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Order had a way of making people feel at ease. There was a comfort in crafting a life where every detail was carefully placed, every step predictable yet meaningful. Some claimed that those who embraced routine must live dull, unremarkable lives—that structure and control were a cage.

But that was wrong.

Order didn't mean confinement; it meant peace. And that belief shaped Valentina Salvatore's life.

She had always understood the power of structure, even as a child.

Her parents had played a significant role in shaping her, molding her into the woman she was today, but she would never give them all the credit.

She had grown up around strong women in her family, and she was proud of it—proud of them.

Women who were not just powerful but warm, determined, and endlessly capable.

They carried themselves with grace and resilience, knowing when to be soft and when to be unyielding.

Their presence had been a quiet force in her life, influencing her without demand, showing her what strength could look like in all its forms. But even with their influence, Valentina had worked tirelessly for what she had.

She was intelligent, perceptive, and confident enough to recognize that she had done a remarkable job in nearly every aspect of her life.

Her success wasn't just inherited—it was earned.

She wasn't the type of person to care how people viewed her, but there was a certain satisfaction in seeing the visible respect others held for her. She wasn't a narcissist—she simply knew her worth.

Her parents, both architects, had built a legacy of their own, but neither she nor her younger sister had been pressured to take over their company.

The choice had always been hers. Valentina had simply admired spaces from a young age.

Most people saw beauty in buildings, homes, and offices, but few truly appreciated the details the way she did.

The interplay of structure and design fascinated her, and the final touch—interior decorating—was what sealed the perfection of a space.

Architecture wasn't just a career for her; it was an essential part of her existence.

And when adulthood arrived, she found that loving the job she did brought an unparalleled peace to her life.

Morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse.

Valentina stood near the glass, her black lacy satin robe draped effortlessly over her frame.

She cradled the cup in her hands, fingers resting lightly against the smooth porcelain, the rising tendrils of steam curling toward her face.

Black coffee-strong, unadulterated. The way she preferred it.

Of course, her life wasn't without its complications.

Work could be demanding, and exhaustion often settled deep in her bones after long days spent negotiating, creating, and managing expectations.

But overall, she was content. She kept her circle close, limited to a few trusted friends.

She found amusement in pushing her employees just enough to keep them sharp.

Clients, of course, could be irritating, but they were a necessary part of the equation.

There were also the smaller joys—helping her sister settle into her new house, enjoying a glass of wine in the evening, letting the city hum around her in quiet companionship.

She was a patient person—exceptionally so. Even if something irritated her, she had the ability to wait, to endure, without letting it show.

But if she had to name one flaw, it was how she handled the exhaustion. A long, tiring day paired with even the smallest inconvenience, and she snapped.

Not by yelling—Valentina Salvatore never raised her voice. She simply didn't need to, and she found it distasteful.

No, she was simply mean.

Sharp words, cold stares, a subtle shift in the air that made people uncomfortable. It was enough.

Stepping into her office, Valentina took in the quiet stillness of the space, the air still untouched by the rush of the workday.

She liked arriving early, being one of the first people in the building-it gave her a sense of control, a moment of solitude before the day demanded too much of her.

The faint click of her heels echoed as she crossed the room, her gaze landing on the flowers resting on her coffee table.

The blonde-haired girl's apology flickered through her mind for a second before she pushed the thought aside.

?

The day had been long. Meetings, decisions, overseeing projects, and dealing with clients who either demanded too much or knew too little.

Valentina had moved through it all with her usual sharp precision and issuing orders.

Amidst it all, she had also kept an eye on Oscar.

Not too obviously, not in a way that would raise suspicion-but enough.

Now, back in her penthouse, she had just set her phone down when the sound of the doorbell echoed through the space. With a sigh, she made her way to the door, pulling it open to reveal a shorter woman with dark ginger hair.

Amber.

They hugged warmly, Valentina's lips curling into a soft smile-a rare sight for most, but not for her.

This was one of the few people she had trusted for years, a friend who had seen her through every phase of her life.

It was easy with them—effortless, steady.

But not every kind of relationship in her life had that kind of stability.

Love was different. If she were ever to settle down, it wouldn't be for something mild or convenient.

The only love she could ever accept would be an intense one—consuming, undeniable.

But people these days shied away from that kind of love, from anything that demanded too much.

And Valentina's love? It was strong, just like her personality.

Even stronger. It wasn't meant for the faint-hearted.

She didn't just love; she consumed, body and soul, until there was nothing left but the two of them, lost in the depth of it.

Was that a problem? Maybe.

But Valentina chose not to change it. She didn't want to.

Whenever she met with women-mostly women, because they were the ones most likely to enjoy her being in charge—it was never for anything deeper.

It was for pleasure, for control, for a fleeting moment of indulgence before she returned to the life she had built, untouched by anything messy or complicated.

"You've been impossible to reach lately," the woman complained as they pulled apart, eyes narrowing in playful accusation.

Valentina only hummed in response, stepping aside to let her in. But the woman had other plans.

"No, no. You don't get to hide in here. We're going out."

Valentina arched a brow. "Now?"

"Now."

And so, not even changing out of her work clothes, Valentina found herself in an expensive, dimly lit bar—one with soft jazz playing in the background, where the air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and expensive perfume.

She leaned back in her seat, swirling the wine in her glass as her friend continued to talk, complaining about how busy Valentina had been lately. Valentina listened with amusement, offering small, measured responses, a smirk playing on her lips.

She knew she was impossible to reach. And perhaps, in moments like this, she didn't mind being reminded of it.