Chapter Text
At the illustrious Arcadia Grand, a five-star hotel perched atop a cliff with panoramic views of the city of Los Angeles. Beneath the obsidian canopy of the night sky, the hotel's sprawling terrace glittered with rich night life. The event had transformed the space into a haven of opulence, where soft amber lighting from wrought-iron sconces blended seamlessly with the silvery glow of the moon. A string quartet played Schubert's "Allegro ma non troppo" from his No. 13 in A Minor, their music weaving a delicate and complex web of emotion that danced through the cool night air.
The terrace opened onto a luxurious infinity pool, its surface a mirror reflecting the constellations above. Subtle ripples also caught the light from overhead chandeliers strung on suspended cables. Around the pool, oversized urns brimming with white orchids and cascading ivy stood as something beautiful yet silent testament of the event’s extravagance. 
Guests mingled, a parade of couture fashion with glittering gowns of silk and tailored suits adorned the city’s elite, their laughter and murmured conversations a counterpoint to the music. Waitstaff wearing crisp, white gloves glided seamlessly between them, balancing trays of crystalline champagne flutes and canapés that looked too beautiful to eat.
At the far end of the terrace, a bar crafted from illuminated onyx stood as a centerpiece. The bartender stood behind the crafted bar shaking and stirring drinks with a subtle rhythmic grace about him. 
The cocktails, adorned with edible flowers or glinting flecks of gold leaf, became conversational icebreakers in their own right.
Beyond the terrace, manicured gardens stretched into the horizon, their paths lit by lanterns that flickered like fireflies. The scent of jasmine wafted from the hedgerows, mingling with the briny tang of the ocean breeze. Alongside the gardens, a cigar lounge offered a quieter escape, where leather armchairs and low tables were nestled beneath a canopy of trees strung with fairy lights.
As the shimmering music of Schubert swirled through the air, forty-two year old Leonardo Andrea Andolini, Founder and CEO of ImperialReach Telecom, dressed in his custom-tailored suit, moved through the crowd with surprising grace for someone his size. At 7'2½" and 670 pounds, he was an unmistakable presence, his towering frame carving an almost unreal silhouette against the backdrop of glittering lights and refined elegance. The sea of guests parted instinctively as he approached, their chatter faltering into hushed whispers, their gazes snapping to him.
Leonardo wore a custom three-piece suit of midnight black, tailored to perfection to accommodate his massive proportions. The fabric stretched taut over a chest as broad as a barrel, the jacket expertly cut to frame his very broad shoulders. His tie was a deep crimson that made his attire stand out among the crowd. His long, midnight black hair, brushed back yet slightly tousled, framed his face, cascading in soft waves at his shoulders. A faintly trimmed beard traced the line of his jaw almost enhanced his facial features.
For those who had never seen him before, his appearance was nothing short of shocking. One such woman in a sequined dress clutched her champagne flute tighter, her eyes wide as she leaned to whisper something incredulous to her companion. A man, young and full of bravado moments earlier, now stood stock-still, his confident grin faltering into awe.
The light from overhead chandeliers cast shadows across his striking features, accentuating the planes of his face from his Romanesque nose to the sharp edge of the scar on the left side of his face – a jagged scar cutting from his temple down to his jawline, fading everso slightly as it neared his cheekbone but leaving a deep, uneven ridge across his otherwise smooth skin. At one point, it caught the ambient light as he moved, adding an air of danger and mystery to his already predatory visage. Continuing his way though the people, Leonardo’s almost golden coloured eyes swept the crowd, his gaze seeming to see straight through the polished veneers of the elite.
Coming to a stop, Leonardo paused to greet a small group of influential guests, his handshake was firm yet controlled, his colossal hand enveloping theirs with an almost ceremonial precision. The newcomers struggled to compose themselves, their surprise lingering in their expressions as they exchanged pleasantries with the man.
Even among the city’s elite—individuals accustomed to excess and spectacle—Leonardo was an anomaly whose presence disrupted the expected rhythm of the evening. Yet, there was something undeniably magnetic about him, something primal in his charisma that left even the most skeptical unable to look away.
