Chapter 4 The Woman I shouldn't Be Thinking About

Eros' POV

The city looked different from the sky at night. Lights blinked like artificial stars, stretching all the way from the desert's edge to the curving shores of the Arabian Gulf. But I wasn't interested in the city tonight.

As my private elevator opened into my penthouse suite at The Palm Jumeirah, the familiar hush of solitude welcomed me home. This mansion-three floors, marble interiors, and a private beach that glimmered under moonlight-was the fruit of a decade's work, but on nights like this, it felt more like a cage.

I loosened the buttons of my white shirt as I stepped into the master bedroom, shrugging it off and tossing it onto the nearest leather chair. I made my way to the balcony, sliding the glass door open to let the night breeze in.

From here, the view was otherworldly. The private beach stretched beneath me, kissed by the soft white waves that crawled in like whispers. Farther ahead, the ocean met the dark sky in a quiet truce.

I gripped the railing and exhaled slowly, my jaw tight.

I should be thinking about the new AI division we were launching next month at Archeion Technologies, or the press conference I had to give in less than forty-eight hours. I should be thinking about the board meeting that had left me drained, or the investors waiting for updates.

But no. My mind was stuck somewhere else.

On her.

The caramel-skinned beauty with a face sculpted by fire and fury. The one who spilled red wine on herself-and still managed to blame me for it. Or maybe I blamed her. It was hard to recall now, with how chaotic the exchange had been. All I remembered was the way her eyes-deep, dark, and seething-had stared at me like she wished I'd vanish off the face of the Earth.

Zolina.

Evara's best friend.

The girls she's been fawning over for the past couple of months. She had shown me her picture once, that's why I remember her.

I scoffed to myself and pushed off the railing.

"Pretty face. Rotten attitude," I muttered.

She was stunning. No man in his right mind would deny that. Her elegance was the kind that wasn't bought-something natural and unteachable. But that attitude? The way she stood there in that off-white dress, soaked in wine and pride, ready to murder me with her eyes?

No. I wasn't going there.

I wasn't the type to obsess over strangers. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let some fashion-obsessed woman with a sharp tongue crawl into my head rent-free.

"Get it together," I muttered under my breath and turned away.

I head to the ensuite bathroom, peeling the rest of my clothes off as steam from the smart shower began to fog the mirrors. The water hit my skin like clarity-hot, cleansing, and necessary. I stood there for longer than I intended, letting the water beat against my neck, hoping it could scrub away the unwelcome thoughts that had taken up space in my mind.

But even when I was towel-drying my hair, her face lingered in the corners of my mind like an unfinished sentence.

Annoyed, I throw on a pair of black sweatpants and walk barefoot into my home office. The room was sharp-dark wood, metal finishes, a black matte desk, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with everything from tech journals to historical biographies.

I powered on my laptop and was halfway through reviewing an investor report when my phone buzzed.

Evara.

I leaned back in my chair and answered with a smirk. "Shouldn't you be in bed, munchkin?"

Her groan echoed through the speaker. "Stop calling me that. I'm twenty-three, not twelve."

"Still shorter than me," I said, stretching. "Still my kid sister."

"Whatever," she said, laughing. "You home?"

"Just got in."

"Good. You need to hear this."

"Oh, this sounds serious."

"It is. I found out what happened at the D&G event."

I sat up slightly. "So this is about your friend."

"You mean Zolina? Yes."

"Right," I said coolly. "She spilled wine on herself."

"You bumped into her," she corrected sharply. "She was viewing a dress, and you-Mr. No Apology Needed-just walked off like some runway villain."

"She was standing in my way," I said flatly. "And it's not like I didn't offer to pay for the dress. She denied the money when I was willing to compensate her clumsiness."

Evara made a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "You made it sound like you were the victim. Seriously, Eros? She was humiliated. That was her first major fashion event in Dubai."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Why are we still talking about this?"

"Because I need you to do something for her" I raised an eyebrow.

Now that got my attention.

"What exactly are you asking me?"

