The soft bustle of the airport filled my ears as I sat at the boarding gate, Isla by my side.

"I'm going to miss you," Isla said, her voice tinged with sadness.

I gave a small nod. "Me too. But I need to find my happiness, Isla. Staying here is suffocating, and you know it."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "God, I just wish you'd find a man who truly loves you. Michele is a bastard. If not for him, you'd be living just fine here."

I chuckled and shook my head. "Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it? I’ll be fine, Isla. And I’ll call you—always."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

We hooked our pinky fingers together, sealing our vow.

A few minutes later, my flight was announced. I picked up my bag and walked toward the boarding gate without looking back.

The flight was long, but I hardly noticed. Anticipation and anxiety curled around me, keeping me wide awake. I was going to a place where I knew no one, all because I wanted to escape the life I had left behind in New York.

When the plane landed, I quickly exited, hailed a taxi, and gave the address of a five-star hotel I had found online.

Upon arrival, I stepped out, took a deep breath, and walked inside, approaching the receptionist's desk.

"Buongiorno, welcome to Casa Firenze," the receptionist greeted with a warm smile. "How may I assist you?"

"A room for the night, please," I said softly.

She tapped a few keys on the computer before retrieving a room key. Just as she was about to hand it over, a man approached us. The receptionist nodded in acknowledgment, and I immediately sensed that he was someone important.

Curious, I turned—and my breath caught in my throat.

The man was strikingly handsome, with dark, neatly styled hair, piercing eyes, and an effortless confidence about him.

"Hello," he greeted smoothly, his voice deep and rich.

I blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Uh… hello." I offered a small smile.

"What’s your name?" he asked, his gaze steady and unwavering.

"Ella," I replied, suddenly hyper-aware of how intensely he was looking at me.

"Luca. You’re stunning," he said without hesitation.

I felt warmth rise to my cheeks. "I doubt anyone could be stunning in just a sundress," I said with a small chuckle, trying to mask my embarrassment.

"Not anyone—just you," he replied, clearly amused by my reaction.

My blush deepened, and he chuckled, clearly enjoying my flustered state.

"New to Italy?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Yes," I admitted, wondering how he had noticed so quickly.

"Welcome to Italy, then, Ella." He extended his hand, and when I placed mine in his, he brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the back of my palm before walking away.

I cleared my throat, willing myself to shake off the unexpected encounter. Turning back to the receptionist, I took my key and headed upstairs to my room.

After a long shower, I slipped into something comfortable and stretched out on the bed, scrolling absentmindedly through social media.

That was when a headline caught my eye.

Michele Ricci’s Business on the Brink of Bankruptcy—Investors Pull Out.

I sat up immediately. My breath hitched, my heart pounding as I skimmed through the article. The hackers had done it.

Michele—the man who had broken my heart, lied to me, and used me—was finally facing consequences.

His once-thriving business empire was crumbling. Investors were pulling out. And I knew, deep down, that my father was likely among them. I had told him everything. I had made sure he knew what Michele and Clare had done.

A small, satisfied smile curled my lips. For the first time in weeks, I felt truly happy.

Exhaling, I set my phone aside. Revenge had come naturally, but now I had to focus on myself. I needed a job. I couldn’t just rely on my savings without making more.

Pulling out my laptop, I began scrolling through job listings—companies, hotels, restaurants, anything that needed extra workers.

Then, my eyes widened.

Casa Firenze—the very hotel I was staying in—was hiring a receptionist.

Without hesitation, I clicked on the listing, quickly filling out the application. Moments after submitting it, an email arrived in my inbox.

I had to complete the application in person.

Leaning back, I wondered when I should go. Their headquarters was right here, in the hotel itself.

Setting an alarm for 7 a.m., I closed my laptop. After a quiet dinner, exhaustion finally took over, and I succumbed to sleep—one step closer to starting over.

Finding out that Casa Firenze, this grand hotel, was in need of more receptionists was a shock. Finding out that the CEO of the hotel was Luca—the gorgeous man I'd met yesterday—was something else entirely.

Luca stared at me with a dangerous smirk, as though he'd anticipated my arrival. He must have. I'd told him my name, and now, I didn't even know what to say.

"Surprised?" he chuckled.

I slowly nodded. "I can't say that I'm not," I admitted.

He nodded in return. "You should sit. Let's begin." He gestured to the chair opposite him, and I sat down. He clicked on his computer, probably pulling up my résumé.

"Ms. Ella." His voice was devoid of amusement now—this was business. "Why do you want to work as a receptionist at Casa Firenze?"

I thought about the question. If I was being honest, being a receptionist had never been my dream. I wanted to own a spa and a beautiful unisex boutique, but neither of those ideas was within reach right now.