As the night unfolded, a small group of women, each dressed in their finest couture, gathered near the edge of the terrace, their voices a soft murmur against the majestic melodic lines of Schubert. They were speaking in whispers, stealing glances at the man who commanded the crowd — Leonardo Andrea Andolini.
Hippolyta Valkarion, a tall woman whose posture perfect, exuding confidence and elegance. Hippolyta’s hair is long and midnight-hued, and is styled in soft waves that cascade down her back, catching the light in delicate strands. Her face is both youthful and timeless, with high cheekbones and a delicate jawline, framed by a few loose tendrils of hair that gently caress her skin. Her eyes were a beautiful, deep and captivating shade of blue. Her full lips curve into a serene, almost regal expression, giving her the air of someone who has seen much of the world but remains calm and composed, always in control of her emotions. A true stoic woman. 
Her gown is a shimmering midnight blue silk that hugs her figure in all the right places. The bodice is intricately embroidered with silver threads of weaving patterns. The dress flows out from her waist in soft, layered tulle, giving it a soft, ethereal quality. Throughout the fabric are tiny gemstones are scattered throughout the fabric, adding a subtle sparkle as she moves through the room. The gown’s deep neckline is balanced by delicate straps that cross her shoulders, showcasing her collarbones and the soft curve of her neck.
“I’m sure you’ve all heard by now," Hippolyta’s voice rang out softly but with undeniable authority to the small group of women she was with, "but Leonardo Andolini is about to be named one of Forbes' 500 Self-Made Billionaires this year." Her words fell easily, almost casually, but there was a weight behind them. She paused for effect, letting the significance of the statement settle in the air, as her deep blue eyes glinted with intelligence and a quiet, poised confidence.
The women around her exchanged startled glances, their eyes widening as the name "Leonardo Andolini" lingered in their thoughts. Each one of them had heard the name before, but to hear it spoken by Hippolyta Valkarion herself seemed to give the announcement a new kind of weight.
One woman, a particularly ambitious entrepreneur, quickly recovered her composure and asked with a touch of awe, "You mean... the telecommunications tycoon? The one who’s been making headlines everywhere?"
Hippolyta gave a subtle, knowing smile, her full lips curving gently upward. "Yes, the very same," she replied, her gaze steady and unbothered by the hushed whispers that followed.
Looking at the mountainous man across the room, a younger woman nodded in appreciation and said, “Frobes’ 500 Self-Made Billionaires, huh? Well, I’ve never been into someone that huge, but even I have to admit that he looks delicious in that suit.”
As the women continued talking about Leonardo’s Mediterranean good looks, which of course were in no way connected to his fame and wealth, another person had just joined the party.
Emily Taft, exudes a different kind of power at the same elite party, while shorter in stature than Hippolyta, Emily’s presence is far more commanding, radiating authority, influence, and a deeper sense of control over the room.
She made sure that every movement was purposeful and deliberate. Her hair is strawberry-blond, cut into a sleek, chin-length bob that frames her face beautifully. The soft waves in her hair gave her appearance a polished, sophisticated look, while the subtle color contrasts elegantly against her fair skin. Her face, though less youthful than Hippolyta's, holds a quiet, ageless beauty. Her features are understated yet alluring; however, her eyes are her most captivating feature. Emily’s eyes, a deep shade of green, are observant and quite calculating, gleaming with intelligence and sharpness. Her gaze is sharp, often locking onto people as if she can read their thoughts with a single glance, giving her an air of someone who is always in control of a situation.
Emily's gown is less ethereal than Hippolyta’s, but it carries a refined, almost utilitarian elegance. She wears a tailored, form-fitting dress made of deep crimson velvet, with a high collar and long sleeves. The fabric clings yet compliments her body. The gown has subtle yet striking details: fine silver threading at the cuffs, and a discreet, almost imperceptible pattern along the hem that adds texture and depth without overwhelming the elegant design.
