(Isabella Moretti)
I'm still buzzing from the gala, Damien's words, "Doesn't even remember", stuck in my head like a bad song. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face, hear the coldness in his voice, and feel the sting of his dismissal. Now, walking into the investor roundtable, my heels click sharply on the polished marble floor of the Dubai Convention Center, and my thoughts swirl in a fog of nerves. The room is small, with a long oak table and ten leather chairs. Name cards are meticulously set out, and my stomach drops when I see mine right next to Damien Cross.
I freeze, my tablet tight in my hand. No way this is random. I glance at the door, but the investors are already filing in, their voices loud, their suits tailored and expensive. Damien's the last to enter, his black suit sharp, his blue eyes cutting through the room like he knew I'd be here. He pulls out his chair and sits, his knee brushing mine under the table.
"Fancy meeting you here," he says, his voice low, a smirk tugging at his lips.
I shift my chair away, trying to ignore the electric tingle where our skin touched. My stomach twists, but I force myself to focus. "Save it," I mutter, opening my tablet to review the Horizon Tech pitch. But he's too close, his cologne sharp, his presence like a storm I can't escape.
Ms. Tanaka, the lead investor, stands at the head of the table, her glasses catching the light in a way that makes her seem both stern and unapproachable. "Good morning," she says, her voice crisp. "Today, we're doing something different. Ms. Moretti, Mr. Cross, you'll pitch a joint venture for Horizon Tech. Together. Right now."
My head snaps up, eyes wide. "Together?" I say, louder than I mean to. My heart begins to race.
Damien chuckles, leaning back in his chair, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Scared, Moretti?"
I glare at him, my face hot, but I don't answer. Tanaka raises a hand, her eyes glinting with authority. "No excuses. You're both top players. Show us you can work as a team. Start."
I stand quickly, forcing myself to keep my composure. I click my tablet to pull up the slides. The first one shows Horizon's cutting-edge processor, a sleek design that promises to revolutionize the tech industry. "Horizon's processor is a game-changer," I begin, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's faster than anything on the market today. Moretti Group will fund eighty percent of the venture, locking in growth and stability."
Damien's already on his feet before I finish, stepping to the screen with an unsettling confidence. "Stability's a nice word," he interrupts, his tone smooth but biting. "But Horizon's got debts piling up. Cross Enterprises offers fifty percent funding and global distribution. Your plan's a cash sink."
I turn to face him, my hands planting firmly on my hips. "And yours is a power grab dressed up as help. We've audited Horizon's books. They're clean," I shoot back, my voice tight, though I can feel the tension in my shoulders creeping up.
He raises an eyebrow, his expression one of mild amusement. "Clean?" he says, leaning in, his gaze sharp. "I've got data showing losses you buried. Want to compare notes?"
The investors' pens start scratching against paper as whispers ripple through the room. The pressure mounts, and I force a smile, though my teeth are clenched. "Mr. Cross likes to throw accusations, but our numbers show a twelve percent return in three years. That's real," I assert, hoping to ground myself in the facts.
"Real like a mirage," he retorts, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He steps closer, the heat of his body intensifying the tension. "My team's numbers say Horizon's bleeding. I'm offering cuts and efficiency. You're offering blind faith."
"Blind faith?" I snap, my voice rising. "Moretti's offering partnership. You're just trying to gut them for parts."
He leans in, his voice dropping to a low whisper meant just for me. "Partnership? Your family doesn't know the word, Isabella."
My breath catches, the world around me blurring for a second. That photo, the one of us as children in Tuscany, flashes in my mind, unbidden, unwelcome. I shake it off, forcing my voice to stay sharp. "And yours is so honest, Cross?"
Tanaka clears her throat, her voice cutting through the tension like a hot knife. "You two either hate each other, or you were once in love," she says with a teasing grin, her eyes glimmering with amusement.
The room falls silent for a beat. The investors' faces flicker with curiosity. I feel my cheeks burn, the heat rushing to my face. Damien's jaw tightens, but he doesn't look away. In love? No, absolutely not. But the way his eyes lock onto mine, those blue eyes, the same ones from the photo, makes my pulse race, and I hate myself for it.
Tanaka's grin widens, her glasses catching the light. "Well, whatever it is, you've got our attention." She gestures toward our seats. "Sit down. Let's finish this."
I slump back into my chair, my breath a little shaky, and Damien follows suit. The pitch finishes, but the air still crackles with the intensity of our exchange. The investors start clapping, but I can barely focus on the sound, my heart still pounding in my chest. Tanaka nods in approval, her eyes twinkling. "Impressive," she says. "We'll discuss a follow-up. Your… chemistry could sell this deal."
I force a tight smile, grabbing my tablet and quickly packing up. Chemistry? More like a war zone. Damien is already gathering his things, his movements sharp and purposeful, like he's itching to leave this tension behind.
But I can't let it go. Not after his jab about my family. Not after everything we've been through. As the investors start filing out, I grab his arm, yanking him to the side of the room. His sleeve is warm under my fingers, and I hate how it makes my skin tingle. The scent of his cologne lingers, sharp and intoxicating.
"What's your problem?" I hiss, keeping my voice low to avoid drawing attention. "You come at me like I'm the enemy. Did your family kill my father?"
Damien's eyes darken, the light in them turning into something dangerous. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He doesn't answer right away, studying me with an unreadable expression. Then, after a long pause, he leans in, his voice a whisper only I can hear.
"Did yours kill mine?"
My hand drops, my breath catching in my throat. His words hit like a punch to the gut. He didn't deny it. He didn't even flinch. The question hangs there, heavy, like a bomb about to explode.
I stare at him, speechless, my mind whirling. His gaze doesn't waver. And in that moment, I wonder if he truly believes it, or if he's trying to get under my skin. Either way, the tension between us is suffocating.