The first day in Luca Moretti's mansion felt like walking on glass. Everything was beautiful, yet so still that even the sound of a spoon tapping a pot echoed like thunder.
Amara arrived in the kitchen at 8 a.m., dressed in her clean white chef coat, her hair tied neatly in a bun. Maria and Enzo were already there, quietly prepping ingredients. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air, but underneath it was a strange tension — a kind of unspoken rule that everyone understood but never mentioned.
"Morning," Amara said cheerfully.
Maria smiled softly. "Morning, dear. You're early. That's good."
Enzo gave her a quick nod, focused on chopping vegetables with precise movements.
Amara started organizing her workstation, trying to get familiar with the rhythm of the kitchen. The utensils were arranged perfectly, the knives gleaming like mirrors. Everything was spotless — almost unnaturally so.
She began with breakfast. Luca hadn't requested anything specific, so she decided to go with something simple yet refined: a cheese omelet with herbs, buttered toast, and freshly squeezed orange juice.
By the time the clock struck nine, she plated the meal and arranged it neatly on a silver tray.
"Maria, where should I take this?" she asked.
"Mr. Moretti prefers breakfast on the terrace. Enzo will show you."
Amara followed Enzo through the long hallway. The mansion's silence made her footsteps sound too loud. When they stepped onto the terrace, the morning light bathed everything in gold. Beyond the balcony stretched a breathtaking view of the hills, the ocean glimmering faintly in the distance.
Luca sat at the far end of the table, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. His posture was straight, his expression unreadable.
Enzo quietly stepped back, leaving Amara alone with him.
"Good morning," she greeted, placing the tray in front of him.
He folded his newspaper slowly and looked up at her. His eyes were dark — not just in color, but in depth.
"You made this?"
"Yes. I thought we could start with something light."
He studied the plate before taking a bite. His movements were deliberate, almost calculated. For a moment, she wasn't sure if he liked it or hated it.
Then he said, "Perfect."
Amara blinked. "Thank you."
He didn't look at her again, just went back to reading. But she caught the faintest curve of his lips — a ghost of approval that felt oddly satisfying.
She turned to leave, but he spoke again.
"Miss Cole."
She paused. "Yes?"
He didn't look up this time. "You didn't flinch."
Her brow furrowed. "Flinch?"
"Most people do," he said simply. "When they meet me."
Amara hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Maybe I just don't scare easily."
That earned her a quiet, amused hum. "We'll see."
She walked back to the kitchen, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn't explain.
By noon, she was completely absorbed in preparing lunch — roasted lamb with rosemary, garlic mashed potatoes, and a light salad. Cooking helped her relax; it was the only place where she felt fully in control.
But as she plated the meal, she noticed Maria glancing toward the security cameras at the corner of the kitchen.
"What's wrong?" Amara asked.
Maria lowered her voice. "Just… always be careful. Mr. Moretti watches everything."
Amara frowned. "Watches? You mean through the cameras?"
Maria gave a small nod. "He trusts no one. So he watches."
That thought unsettled Amara. But when she looked up at the camera, instead of fear, a spark of curiosity lit inside her.
Why would a man with so much power feel the need to monitor everyone around him? What was he afraid of losing?
Later that evening, Luca came down to the kitchen unannounced. His presence filled the space immediately. The staff went quiet, stepping aside as he walked in.
"Dinner smells good," he said. His gaze landed on Amara. "What is it tonight?"
"Grilled salmon with lemon butter," she replied, keeping her tone calm even though her pulse quickened.
He nodded approvingly. "I see you take your work seriously."
"It's the only way I know how."
He studied her again — not with suspicion this time, but with interest. "Most people here don't talk to me like that."
"Maybe they should," she said before she could stop herself.
Luca's lips twitched in what might have been the start of a smile. "You're brave, Miss Cole."
"Or foolish," she replied, trying to sound light.
"Sometimes they're the same thing," he said quietly, before walking out.
As the door closed behind him, Maria whispered, "You should be careful how you speak to him."
Amara smiled faintly. "I wasn't being rude."
"No," Maria said softly. "But around here, even kindness can be dangerous."
Amara didn't respond. She just looked at the door where Luca had gone and wondered why she suddenly wanted to see him again.