Around her neck, she wears a diamond pendant, a family heirloom that glimmers with an otherworldly brilliance. The pendant's design is reminiscent of a silver serpent wrapped around an emerald crystal. 
While she may not possess the exquisite, mesmerizing beauty of Hippolyta, Emily Taft’s presence is undeniable. She commands respect through her poised and calculated presence. The room respects her, but they also understand that crossing her would come with consequences.
As she moves through the gathering, akin to Leonardo’s presence, people part in her wake.
Mingling with the some of the other guests, Emily’s conversation is fluid and engaging: her laughter, light and melodic, is rare but infectious, and when she speaks, it’s with the voice of someone who has mastered the art of diplomacy over many years.
At some point though, her gaze had settled on Hippolyta across the terrace, standing among a group of women who seemed captivated by her every word. Emily’s lips curled into a subtle smile—not one of warmth, but one of intrigue. Excusing herself with an almost imperceptible nod to the financiers, she turned and began making her way toward the group.
As Emily approached, her movements were unhurried but deliberate, cutting through the throng of glittering gowns and tailored suits with ease. Guests instinctively stepped aside as if sensing the gravity of her presence. The air around her seemed to shift, the hum of conversation softening as her path became clear. By the time she reached Hippolyta and the others, her arrival had already drawn their attention.
Hippolyta turned first, her calm blue eyes meeting Emily’s calculating green ones. For a moment, the two women regarded one another in silence, the stark contrast between them impossible to ignore. Where Hippolyta exudes elegance, Emily embodied authority.
The group of women parted slightly to make room for Emilu, their conversations momentarily forgotten. “Hippolyta,” Emily began, her voice smooth and composed. “It seems I’ve interrupted something intriguing.”
Hippolyta’s lips curved into a polite smile, her posture as graceful as ever. “Emily,” she replied, her tone light but unwavering. “Not at all. We were just discussing… remarkable men and their accomplishments.”
Emily’s smile widened just enough to reveal a glint of amusement. “Ah, Leonardo Andolini, I presume,” she said, her voice laced with subtle irony. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the other women, gauging their reactions, before returning to Hippolyta. “He’s certainly a topic worth exploring. From his business accomplishments to his personal life.”
“What personal life?” a woman in the group said, swirling her martini glass, “Rumor has it that he never lets the women he dates touch him.” Her tone was half intrigued, half skeptical, as though daring anyone to confirm the mystery surrounding Leonardo Andolini. She sipped her drink, narrowing her eyes as if trying to deduce her own statement. “Does he… prefer men?”
The question hung in the air, a ripple of uncertainty passing through the group. Emily, however, didn’t miss a beat. Her posture remained upright and unyielding, her back straight and shoulders squared. Her lips curved into a knowing smile, one that hinted at secrets she held close, secrets these women could only speculate about.
“I’ve thought about that too,” Emily said, her voice smooth and measured, yet edged with a hint of mischief. She glanced briefly at the woman who had posed the question before shifting her gaze to the others. “But no,” she continued, her tone confident, dismissing the notion with an almost playful certainty.
Her smile deepened, and she paused for effect, letting the suspense build. She shifted her weight slightly, the subtle movement drawing the group’s attention even closer. “The truth is,” Emily began, her voice dropping just enough to make them lean in, “I’ve been seeing him lately… if you could call it that.”
A collective intake of breath swept through the group, their curiosity piqued to the breaking point. Emily’s eyelids fluttered briefly, her expression momentarily softening before her lips pursed, her demeanor both coy and compelling. “And yes,” she added, with deliberate slowness, “he won’t let me touch him.”
The confession landed like a spark in dry tinder, igniting a wave of murmurs and exchanged glances. Emily’s smile remained, enigmatic and unshaken, as she reveled in the attention her statement had drawn. She raised her own glass to her lips, taking a measured sip of champagne, her eyes watching the group over the rim as though daring them to ask more.
Another woman with auburn coloured hair ventured cautiously, “Why do you think that is?”
