Chapter 4 Morning Without Her

Luca Pov

Morning came quietly, that alone told me I was home.

The curtains in my bedroom were drawn back just enough to let light spill across the floor, pale and clean, cutting through the darker wood and stone like it always did. No alarms. No voices. No interruptions. Just the steady hum of a house that knew how to exist without chaos.

I opened my eyes and lay still for a moment, letting the weight of the day settle into my bones.

Then I remembered her.

Not in the dramatic way Darius would describe. There was no flash of skin or hunger or regret. Just the image of a woman sleeping in one of my hotel rooms like she belonged to no one and owed nothing to anyone.

I exhaled slowly and swung my legs off the bed.

"Ridiculous," I muttered to myself.

I showered quickly, dressed in a charcoal shirt and dark trousers, movements automatic. By the time I reached the lower level, the house was already awake. Staff moved efficiently, greeting me with nods and quiet good mornings. They knew better than to ask questions.

Darius was already in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee and his phone in hand.

"You look annoyingly normal," he said without looking up.

"You look underdressed," I replied, pouring myself coffee.

He glanced down at his shirt and jeans. "It is a weekend. I am rebelling."

"You are thirty six."

"And thriving."

I took a sip. "What do you want"

"Straight to business. Cold." He smiled. "You left early."

"I always do."

"Not when you spend the night hovering over strangers."

I gave him a look.

He raised both hands. "Relax. I did not run a background check. I behaved."

"Impressive."

"I know. It physically hurt."

I leaned against the counter. "Anything urgent"

"Nothing on fire," he said. "Just routine. Meeting later today. A shipment that needs confirming. And your favorite topic.

"My favorite topic does not exist."

"Politics," he said cheerfully.

I groaned. "I hate politics."

"You say that every time. Then you dominate the room."

"That is not the same thing."

He shrugged. "It is close enough."

Silence settled between us comfortably. Darius took a long sip of coffee, watching me over the rim of his mug.

"She left early," he said casually.

I did not ask how he knew. "Good."

"No note," he added. "No drama."

"Good."

"No attempt to find you."

I paused, then shrugged. "Also good."

He smiled slowly. "You are terrible at lying."

"I am not lying."

"You are pretending you do not care."

I met his gaze evenly. "I do not."

"Sure," he said. "Then why did you choose that room"

I frowned slightly. "What room"

"The guest suite on the east side," he said. "You never use it. You hate the view."

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

"That room has the least foot traffic," I said finally. "And the quietest wing."

"See," he said. "You care."

I turned away. "Drop it."

He laughed softly. "Alright. For now."

After breakfast, I headed to my study. The house was designed for privacy and control. Thick walls. Clean lines. Windows positioned so you could see everything outside without being seen.

I liked that.

My phone buzzed once on the desk. A message from hotel management.

Guest checked out early. Room left clean. No issues.

I stared at the screen longer than necessary.

No issues.

Good.

That was the goal. No complications. No attachments. No lingering questions.

And yet.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my jaw. There had been something about her that stuck. Not beauty. I had seen too much of that to be impressed easily. It was the way she spoke. Honest to the point of recklessness. Like she had already lost something important and did not care who knew it.

People like that were dangerous.

Not to others.

To themselves.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

Marco stepped inside, tablet in hand. "Meeting confirmed for noon. Your father will be there."

I nodded. "Anything else"

He hesitated. "There was an inquiry."

My gaze sharpened. "From who"

"Another family," he said carefully. "About hotel ownership structure."

I smiled without humor. "They are fishing."

"Yes."

"Let them," I said. "They will catch nothing."

He nodded and turned to leave, then paused. "Sir"

"Yes"

"Your father mentioned something yesterday," he said. "About alliances shifting."

"They always shift," I replied. "That is why we survive."

He accepted that and left.

I stood and moved toward the window, hands in my pockets. The city stretched out below, alive and indifferent. Somewhere in it, Aria was probably waking up with a headache and a list of things she needed to fix.

She did not belong to my world.

And that was exactly why she had felt like oxygen.

I scoffed quietly at the thought.

Get a grip.

I had a life built on control and discipline. I did not chase moments. I buried them and moved on.

By mid morning, I was in the car, heading toward the meeting. Darius slid into the seat beside me, already talking.

"Your father is in a mood," he said. "I suggest patience."

"I do not do patience."

"You fake it well."

We arrived at the venue and stepped into familiar territory. Power dressed as civility. Smiles that meant nothing. Words chosen carefully.

I played my role. I always did.

But as the meeting dragged on, my mind wandered once or twice, drifting back to a woman with tired eyes and a sharp tongue who had looked at me like I was just a man in a bar.

It was unsettling.

When it ended, I stood and shook hands, ignoring the way Darius smirked at me.

"You survived," he said as we walked out.

"I always do."

He glanced at me sideways. "You thinking about her again"

"No."

"You answered too fast."

I stopped walking and turned to him. "She was a moment. Nothing more."

He studied me. "Moments have a way of becoming problems if you underestimate them."

"Not this one," I said firmly.

He shrugged. "If you say so."

Later that evening, back at the mansion, I poured myself a drink and stood alone on the terrace. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in warm colors.

I thought about control. About choice. About the strange relief of doing something without calculation.

I finished the drink and set the glass aside.

Whatever that night was, it was over.

Tomorrow would be business as usual.

And yet.

As I turned back inside, I wondered if she would remember my name.

That thought followed me longer than it should hav