“Hey, dream girl! Your break is over. Time to get back to work.”

Ashleigh jolted awake at the sound of a loud voice cutting through the small break room.

She groaned, rubbing her tired eyes as the realization set in that her short nap was over, and the next time she’d get real sleep would be late at night, at home. With a sigh, she stood up, wiping the sweat off her forehead.

Digging into her bag on the couch, she retrieved a comb, pulled off the sanitary hairnet, and quickly ran the comb through her hair before securing it into a tight bun. Grabbing a fresh hairnet from a nearby box, she slipped it on and checked her reflection in the mirror. Satisfied with her neat, light green uniform, she headed out to face the person who had woken her.

At the front desk, a middle-aged woman with a stern expression awaited her.

“Miss Ashleigh Hartman, once again, you’ve overslept,” Mrs. Smith said, giving her a disapproving look.

Ashleigh rushed forward, grabbing her hands. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.” She offered a sweet smile, resting her head against Mrs. Smith’s shoulder in an attempt to soften her mood.

Mrs. Smith shook her head, pinching Ashleigh’s nose playfully. “Hmm, how many ‘next times’ have you promised me now? If I weren’t your aunt, you’d be back on the streets.”

Ashleigh pouted, but before she could respond, Mrs. Smith waved her away. “Now go. You’re assigned to the fourth floor today. Start early so you can finish on time.”

With a sigh, Ashleigh begrudgingly left the break room. Once the door shut behind her, Mrs. Smith lingered, staring at it with a thoughtful expression.

********************

Ashleigh entered the elevator, scrolling through her social media feed while waiting. A picture of her friend at a dreamy vacation spot popped up with the caption "Vacation."

Her lips curled into a bitter smile as she locked her phone and tucked it into her pocket. She could admire such a lifestyle from a distance, but experiencing it? That was another matter entirely. Right now, she could barely afford to put food on her table.

The elevator doors dinged open, pulling her back to reality. She stepped out and made her way to the supply room to gather her cleaning equipment. But the moment she stepped inside, her stomach dropped.

Three girls stood waiting, their eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Hey, look who it is... Dream girl has finally woken up,” Tyra, a tanned complexion girl with an intimidating presence, sneered.

Before Ashleigh could react, Tyra grabbed her wrist, yanking her inside. The door shut behind her, and one of the other girls swiftly locked it.

“Let me go,” Ashleigh protested, struggling against Tyra's grip, but it was useless. Tyra pushed her down to her knees while the other two girls pinned her arms.

“Little Miss Out-of-This-World,” Tyra taunted, crouching in front of her. “Why haven’t we seen you around much lately?”

Ashleigh pressed her lips together, refusing to speak. Another girl grabbed her jaw roughly, forcing her to look up.

“Insolent girl! Speak when you’re spoken to!” she barked, her voice ringing painfully in Ashleigh’s ears.

Ashleigh winced but forced out a reply. “What do you want, Tyra?” The grip on her jaw made speaking difficult.

Tyra’s eyes narrowed, and without warning, she slapped Ashleigh across the face.

“I don’t know, dream girl. You just annoy me,” she said mockingly.

Ever since Ashleigh started working here two months ago, Tyra and her cronies had made her life miserable. It was bad enough that she had to start working so young, but enduring their bullying made it unbearable.

The source of Tyra’s resentment? Mr Clark's favoritism. Tyra assumed Ashleigh was getting special treatment from the contract supervisor, Mr. Clark. In reality, Ashleigh barely knew the man beyond her job interview. But Tyra, blinded by jealousy and convinced Ashleigh was seducing her workplace crush, was determined to make her suffer.

Ashleigh had endured their torment in silence, often agreeing to take on extra cleaning just to keep the peace. But today, she wasn’t in the mood.

“What do you even gain from bullying me?” she asked, voice firm. “No matter what you do, it won’t change the fact that I have no relationship with Mr. Clark. And I’m not leaving this job.”

Tyra's gaze darkened. She wanted to break Ashleigh, to wipe that composed look off her face. Her lips curled in satisfaction when she noticed the red mark blooming on Ashleigh’s cheek from the slap.

“You pretty girls always think you’re better than everyone,” she spat.

“I will keep torturing you until you quit. Or better yet, until you admit you have something going on with Mr. Clark. I’ll record it and show everyone just how cheap you really are.”

Ashleigh remained silent, her jaw tightening. Tyra nodded to her accomplices, who immediately lifted Ashleigh and dragged her toward the back of the supply room.

