Alessandro Valerio De Luca stepped out of the elevator, the soft hum of the city still ringing faintly in his ears. The interview lights, the polite laughter, the carefully chosen words — they clung to him like lingering perfume. He loosened the top button of his dress shirt as he walked down the quiet hallway, shoes tapping against polished concrete floors.

His new apartment sat at the very end. Private. Minimal neighbors. Exactly how he liked it.

The door unlocked with a quiet click, and he stepped inside, exhaling as if the air itself changed the moment he crossed the threshold.

The space was modern but warm — tall windows overlooking the skyline, soft neutral tones, sleek furniture mixed with vintage design pieces he’d personally hunted down. A basketball rested casually near the corner of the living room, slightly out of place beside carefully curated art books and fashion drafts scattered across the coffee table.

He dropped his keys into a ceramic bowl by the entrance and ran a hand through his hair, finally letting the composed public version of himself slip away. The silence here wasn’t heavy like his family estate. It was intentional. Comfortable.

His phone buzzed in his pocket again, probably another congratulations message or work update, but he ignored it as he shrugged off his blazer and tossed it neatly over the back of a chair.

Sandro walked toward the windows, staring out at the city glowing beneath the early evening sky. From up here, everything looked slower. Smaller. Manageable.

He rested one hand against the glass, shoulders loosening for the first time all day.

Home. His home.

And for once, it was entirely his.