"Well..." I started, unsure of how to answer. "I'm a people person, always drawn to hospitality. I enjoy working with others and making them happy." Even if it was at the expense of my own happiness. "I'm kind, too, and I have soft facial features."

He chuckled at my last sentence, and I offered a small smile.

"But you do know that being a receptionist isn't just about smiling and making people happy, right?" he said. "It requires multitasking. Have you ever handled a difficult customer before?"

I hesitated. I’d never handled a customer before. Even before marriage, I had always been an indoor woman, and after marriage, Michele had only wanted a housewife—not a worker.

"No," I admitted. "But I’d know how to. Handling a difficult customer isn’t about being difficult yourself. You listen, apologize for whatever minor inconvenience they’re upset about, and then offer a solution. You be the bigger person."

Luca’s eyes twinkled with approval. "Lovely answer, especially considering you haven’t done this before." He leaned back. "What would you do if a guest arrived without a reservation, and we were fully booked?"

I considered the situation carefully. "I'd empathize with them, acknowledge their frustration, and then try to help. First, I'd check for any last-minute cancellations. If there were none, I’d suggest a nearby hotel or even assist them in making a reservation elsewhere."

Luca nodded, seemingly impressed. He asked a few more questions, which I answered confidently. When he inquired about my preferred shift, I told him I was open to both. I didn't have another job, and the last thing I needed was to be stuck at home. Eventually, he decided I would alternate shifts.

And at the end of the day, I’d secured a job as a hotel receptionist.

---

A few days later, I found myself behind the sleek brown desk, working the night shift. I had started immediately and had already made a few friends. The other female receptionists were lovely and kind.

I sat down, exhausted from dealing with both difficult and easygoing guests. Being a hotel receptionist wasn’t easy, but it was fun. It kept my mind occupied and gave me the chance to observe people. Italy as a whole was beautiful, and I'd purchased a cozy bungalow in a quiet neighborhood.

I was living my best life.

But something told me it wouldn’t last.

"Hello?"

The deep voice pulled me out of my reverie, and I immediately sat up.

"Buongiorno, welcome to Casa Firenze," I greeted with a warm smile. I’d even learned the Italian way of welcoming guests.

"A room for the night, please," he said.

I worked quickly on the laptop, searching for an available room. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the man adjusting the camera strap around his neck and rummaging through his bag.

"Cash or card?" I asked.

He handed me his card but suddenly pulled it back before I could take it.

"You're Michele Ricci’s wife?!" His voice was loud, and my smile instantly vanished.

Jessica, my neighbor, had just walked back to the desk and witnessed the exchange. She looked at me, confused.

"Are you paying with your card?" I asked, dismissing his comment and praying he wasn’t a paparazzo. Not many people knew me, but I had attended galas and events with Michele. Only the press would have recognized me.

"Why are you in Italy? Have you and Michele divorced?" He leaned over the desk, his curiosity turning aggressive.

I instinctively leaned back, startled by his invasive behavior.

"Excuse me, sir, but if you’re not here to check in, please leave." My voice was steady, but my hands trembled beneath the desk.

"I should take a picture," he muttered, raising his camera.

Before he could press the shutter, a burly security guard appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the camera, and smashed it onto the floor. The man let out a loud cry, mourning the loss of his device. The guard then seized him by the arm and dragged him away.

I exhaled sharply, finally able to breathe again.

"Are you okay?" Jessica asked, concern etched on her face.

I mustered a small smile. "I'm fine. Thank you." I shook my head. "Paparazzi… always digging into things that don’t concern them."

"Right? I hate them so much." Jessica’s expression darkened, shifting from concern to something bitter and sad. "Because of them... I..."

Without thinking, I pulled her into a hug.

"It's okay," I whispered. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I sensed that she just needed to hear those words.

---

After my shift ended at midnight, I changed back into my dress and left the hotel. I hadn’t seen or heard from Luca all day. He was probably busy.

I walked through the pedestrian area, waiting for a taxi when suddenly—

The man from earlier appeared.

"Because of you, I lost my camera!" he yelled.

The road was mostly empty, with only a few cars passing by. I was a fair distance from the hotel now, and the realization sent a chill down my spine.

He bent down, grabbed a stone, and was about to strike me when a strong hand snatched his wrist and shoved him back.

It was Luca.

Luca stepped on his feet and pressed in, hearing the man's roar. "You're lucky you didn't dare to touch her, or else you would have walked out of here a corpse "

I gasped—I had never seen this side of Luca before.

He released the man, his expression unreadable as he turned to me. Then, without hesitation, he seized my wrist and led me to his car.

I had just watched him threaten a man’s life—yet I felt no fear.

Or maybe that was because my gut told me something far worse was coming.

Soon.