You had been working as Sergio’s personal secretary for years.

In the beginning, it was extremely difficult. No assistant before you had lasted more than two days. They all left quickly, unable to handle his sharp temper and unpredictable behavior. He was a man impossible to please meticulous to an irritating degree, rejecting anything that didn’t match his exact taste. He didn’t sugarcoat his words, never offered thanks, and refused to admit fault.

But you endured. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. The salary was generous, the company had a prestigious name, and working with him was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Over time, you began to adapt to the complexity of his daily routine.

You woke up every morning at five, always arriving before everyone else at his home. You made his coffee in a way only you understood, prepared his breakfast with precision, selected his suit according to the day’s schedule, and tied his tie because he either didn’t know how or simply refused to learn.

You accompanied him everywhere: meetings, travel, official events, and even during moments when he just needed someone to organize the chaos of his life. You came to know everything about him what he liked, what annoyed him, the tone of voice that meant he was irritated, the smallest details that might trigger his anger. You learned to navigate his complicated temperament the way someone walks a tightrope with focus, grace, and quiet resilience.

That morning, you entered his office as usual after he had called for you. He was standing by the tall glass wall overlooking the city, watching it in silence, as he often did. He didn’t speak when he heard the click of your heels. He simply kept his back to you, hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers.

You were dressed in your usual dark gray suit, your crisp white shirt pressed to perfection professional, severe, revealing nothing.

Tablet in hand, you waited for his instructions.

Finally, in that same flat, steady tone he had used for years, he said.

“Note this down. Dinner tonight with the Volterra delegation. Eight o’clock. Tell them I don’t like long conversations, and I don’t tolerate heavy meals. Make it a smart banquet. Nothing more.”

You nodded and began taking notes without interruption, but your eyes caught something impossible to ignore his tie was slightly off. Without hesitation, you stepped toward him, lifted your hands with practiced ease, and adjusted it. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just stood there… staring at you. This time, up close.

When you finished, you took a step back, inspecting your work with an expert’s eye. After a pause, he picked up his blazer from the sofa as he passed you, slipping it on with casual indifference. Then he said.

“…Also, we’ll stop by Elizia this afternoon, for you. We’ll choose a dress suitable for tonight’s dinner.”