A flicker of fear crept into Ashleigh’s chest. “Wait… what are you doing?” she demanded, struggling harder. But their grip was like iron.

Tyra ignored her, leading the way with an eerie calmness. For the first time, dread settled heavily in Ashleigh’s stomach. She had underestimated how far Tyra was willing to go.

They reached the back of the room, where an old shelving unit stood. Ashleigh gasped as they forced her hands behind her and tied them to the shelves. Her back was to them now, leaving her vulnerable.

Tyra retrieved a wooden stick, testing its weight in her hands. She chuckled darkly, stepping forward to stroke Ashleigh’s cheek.

“Today is your final warning,” she whispered. “Either do what we say, or face the consequences.”

Ashleigh squeezed her eyes shut. “I told you, Tyra, I have no other job options. I can’t afford to leave.”

Tyra clicked her tongue. “Then I guess you’ll have to suffer.” She stepped back, raising the stick high, preparing to strike.

A sharp voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“What is going on here?”

Tyra’s grip loosened, the baseball bat clattering to the concrete floor. The lenses of her cronies’ phones swiveled, their recording abruptly halted as a group of men and women filled the doorway. The air in the supply room seemed to thicken.

The man at the forefront moved with a quiet authority that amplified the silence. Each measured step echoed, the sound bouncing off the stacked shelves. A palpable chill radiated from him, a subtle tension that made Tyra and her friends instinctively recoil. He stopped before them, his height and broad shoulders casting a shadow.

The tailored suit strained slightly across his powerful frame. His face, sharply defined and undeniably handsome, held an expression of glacial displeasure as his gaze fixed on Tyra.

"Damn," she thought, a flicker of unwanted attraction momentarily eclipsing her fear. "Who is this?"

Her internal distraction was short-lived. He moved past them, his attention now on Ashleigh, bound and slumped against a stack of boxes. With swift, efficient movements, he untied her wrists.

Ashleigh sagged, her knees buckling as soon as the restraints were gone. He caught her before she fell, his arm a steady support around her.

"Playing the victim, are we?" Tyra sneered inwardly, watching the exchange with narrowed eyes. "Opportunistic little..."

Relief washed over Ashleigh in a dizzying wave. The terror that had been a tight knot in her chest began to loosen. Her legs felt like water. Leaning into the unexpected strength supporting her, she looked up. His eyes, deep-set and intense, seemed to hold a question she couldn't decipher.

His features were strong, a compelling mix of refinement and ruggedness. A stray lock of dark hair had escaped the slicked-back style, falling slightly across his forehead. Now wasn't the time for such observations. A silent pressure on his arm was all the prompting he needed.

He straightened, supporting her as she found her footing. Turning, his gaze swept over his entourage, settling on a composed woman with a severe hairstyle. Mrs. Smith stepped forward immediately.

“I believe an explanation is in order,” he stated, his voice low and even, before turning his attention back to Tyra, who flinched under his scrutiny.

“They were… they were bullying me, sir. Like they always do,” a shaky voice interjected.

All eyes turned to Ashleigh, who stood a few feet away, supported but upright. She met their surprised stares, noting the venomous glint in Tyra’s eyes.

“No, sir, she meant to say that…” Tyra began, her voice laced with false innocence.

“She wanted to hit me with that,” Ashleigh said, gesturing weakly to the discarded bat, her gaze unwavering despite Tyra’s furious glare. Mrs. Smith hurried to Ashleigh’s side, her face etched with concern as she quickly assessed her.

Relief flickered across Mrs. Smith’s features before she turned back to the man, her composure crumbling. She dropped to one knee. “Mr. Cagliari, I sincerely apologize for this egregious oversight. I take full responsibility for my ignorance.”

The name hung in the air, a heavy weight. A fresh wave of fear washed over Tyra and her friends. Mr. Cagliari’s gaze, now smoldering with barely suppressed anger, pinned them in place.

Mrs. Smith continued to plead, her voice frantic. Tyra’s gaze flickered back to Mr. Cagliari. The deep maroon of his suit was rich and impeccably tailored, a stark contrast to the drab surroundings. A chilling realization dawned on her: this had to be the CEO. This wouldn't be swept under the rug.

Mr. Cagliari gave a curt nod to a man standing slightly behind him, who immediately stepped forward.

“Mrs. Smith, you will provide a full report at the disciplinary board meeting later today. The same applies to the employees involved in this incident. Mr. Cagliari himself will be presiding over the meeting.” His tone left no room for argument. The atmosphere in the room turned somber.

Mr. Cagliari turned to leave, pausing briefly in front of Ashleigh. She instinctively lowered her gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his lips before he continued out of the supply room, his entourage following.

