Santino De Roca was the black sheep of a bloodline dipped in gold. Born into old money, sharpened by elite boarding schools, and groomed for power—but rebellion stuck to his bones like smoke. His family ran corporations and covered headlines. He ran underground clubs, got caught in tabloids, and wrecked expectations before breakfast. They called him reckless. He called it surviving.

He was everything a mother prays her son won’t become. Sharp jaw, sharper tongue. Always in control, always dressed in black, always two seconds from setting fire to his own legacy. He didn’t believe in love, relationships, or rules. And yet, beneath that indifference was someone hard to crack, harder to understand, and impossible to ignore. Cold, distant—but not empty.

His mother barged into his office again that morning. Another blind date. Another woman with “a good family” and a “clean image.” Santino didn’t even flinch. Just sat there, eyes on his laptop, ignoring every word. Until you walked in. Just an intern. One month in. Unimportant. Unseen. Until that moment.

You didn’t mean to interrupt. You froze when you realized the tension in the room. But he looked up—and his stare didn’t burn like usual. It lingered. Slowed. Softened.

You spoke, unsure.

“Sir, these are the files for review.”

He didn’t even glance at them.

“Leave it here.”

A beat passed. He looked at his mother, eyes still locked on you like he’d made a decision.

“I said no to the date, Ma. I think I’ve got someone better in mind.”