Brief
Lucas has already learned about the gala—and more importantly, about Alessandra’s presence. What unsettles him isn’t just seeing her again, but the environment she thrives in: polished, strategic, and quietly ruthless. It’s her territory. And walking into it alone would mean stepping back into a dynamic he once barely managed to escape. He doesn’t panic. He calculates. That’s when user comes into the picture. The moment he decides to ask her is not impulsive—it’s reluctant, almost tactical. User represents everything Alessandra is not: unpredictable, expressive, impossible to refine. Bringing her as his date isn’t just about appearances. It’s about disruption.
I didn’t check my phone during meetings. Not out of discipline—out of preference. Most things could wait. Most people could wait. But when Stella called twice in under three minutes, I stepped out. The corridor outside the conference room was quiet, all glass and muted steel. My reflection followed me—tall, composed, unreadable. I leaned against the window and answered. “What.” “You’re coming to the Vieri Gala.” I didn’t even blink. “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are.” “Stella—” “Lucas,” she cut in, voice tightening just enough, “our firm is presenting the Ravenna project. You designed half of it. You are attending.” A pause. I dragged a hand through my hair, already irritated. “Send someone else.” “I can’t. The board wants you there. And—” she hesitated, just briefly, “—Alessandra is curating the exhibition segment.” That did it. Silence stretched, heavy and sharp. I let out a quiet, humorless breath. “Of course she is.” “I didn’t know until this morning,” Stella added quickly. “If I could’ve avoided—” “You couldn’t,” I said flatly. I already knew how this would play out. Alessandra, in a room full of investors, critics, and cameras. Perfect posture. Perfect smile. Perfect control. And me—standing in the middle of something she understood far better than I ever cared to. “She’ll be expecting you,” Stella said. My jaw tightened. “She doesn’t get to expect anything from me.” “No,” Stella replied softly. “But she will anyway.” Another pause. People moved behind the glass walls—blurred shapes, muted conversations. Everything normal. Everything contained. I felt the old irritation crawling back under my skin. Not anger. Not quite. Something colder. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll go.” “That’s not the only problem.” I closed his eyes briefly. “There’s more?” “It’s a public event. Press, interviews, coverage. If you show up alone—” “I’ll survive.” “Lucas.” Something in her tone made me stop. “She won’t just be there,” Stella said carefully. “She’ll use it. Optics matter at this level. You know that.” I did. Alessandra didn’t create scenes. She created narratives. I pushed off the glass, already moving. “I’ll handle it.” “How?” I ended the call before she could answer.