"She's building a fashion brand here in Dubai," Evara said. "She's insanely talented-like, runway-level talented-and she's looking for an investor."

"Let me guess," I said, raising an eyebrow. "You volunteered me."

"I suggested you."

I leaned back in my chair and exhaled. "You really think I'm going to hand money over to a woman who wanted to kill me on sight?"

"She doesn't want your money. She needs it to bring her dream to life."

"And what's in it for me?"

"An investment portfolio in the fashion industry, for one. Diversification. And maybe the chance to do something good for once."

"Wow. You really don't hold back."

"It's because I know you listen when I don't sugarcoat things."

I smiled slightly. That was true.

"Look, just meet her," she said. "She agreed to consider you after thinking it through. She's willing to talk business."

I glanced at the screen of my laptop, but the report I'd been reading now felt irrelevant.

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask," Evara replied brightly.

We talked a little more-some teasing, some catching up-before she finally said goodnight.

A few hours later, just as I was preparing to shut down my screens and call it a night, my phone buzzed again. A message from Evara.

"Just so you know I'm not crazy. Check these out."

Attached were six photos.

Zolina's sketches.

I clicked on them, one by one. Each one was sharp, elegant, bold. They weren't just dresses-they were statements. There was something deliberate in every line, every silhouette. Powerful yet feminine. Classic but forward.

She didn't just have talent. She had vision.

And for the first time since I'd met her, I saw something I hadn't expected: depth.

I stared at the final sketch longer than I intended-a floor-length gown with structured shoulders, a deep V neckline, and intricate hand embroidery that mimicked fire licking up the hem.

I stared at the final sketch longer than I intended-a floor-length gown with structured shoulders, a deep V neckline, and intricate hand embroidery that mimicked fire licking up the hem.

There was no denying it.

That woman had something.

Raw. Refined. Powerful. Like her.

I leaned back in my chair, phone still in hand, and felt something shift. Something I didn't like admitting, even to myself. The girl I dismissed as prideful and annoying-she had layers. Substance. Vision. That sketch alone could close a deal in Milan or New York.

How the hell had she learned to draw like that? The intricate and clean sketches making up an impressive outfit. Designs many fashion houses would kill to have on there runways.

And how many nights had she spent hunched over sketchbooks, pouring out designs no one knew about, betting everything she had on the dream of building her brand from nothing?

Maybe that was what bothered me the most. I had built Archeion on cold logic and raw precision. Every move was calculated, every risk minimized. But her? She was building with instinct and heart. A dangerous mix.

I shook my head.

Nope. I wasn't falling into that rabbit hole.

This wasn't about admiration. It wasn't an attraction. It was business. At most, curiosity. A layered puzzle with sharp eyes and sharper words.

I placed the phone on the nightstand but picked it up again. I dialed the number and placed the phone by my ear.

The man picked up on the fourth ring. "Esposito, who do I need to find?" Pablo was my PI and a good acquaintance when he wasn't nosy.

"No. I want you to find any information you can get on Zolina Lanconi and I want it as fast as possible."

"On it. But you know you could have done this yourself, don't you?"

I knew that, but I don't want to get myself attached. I didn't want to give the thought of her the time of day.

"I am paying you, aren't I?" I tell him, getting annoyed.

"I apologize. I'll get back to you as soon as possible." With that, I hung up and put the phone on the nightstand.

Outside, waves brushed against my private beach with rhythmic persistence, a soft lullaby only money could buy. My room was dimly lit by the blue glow of the moon peeking through the edge of the blinds. The faint hum of the AC filled the silence, but even that didn't drown out the thoughts circling in my head.

I found myself imagining her reaction when she'd finally hear I was considering investing. Would she gloat? Would she still hate me? Or would she finally see me as more than the man who ruined her night?

Part of me hoped she stayed cold.

It was easier to keep boundaries when things stayed icy.

But deep down, I already knew.

Zolina was the kind of storm you didn't walk away from untouched.

And I wasn't sure I wanted to.

Not yet.

Not ever.