. She double-checked the day’s schedule, printed fresh copies of the presentation, and clipped them neatly into a sleek black folder. She placed backup drives in his briefcase, made sure the car was ready, and even ran down to the café in the lobby to get his usual espresso.

She still couldn’t believe yesterday had happened. A rooftop lunch. A smirk—however brief. For a man like Dante Blackwood, it was practically a confessional. Something had shifted. She felt it.

But now, it was business.

They arrived at the Italian conference center, the sleek modern building gleaming under the morning sun. Sunlight bounced off the glass walls, and inside, the air buzzed with money, power, and expectation. This was it—the moment Dante had worked toward for years. A deal with the elusive CEO of the Hartmann Conglomerate. It would change everything.

Dante walked with his signature stride—measured, confident, absolute. Sienna followed two steps behind, clutching the folder in one hand and two cups of espresso in the other. Her heart beat just a little faster, nerves coiling under her skin. She knew how much this meant.

And then—disaster.

It happened fast.

A man exiting the lounge brushed past her shoulder—not hard, just enough to throw off her balance. The tray tilted. The coffee wobbled.

Time seemed to slow.

“No, no, no—” Sienna gasped.

The coffee lurched—and spilled.

A dark splash bloomed across Dante’s crisp white shirt, spreading like a bruise across his suit. Brown droplets trickled down his jacket, soaking the lapel.

For a split second, the room went dead silent.

Sienna’s heart stopped. “Oh my God! I—I didn’t mean to—”

Dante stared down at the stain. Then up at her.

His face was a mask of fury, carved from stone. His jaw flexed. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Out,” he said, voice low and sharp as a blade.

She froze. “What?”

“You’re fired.”

The words hit like a slap. Her breath caught. Her vision blurred.

“I said get out. Now.”

The espresso cups slipped from her trembling hands, hitting the marble with a splatter. She didn’t care. Her pulse roared in her ears as she turned and fled, blinking back tears. Her heels echoed loudly across the lobby floor as her world collapsed behind her.

Dante stood motionless, stained and seething.

But his hand—hidden behind his back—was trembling.

And deep down, he knew the stain on his suit wasn’t the only thing that would be hard to wash away.