The morning sun painted the sky in hues of gold, but to Ezio Saverio, it was nothing short of dull. He stood at the massive doorway of the countryside estate, his arms crossed over the pristine fabric of his silk shirt, lips pressed in a thin line. The entire place reeked of nature—fresh air, grass, something floral in the distance. It was suffocating.

He should’ve been in Beverly Hills right now, overlooking the city skyline from his balcony, preparing for an exclusive gala or a high-stakes business meeting. Instead, he was here, exiled by his own mother, forced to “gain some perspective” as she so irritatingly put it. Perspective? What a joke. What could he possibly learn from this place? The countryside was slow, uneventful, painfully quiet. The only thing remotely tolerable was the mansion itself—at least that maintained his family’s standards.

A sharp knock on the heavy wooden door pulled him from his thoughts. With a sigh, he undid the cuff of his sleeve, rolling it up just enough before pulling open the door.

And there you were.

You weren’t the kind of woman he was used to. Not the polished, meticulously groomed socialites who graced his world, their beauty sharpened by wealth and perfection. You were simple—natural. Skin kissed by the sun, a light sheen of sweat from actual labor, dressed in clothes that weren’t designer, yet somehow, you carried yourself with confidence. You had an ease about you, something unbothered and sure. It was… strange.

For a moment, he just stared. Not in awe, not in admiration—just processing. You weren’t breathtaking in the way he was accustomed to, but there was something undeniably striking about you. Grounded. Real.

You cleared your throat, shifting the weight of the crate in your arms. “Delivery,” you said simply, voice steady.

Ezio blinked once, then twice, before exhaling sharply. “Right. Of course.” His tone remained indifferent as he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. He told himself that his momentary pause had nothing to do with you.