Chapter 2 2

The Smiles

Camilla's POV

I don't know when it started.

Maybe it was the way Daniel lingered at the coffee station a few seconds longer than necessary. Maybe it was how Damian began asking about a report twice, even when he already knew the answer or how both of them started smiling at me. Not politely, not passively-genuinely.

But something had changed.

And it began the moment Antonio De-Rosie announced his empire would go to whichever of his sons married first.

It was as if someone had flipped a hidden switch, and suddenly, I-Camilla De-Canio, the secretary with a modest salary and a small shared apartment near the river-had become interesting.

To them.

To both of them.

The De-Rosie twins.

Daniel and Damian.

They began to visit my desk more frequently. And not with the usual curt instructions or questions about schedules.

No-these visits were different, softer and stranger. Filled with laughter that seemed out of place in the cold corridors of De-Rosie Tech.

"Camilla," Daniel called one morning, leaning against the edge of my desk with his signature grin. "What would a woman like you do with a billion euros?"

I blinked, startled. "I'm not sure, sir-"

He raised a finger. "Daniel."

I corrected myself with effort. "Daniel. I... suppose I'd buy my father a new pair of lungs and my mother a kitchen that doesn't leak when it rains."

He chuckled. "Practical and kind. I like that."

A moment later, Damian's voice slid into the air behind him. "And what would you invest in, Camilla? If given the choice."

I turned, startled again. He didn't usually approach me while Daniel was already there. But this time, he stood beside his brother like a shadow, one hand in his pocket, his eyes unusually thoughtful.

"I... I don't know," I admitted. "I've never really thought about investing."

"You should," Damian said simply, offering the ghost of a smile. "You're sharper than you think."

Daniel looked between us, his grin fading slightly, replaced by something real.

That was the first time I noticed the tension. It was quiet and almost imperceptible-but it was there. A flicker beneath their practiced smiles. A silent battle brewing beneath their words.

And somehow... I was in the middle of it all.

They both started sending me on errands-ones I didn't understand. Daniel once asked me to pick up a lunch order from a place that didn't exist, only to laugh when I returned flustered, offering me gelato instead.

"I just wanted to see you smile," he said.

Damian, on the other hand, handed me a thick file and asked me to review it-only for me to realize hours later that the data had already been approved. When I confronted him, he simply said, "I wanted your opinion. Not the board's."

They didn't just treat me like a secretary anymore.

They treated me like a... companion, a close confidante and a puzzle they were each trying to solve.

They asked about my family, my childhood and my dreams.

Daniel wanted stories. He laughed when I told him about my mother burning rice while singing love songs from the radio. He teased me for falling off a bicycle at ten and scarring my left knee.

Damian asked quieter questions. What was my father's medical plan? Did I have siblings? Had I ever considered starting a business of my own?

Daniel made me feel like I was the most dazzling woman at the center of a joke that never hurt.

Damian made me feel like I mattered-even in silence.

And yet... I didn't trust either of them.

Not completely.

Because people like them didn't see girls like me unless they wanted something.

And now, there was something to want.

"Do you think it's real?" I asked my mother one evening as we sat in the kitchen, steam from the boiling pasta fogging the windows.

She was peeling garlic, her hands moving with memory. "Do I think what is real?"

"Their attention, the way they treat me now."

She paused, then resumed peeling. "Men like that don't change overnight and attention from the powerful is never without a cost."

I nodded slowly. "But what if one of them meant it? What if..."

My voice faded.

Because I didn't know what I was asking, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hear her answer.

She set the garlic aside and turned to me, her eyes sharp with wisdom forged in silence and years of watching from behind doors.

"Camilla, you were not born to be a pawn. Do not let them play you."

I didn't reply.

But I didn't forget those words.

The following week, Damian invited me to a private strategy session.

Only the two of us.

It was odd and unprecedented. He was always surrounded by executives and analysts. But this time, he closed the door, offered me tea and asked for my thoughts on a potential market expansion into Paris.

I gave him my notes, cautious.

He nodded along, genuinely engaged.

"I think you have potential," he said after a moment. "Have you ever considered doing more than this?"

"This?"

He gestured vaguely. "Secretarial work. Taking notes for men who talk too much."

I stared at him. "It pays the bills." I'm okay with that.

He leaned forward, something shifting in his eyes. "What if I told you it doesn't have to end here?"

I didn't respond. I couldn't, because part of me wanted to believe him and the other part wanted to run.

The next day, Daniel asked me out for lunch.

"I know a place," he said. "No cameras, just pasta and conversation."

"I'm not sure it's appropriate," I murmured.

He smirked. "Since when did we start living by rules?"

That made me pause.

Because deep down, I was tired of rules. Of limits, of pretending I didn't want more.

So I agreed.

We sat in a quiet trattoria behind a bookstore. He ordered my food for me, remembered I liked sparkling water, and asked me about my favorite movies.

He told me about boarding school, the pressure of living under Antonio's world, and how he envied people who lived simply.

"I know it sounds stupid," he said, sipping his wine, "but I sometimes wish I was just a bartender in a beach town somewhere."

I smiled, amused. "You'd last a week."

"Maybe, but I'd try."

He reached across the table, touched my fingers lightly. "You make this world less cold, Camilla."

I didn't pull my hand away, but I didn't offer the warmth he was looking for either.

Because the warmth I once had-the belief that kindness always meant truth-had already been burned.

The whispers in the office grew louder.

People noticed.

The receptionist started greeting me with a new tone. Someone called me "Miss De-Rosie" once by accident-or maybe not.

And one day, as I stepped into the elevator, I heard two assistants murmuring behind me.

"She's the one," one said. "She'll marry one of them. You'll see."

"Which one?"

"I don't know. Maybe both."

I said nothing.

But my heart pounded.

Because I still didn't know the answer myself.

That Friday, I stayed late. Most of the building had emptied, the city outside soft with dusk and distant horns.

I was reviewing documents when I felt a presence behind me.

I turned.

Damian.

He stood quietly, no smile, no suit jacket. Just the distant scent of his cologne and the look of someone thinking too much.

"I thought you'd gone," I said.

"So did I."

He approached slowly. "You should be careful, Camilla."

I blinked. "About what?"

"About being seen."

His voice was low, almost tender.

"I'm not doing anything wrong," I said.

"You're not. But people twist what they don't understand. You're becoming a target,. Not just of rumors, but of strategy."

I held his gaze. "Are you warning me... or yourself?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and placed a small box on my desk.

I looked at it. "What is it?"

"A key."

I opened it slowly.

It was a silver key on a velvet cushion.

"To what?"

He met my eyes. "To something I want you to build, a space of your own or a company under your name. If you want it."

I stared at him, stunned.

He stepped back. "Think about it."

Then he left.

Just like that.

And I sat there in the silence, surrounded by the ghosts of power, of old money, of legacy-and of two brothers who suddenly saw me.

Not as a servant.

Not as a secretary.

But as something else entirely.

A possibility.

A threat.

A crown.

And in that moment, I realized the real game hadn't even started yet.