As soon as they were gone, Ashleigh turned and fled, ignoring Mrs. Smith’s calls. She grabbed her bag from the break room and hurried out of the building.

High in his office, Mr. Cagliari watched her leave, a small, solitary figure walking away from the imposing building.

He sensed his secretary’s presence. “Speak,” he said without turning from the window.

“Ashleigh Hartman. Twenty-two years old. Raised in an orphanage. No information on her parents, but she was recently taken in by her aunt, who, as you know, works here.”

His secretary handed him a tablet. Mr. Cagliari scrolled through the information, his eyes lingering on the headshot.

A faint sense of recognition, fleeting and unidentifiable, stirred within him. He dismissed it, handing back the tablet.

“Find out more about this girl.” He moved to his desk, his secretary trailing behind.

Later, as Mr. Turner announced the commencement of the disciplinary board meeting, Mr. Cagliari rose, the image of Ashleigh’s frightened yet relieved face when he’d entered the supply room still vivid in his mind.

**********************

At the meeting, Tyra and her accomplices spun a web of lies, attempting to paint Ashleigh as the instigator. But the security footage painted a different picture. Mr. Cagliari’s anger, simmering beneath the surface, finally erupted.

He delivered his verdict with cold finality: Tyra and her friends along with Mr. Clark were to be terminated from their positions and escorted from the premises immediately. Mrs. Smith was placed on probation. Ashleigh Hartman would be compensated for the distress and potential damages.

Meanwhile, Ashleigh unlocked the door to the small apartment she shared with her aunt. It was modest but comfortable. She walked straight to her bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming down her face.

The humiliation, the fear, the peculiarity of her situation all crashed down on her. Losing this job, the one she had fought so hard to get, felt like a crushing blow.

A soft knock on her door broke through her sobs. She opened it to find her aunt, Mrs. Smith, her face etched with concern.

“My dear, why didn’t you tell me what those girls were doing?” Mrs. Smith asked, sitting beside her on the bed.

“I… I didn’t think it would get this bad. I just tried to ignore them and do what they wanted,” Ashleigh whispered.

Mrs. Smith sighed. “Foolish girl. You must tell me these things. To find out like this… in front of the CEO…”

“That man… he was the CEO?” Ashleigh’s face flushed with embarrassment as the memory of her being held in his arms flashed vividly.

“Yes, he was touring the supply areas today. But that’s not important now. Are you alright?” Mrs. Smith asked.

“Will I lose my job, Auntie?” Ashleigh’s voice was filled with panic. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I do.”

“No, my sweet girl, you won’t. The disciplinary meeting just finished. Mr. Cagliari insisted you be compensated. And those awful girls… they’ve been fired.”

Relief flooded Ashleigh, and fresh tears, this time of gratitude for a man like him, spilled down her cheeks. “What about you, Auntie? Was there any punishment?”

Mrs. Smith waved a dismissive hand, but under Ashleigh’s persistent questioning, she admitted she was on probation.

“It’s my fault,” Ashleigh choked out. “If I hadn’t talked you that day, Tyra wouldn’t have begun pestering me…”

“Hush, child. It’s alright. I should have been more aware of what you were going through.” Mrs. Smith held her close.

Her heart ached for Ashleigh, for the years spent in the orphanage, for the endless hours she worked now. She longed to give her more, to send her to college, but her own finances were stretched thin. All she could offer was her love and support, a fragile shield against a world that hadn’t been kind.

"My dream girl, " she thought, the nickname a bittersweet reminder of the brighter future she envisioned for Ashleigh, but it seemed that her life was a nightmare instead.

“All this worrying must have made you hungry,” Mrs. Smith said, gently cupping Ashleigh’s face. “Let’s find something to eat.”

Ashleigh nodded, and they left the small room, hand in hand, a silent understanding passing between them. The day had been long, and as they ate their simple meal, their thoughts remained heavy with the day’s events and the uncertain future.

Later, they retreated to their separate rooms, each hoping for a calmer tomorrow.

Adrian Cagliari stood at the apex of the technology industry at 27. He had a keen eye for innovation, setting himself apart from the family business to build his dream company, Tixton, from the ground up. Tixton was now one of Cagliari's major successes, and he was a rising force.

Building and maintaining his family's legacy required a firm hand, making him rather firm and disciplined. He oversaw all matters in Italy and America, as well as other branches worldwide. Domineering, assertive, and principled, he ensured a palpable tension among those who worked with him. It was both a burden and a benefit.