Emily set her glass down with a faint clink on the bar table behind them, her gaze sweeping the circle again before resting briefly on Hippolyta, as though testing her reaction. “Ah, now that ,” Emily said, her voice tinged with amusement, “is the question, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s a matter of control. Or…” She let her voice trail off, her smile deepening as though she relished leaving them in suspense.
Hippolyta’s blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her calm smile unwavering but her interest clearly piqued. Emily’s calculated performance had captured the group, but Hippolyta, as always, remained an unreadable force of composure.
“No. I’ll just say this,” Emily concluded, leaning back slightly but still commanding the space around her. “Leonardo Andolini is a man of many layers, and not all of them are meant to be peeled back by just anybody.”
The group fell into contemplative silence, the enigmatic aura of Leonardo deepened by Emily’s revelations. Around them, the party continued, the quartet playing on, but here in this small cluster, the intrigue surrounding one man—and the woman who claimed to know him—held the floor.
Away from them, Leonardo's towering frame loomed above the group of tycoons, but his thoughts were far from their conversation. The laughter and clinking of glasses around him felt distant, muffled beneath the weight of his swirling mind. Evelyn Freeman's words from the evening before echoed relentlessly, each syllable carving deeper into his thoughts.
Without a word, he excused himself from the group, his departure as seamless and commanding as his presence had been. He moved past Emily, Hippolyta, and the circle of women without so much as a glance in their direction, his focus turned inward. Emily’s eyes tracked him, her lips tightening ever so slightly at his complete and utter disregard of her presence, though she kept her outward composure.
Leonardo reached an unoccupied couch tucked in a quieter corner of the party. With deliberate care, he lowered his massive frame onto the seat, the sofa groaning loudly in protest as his weight nestled into it. The sound briefly turned a few heads, but Leonardo paid no mind, settling in with an air of quiet preoccupation. He leaned back with one hand coming up to support his face. His thick brow furrowed deeply, and his eyes stared into the distance, unfocused.
His thick long legs crossed, and his long thick fingers traced the sharp line of his scar as he murmured a single word: “Why?”
Seeing her opportunity, Emily leaves her circle of admirers without explanation and with quiet grace, she approaches the quiet corner where the enormous man sat, her heels clicking softly against the tile floor, and seated herself beside him.
Leonardo didn’t even notice. His gaze remained fixed somewhere far beyond the glittering party, his thoughts locked in the moment Evelyn’s surprise announcement shattered his carefully ordered world. The cool detachment he prided himself on had cracked in that instant, leaving him exposed in a way he could not reconcile.
Emily adjusted herself on the couch, her tailored dress smooth against the cushions, and leaned slightly toward him. “Hey,” she ventured softly, her voice warm yet probing. “‘Why’ what?”
Leonardo’s head turned slightly, his expression stoic and unreadable. He inhaled deeply, the rise and fall of his chest was slow. When he finally spoke, his voice was even, though it carried a faint tone of disbelief beneath its surface. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with Secretary Freeman.”
Emily blinked, her unflappable confidence faltering for a moment. Shock flickered across the landscape of her face, her lips parting as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. Then confusion crept in, her perfectly arched brows knitting together as she tried to process his words. Secretary Freeman? Of all things, that’s what consumed his thoughts tonight ?, she thought in shock.
Her expression hardened just slightly, giving way to a flicker of annoyance. Her gaze flicked over his face, searching for some sign he was joking, but his stoic demeanor left no room for doubt. She leaned back against the couch, crossing her legs, her body language subtly shifting to a more closed stance.
For a moment, Emily simply studied him, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The glamorous party, the elaborate gowns, the admiring glances from nearly every woman in the room—none of it seemed to register with him. Instead, he sat there, consumed by some mystery involving his personal assistant.
She smoothed her dress over her lap, her voice quiet but with an edge she couldn’t entirely hide. “Evelyn Freeman,” she repeated, as though tasting the words. “That’s what’s on your mind?”
Leonardo didn’t respond immediately, his distant gaze unwavering. Emily exhaled softly, her lips pressing into a thin line as she tilted her head back to compose herself. She had expected many things tonight—but this wasn’t one of them.
...:TBC:...