Milo woke at 5:30 a.m., energized and focused. He began the day with a sharp workout, his body moving with practiced ease. Afterward, he made breakfast—fluffy ricotta pancakes drizzled with honey, paired with a freshly brewed cappuccino whose aroma filled the sleek, modern kitchen.

Showered and dressed in a perfectly tailored GuTera black suit, he packed a slim suitcase and spritzed on his signature fragrance—GuTera Heaven. The bold, elegant scent followed him as he adjusted his cuffs in the mirror. Today wasn’t just another day. It was his first at THE SOUTH.

Sliding into his matte-black car, Milo pulled out of the estate. The city was bathed in golden sunlight, glass towers sparkling like crystal spires. Minutes later, he reached THE SOUTH—a towering masterpiece of glass, steel, and granite. Its sharp lines reflected Hillsburgh’s skyline, while bronze letters across polished stone announced its name. Luxury cars glided through the valet zone; inside, a marble lobby and cascading chandelier set the tone: wealth, ambition, elegance.

The doorman held the door. Behind the sleek reception desk stood Lily Patel, a petite Indian woman with warm brown skin, dark curls pinned neatly, and diamond studs that caught the light. She glanced up and offered Milo a smile—professional, but tinged with admiration.

“Welcome, Mr. Butera. I’m Lily Patel, the receptionist here. Let me show you to your office.”

“Thank you, Miss Patel,” Milo replied with equal charm.

As they walked the marble halls, she handed him a black folder embossed with THE SOUTH’s silver crest. “Your schedule. Onboarding meetings, and in an hour, a board introduction. I’ll escort you to the SkyBoard Room before it begins.”

They reached a glass-paneled office. With a code tapped into the wall, Lily opened the door. “Welcome to your office, Mr. Butera. Let me know if you need anything.”

Milo stepped inside. The room opened onto a panoramic view of Hillsburgh, glass stretching from floor to ceiling. A polished white desk gleamed under natural light; a leather chair embraced him as he sat. The city hummed below, alive with energy. For the first time, it felt like his.

He allowed himself a grin, spinning gently in the chair. Hillsburgh shimmered outside—his new world, waiting.

An hour later, Lily’s voice rang from his desk phone. “Mr. Butera, the board meeting will begin shortly. Please head to the 25th floor.”

Milo straightened his suit jacket, glanced once more at the skyline, and stepped out with quiet confidence.

⸻

The SkyBoard Room was a cathedral of glass and steel, its walls framing the city like a living painting. At the polished table waited two executives.

McKay Stacy, mid-thirties, stood tall with a commanding presence—smooth dark skin, clean-shaven head, and a tailored navy suit. His gaze was sharp yet approachable. Beside him, Christine Isle radiated charm. Early thirties, porcelain-skinned, with sleek blonde hair and striking green eyes, she wore a cream blazer over silk, paired with nude heels that clicked softly on marble.

“You must be Milo Butera,” McKay said warmly, offering a firm handshake. “Welcome to THE SOUTH.”

Christine followed, her green eyes lighting up. “Wow—you’re even prettier in person,” she teased, voice light but sincere.

Milo chuckled. “Thank you.”

They settled, but before business began, Christine leaned closer, sniffing the air. “Wait—what cologne is that? It’s amazing.”

“GuTera Heaven,” Milo replied with a grin.

McKay nodded. “Good taste. I rotate Creed and Bleu de Chanel, but GuTera’s no joke.”

Christine laughed. “All right, I’m switching. This meeting’s turning into a fragrance club.”

The room eased into laughter, formality dissolving. Milo already felt the current of camaraderie pulling him in.

“So,” McKay smirked, “you teaching us some Italia?”

“Italiano,” Milo corrected playfully, accent smooth. “But yes. For a price.”

Christine tilted her head. “What’s the price? More compliments on your cheekbones?”

Milo leaned forward. “That, and someone shares their perfume secrets.”

McKay shook his head, amused. “Charm and conditions. I like this guy.”

Milo offered lesson one: “Benvenuti alla riunione—Welcome to the meeting.” They repeated, stumbling over vowels, laughing at themselves. Ice shattered into laughter.

McKay introduced himself officially. “Chief Strategy Officer. Keep the machine running, keep the vision sharp.”

Christine smiled brightly. “VP of Client Relations. Partnerships, public image, and making sure the office doesn’t get boring.”

Milo nodded. “Milo Butera. Asset Manager—and apparently your new Italian tutor.”

Christine’s gaze lingered. “I have to say—your hair is incredible. That messy curl thing? It works.”

Milo chuckled. “Effortlessly chaotic.”

Christine leaned closer. “Can I touch it?”

He raised a brow, amused. “Go ahead.”

She tousled a curl with a laugh. “Soft, just like I thought.”

McKay grinned. “We’re definitely keeping him.”

The three burst into laughter, the room alive with warmth.

⸻

The door opened. Alex Chen entered—short, with a prominent nose, sharp eyes, and a slightly stiff blue suit. He placed a sleek suitcase on the table.

“Good morning,” he said briskly. “Soraya will be here shortly.”

The air shifted—less playful, more official.

Milo leaned toward McKay. “Who’s Soraya?”

McKay smirked. “You’ll see.”

The door opened again.

Soraya Reigns walked in.

Milo’s pen slipped from his hand.

She was breathtaking. Her wavy brown hair framed her face in a center part, cascading like silk. Almond-shaped eyes—deep, smoldering brown—glimmered with quiet fire. Smooth olive skin glowed under the light. A red dress hugged her figure, matched by crimson heels clicking across marble. Diamonds—necklace, earrings, bracelet—glittered with each step, understated yet dazzling.

Milo’s jaw slackened. “Damn,” he whispered unconsciously.

Her presence filled the room, magnetic and overwhelming. A floral-spice fragrance drifted in her wake, wrapping around him like a spell. His chest tightened as his eyes followed the subtle sway of her hips, the fire in her gaze, the effortless command in her stride.

The room vanished. The meeting, the people—gone. She wasn’t just the CEO. She was something divine.

“Good morning,” Soraya’s velvet voice filled the space. She moved to the head of the table with practiced grace. “Before we begin, I’d like to welcome a new addition to THE SOUTH.”

Her eyes found Milo’s. Time stopped.

“This is Milo Butera, our new Asset Manager. Welcome, Mr. Butera.”

Milo’s throat tightened. “Th—thank you, Ms. Reign—Reigns. I’m very—grateful… to be here.”

His words tangled. A flush rose to his cheeks. He looked away, mortified.

Soraya smiled softly, then turned to the room. “Let’s make him feel welcome.”

The board responded in unison: “Welcome to THE SOUTH, Milo.”

Applause rippled around the table.

Milo forced a smile, though inside, he wanted to disappear. He had walked in composed, but Soraya had undone him with a glance.

He muttered under his breath. “Fuck.”

For the first time in years, Milo Butera wasn’t in control. He was caught—entranced, overwhelmed, drowning in her presence.