As he discussed with the investors, his secretary and his personal assistant were outside, mentally preparing to interrupt the meeting. Turner then walked into the spacious office, a phone in his hand. Pausing his call, Adrian raised his eyes to his secretary, who felt a chill run down his spine.

"I thought I was clear with my instructions," Adrian bit out, his gaze making Mr. Turner shiver.

"Boss, it's a call from the housekeeper at the mansion," Turner stuttered, his hands shaking as he held out the phone.

Adrian sighed, returned to the call to conclude the meeting, and collected the phone from him.

"Speak," he commanded coldly.

"Master Adrian, I called to inform you of your mother's sudden illness," the housekeeper reported as Adrian massaged his temples.

"She requests you come back home to see her."

"Okay, Giuseppe, I will make my way there soon," he finished, handing the phone back to Turner.

Going home seemed troublesome at that moment; Adrian still had pressing issues to resolve. Given the turn of events, however, he would attend to his mother first before continuing with business.

"Inform the airport to prepare for a flight to Italy by the end of the week," Adrian instructed. Turner nodded and immediately called the airport authorities.

At the mention of Turner's name, they immediately knew it was Mr. Cagliari and began making arrangements.

Turner also informed Mr. Cagliari's private security team in Italy, and they set off to prepare. Adrian briefly thought of Ashleigh, a fleeting image immediately pushed aside by the urgent matters of his company.

*****************

"We have arrived in Italy and are preparing to land. Please fasten your seat belts and stow your tray tables... thank you," the pilot's announcement rang through the speaker.

Adrian lifted his eye mask to peer through the window. Soon, they landed. A line of exquisite cars pulled up opposite the runway, and the security personnel emerged from each vehicle in twos, a total of six private guards.

They moved to where the plane had landed and stood by as the door opened and the stairs descended. Turner was first to alight, carrying Mr. Cagliari's work devices, which were collected by one of the security personnel. Adrian Cagliari stepped down next, dressed in a silk shirt and shorts.

On seeing him, they bowed accordingly, and he waved his hand dismissively. He turned to his secretary, who handed him his phone as they began walking. Once he entered the car, their journey to Sardinia began, taking an hour.

Turner looked at his boss, who sat opposite him in admiration. Prior to the overnight trip, Adrian had spent the entire day in the office sorting out contracts and could only spare a few hours before leaving. Turner admired his strong work ethic, a trait that defined his strictly professional persona and his firm management of staff.

Mr. Cagliari still had work to resolve in Italy, even with his mother and extended family to see.

The cars, following closely, weaved through the city to a private estate. Upon seeing Mr. Cagliari, the gates opened, and the drivers proceeded into the estate. At the Cagliari mansion, the extended family stood outside waiting for him, some eager, others less so. The gate opened further for the cars, and a BMW pulled up to where they stood. Adrian stepped out to see them; the eldest among them approached him.

"Adrian, we're glad to have you back home," his uncle spoke on behalf of the others, and Adrian nodded curtly.

The man was Adrian's paternal uncle Antonio. Although far older than Adrian, he still paid due respect to him as the head of the Cagliari family. He was accompanied by his wife and two children, as well as Adrian's Aunt Emilie and her family. They greeted him and inquired about his well-being as they ushered him inside.

"How is Mother's health?" Adrian asked Uncle Antonio as they made their way to her room.

The mansion was an elegant two-story building spanning 5,000 square feet. It boasted an in-built horse stable and racing track and was beautifully decorated with flowers, a massive garden, and a butterfly conservatory.

"She's been recuperating through the week, although she keeps insisting on seeing you," Antonio explained as they ascended to the first floor.

Each floor had eleven rooms with its own facilities. Adrian's mother stayed at the end of the hall. As they walked by, maids and butlers greeted them. Giuseppe, the head housekeeper, greeted Adrian calmly at the end of the hall.

"Madame has asked to see Master Adrian alone," he said, facing the other family members, who immediately left.

Giuseppe opened the door to reveal Adrian's mother sitting up in bed as nurses attended to her. She raised her eyes to see who had entered, and her features softened into happiness upon seeing her son. She beckoned him closer, which he did, hugging her tightly and kissing her on each cheek.

"So, I have to fall ill for you to come and see me?" she sulked, trying to evoke his emotions.

"I saw you three months ago... don't be dramatic," he replied firmly, making his mother pout more.

"Humph. Same difference, Adrian," she said, tapping his head lightly. Adrian looked at the nurse and asked about her progress.

"Madame Eleanor Cagliari has been under emotional stress, which caused her blood pressure to rise significantly in the past week. We have administered appropriate medications and encouraged her to pursue calm hobbies as she grows older," the nurse explained, to which Adrian nodded in agreement. He thanked them all and turned back to his mother.

"Shall we have lunch now, Mother?" he asked, and she nodded. He stood by the bed, allowing the nurses to assist his mother into the wheelchair.

He looked at his mother closely as she was being moved. She looked rather gaunt; most of her body fat had diminished, and her wrinkles were more prominent than before. He wondered what was troubling her so deeply.

The nurse informed him that they were ready to move, and they pushed her to the dining hall. They took the hallway beside her room, which had a built-in wheelchair ramp for easier movement. He had renovated the building to accommodate this design when his mother had developed mobility issues, ensuring her comfort and safety.

He had also entrusted Housekeeper Giuseppe to find a skilled professional caregiver for his mother, as she needed closer monitoring. They reached the dining hall on the first floor and entered. The family members stood upon seeing him enter. The nurses helped Eleanor get settled at the table, and they all began to eat.

Adrian sat at the head of the table, with his mother and uncle on either side. Beside his uncle sat his wife, Francesca Cagliari, and their two sons, Fernando and Pierre. Adrian's aunt Emilie sat beside his mother with her two daughters, Clarissa and Isabella Bernadette.

The table overflowed with decadent Italian dishes, desserts, and wine from the best vineyards in the city. Maids busily attended to the family members, serving dishes, refilling glasses, and running minor errands.

Adrian ate quietly, checking on his mother from time to time to ensure she was satisfied with the food and had everything she needed. His mother reassured him that she was fine, smiling as she looked at her son and her family together, despite the underlying tensions. It had been her husband's dream to keep the family united despite the difficulties, and she was proud to have raised her son to uphold those traditions.

The calm was soon interrupted by one of the butlers, who whispered to Housekeeper Giuseppe upon entering the room. Giuseppe then turned to the family and announced that guests had arrived for lunch. With Adrian's nod of approval, they walked in, to the delight of his mother and his aunt.

"The LaRosa family has come to give their personal regards to Master Adrian," Housekeeper Giuseppe stated as Mr. Simeon LaRosa, his wife, and their daughter walked in.

Adrian stood to greet Mr. Simeon LaRosa and his wife warmly, while their daughter went to greet his mother. Caelia LaRosa was striking; she had radiant skin, a set of round, expressive eyes, cherry lipstick accentuating her lips, and a light blush highlighting her rosy cheeks.

Her dress accentuated her elegant figure, and a delicate floral perfume lingered in her wake.

She was Simeon's only daughter, the pride and joy of his life, and had achieved much at just 21. Despite her accomplishments, she remained good-natured and humble.

Aunt Emilie couldn't help but smirk inwardly at the sight of Caelia, who was eager to show Adrian her close bond with his mother. Yet, beneath her seemingly perfect exterior and achievements, Caelia harbored her own aspirations.

"Caelia, my dear, how have you been?" Eleanor motioned for her to come closer, and Caelia knelt to face her.

"I'm fine, zia Eleanor. I only left for a short vacation, and I hear you're sick?" Caelia's calm, honeyed voice held a note of gentle reproach as she reached to cup Eleanor's face, her round eyes roaming over her with concern.

"Dear, don't frown now! You'll only spoil your beautiful face," Eleanor chided, using her hand to smooth Caelia's lips into a smile. Caelia laughed and stood up to see

Adrian at her side. She did a quick scan of his features and smiled afterwards.

"Adrian, it's been a while," she greeted him, and he nodded silently.

Internally, Caelia sighed. He was as distant as ever. Adrian gestured for the LaRosa family to join the meal, and they accepted cheerfully, taking seats beside Adrian's uncle.

Caelia chose to sit beside Clarissa and Isabella, as they were the same age and good friends. Lunch passed peacefully, and afterwards, they all retired to the common room for a more relaxed discussion.

Eleanor chose to sit with Caelia, her mother, and Emilie, while Adrian sat with his uncle and Mr. Simeon.

Clarissa, Isabella, Fernando, and Pierre went to the gazebo to talk.

Adrian discussed the upcoming collaboration between their families, emphasizing its importance as he might not have this opportunity to discuss it again soon. After they reached a reasonable conclusion, he called for Turner.

Caelia, however, kept stealing glances at him, waiting for the conversation to end. Once it was over, she looked to her mother, who offered a quiet nod of encouragement, and then she spoke up.

"Adrian," Caelia began, her voice soft but clear, "there's something I've been wanting to discuss with you privately."