May did not sleep.

Not for a minute, not even when exhaustion pressed heavily behind her eyes. She sat stiffly in one of the hard plastic chairs outside the operating theatre, fingers laced together in her lap, heels abandoned somewhere under the seat. The hospital lights were too bright, too white, and the smell of antiseptic clung to her skin like an accusation.

This was ridiculous, she told herself repeatedly.

She did not wait for strangers. She did not sit in hospitals at ungodly hours worrying about men she had run into...literally. Yet there she was, eyes fixed on the red light above the surgery door, heart beating far too fast for someone who claimed indifference.

Time dragged, stretching painfully. Nurses passed. Doctors spoke in low voices. Morning crept in quietly, light slipping through the windows as if afraid to disturb the tension hanging in the air.

When the doors finally opened, May stood so quickly the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"He's stable," the doctor said calmly, adjusting his glasses. "We managed to stop the internal bleeding. He's lucky."

Lucky. The word felt strange.

She followed them into the room, arms crossed tightly as if holding herself together. The man lay still on the bed, pale, bruised, bandaged, yet unmistakably the same irritating stranger from the airport. His lashes fluttered faintly as consciousness returned.

The doctor leaned forward. "Can you hear me?"

Slowly, the man's eyes opened.

They were sharp even now, unsettlingly clear despite the confusion swimming within them. He looked around the room like someone waking in the wrong life.

"Do you remember your name?" the doctor asked.

A pause. His brows furrowed slightly, jaw tightening as though he were digging through something just out of reach.

"Luca," he said hoarsely.

May's breath caught before she could stop it.

"Your full name?" the doctor pressed.

He shook his head faintly. "Just...Luca."

"Do you remember anything else?" the doctor asked gently. "Family, where you live, what happened?"

Silence stretched. Luca's fingers curled against the sheets.

"No," he said finally. "Nothing."

The doctor straightened. "You have retrograde amnesia, likely caused by trauma from the accident. Memories may return gradually...or not at all."

May's jaw tightened.

She stayed.

Through the morning. Through the slow drip of IV fluids, the nurses checking vitals, Luca drifting in and out of sleep. She stayed even when the sun climbed higher, when her phone buzzed endlessly with notifications she ignored.

By afternoon, the doctor returned. "Physically, he's strong enough to be discharged. He'll need rest, supervision, and follow-up visits."

May nodded absently.

She stepped outside and dialed her phone. "Pete...clear my schedule today and tomorrow. Bring clothes...comfortable ones. Men's. Hospital."

There was a pause. "May, what..."

"Please," she said sharply. "Now."

Pete arrived and Luca went in to change. He was dressed in clothes that didn't belong to him yet fit well enough. He stood awkwardly near the bed, watching her with curiosity that made her uncomfortable.

She handed him some cash. "This should get you home...wherever that is."

He stared at the money, then at her, brows lifting slightly. "You're leaving me?"

"I've done more than enough," she replied coolly. "The hospital will help you find shelter."

Luca stepped closer suddenly, close enough that she could see the faint scar along his jaw.

"Did you forget something?" he asked.

She frowned. "What exactly would that be?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I have amnesia."

She laughed, the sound sharp, incredulous. "You can't be serious."

"You caused it," he said calmly. "You hit me with your car. That makes you responsible...until the end."

Her eyes widened. "The audacity."

"You're welcome," he replied mildly.

She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. "You are incredibly lucky," she said tightly, turning on her heel.

And yet...she didn't walk away.

Her house was silent when they arrived.

Large, elegant, gated, everything anyone would expect from May Boston, except the inside told a different story. Shoes by the door. A jacket draped carelessly over a chair. Papers stacked where they didn't belong. The kind of mess no one ever saw because no one was ever invited in.

She lived alone...and it showed.

Luca looked around slowly, taking everything in with quiet interest. "Nice place."

"Don't get comfortable," she replied. "This is temporary."

He walked to the living room and sat, crossing his leg casually, like a man entirely at ease in a stranger's home.

"I'm thirsty," he said. "Get me water."

She snapped. "Are you insane?"

He looked at her, genuinely puzzled. "You brought me here."

"That does not make me your assistant."

"But you are responsible," he said, unbothered.

Her glare could have melted steel.

She turned sharply toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath, already regretting every decision she had made since the night before.

And somehow, she knew...this was only the beginning.

By morning, May was already exhausted.

Not physically...emotionally.

Luca had spent the night reminding her, subtly and not so subtly, that he was still injured. Anytime she snapped at him, anytime irritation sharpened her tone, he would tilt his head slightly and say, "I'm still sick," in a calm voice that somehow made her feel like the villain. It was infuriating. She was used to control, to authority, to people bending, not to a stranger with amnesia using his condition like leverage.

She barely slept again.

When she finally stepped out of her bedroom the next morning, hair loose, robe tied carelessly around her waist, she stopped short.

Luca stood by the entrance.

Not slouched. Not weak. Standing straight, arms loosely crossed, body relaxed like he belonged there. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows behind him, outlining his frame, catching in his hair, revealing angles she hadn't noticed before.

She stared.

For the first time since the accident, she really looked at him.

Unbelievably handsome wasn't even adequate. His features were sharp, deliberate, like they had been designed rather than inherited. His eyes, calm and piercing, watched her with an intensity that made her oddly aware of herself, of her bare feet on the floor, of the thin fabric clinging to her skin.

He looked...dangerous.

"You're awake," he said.

She cleared her throat. "What are you doing standing there like that?"

"Waiting," he replied easily.

"For what."

"For you."

Her irritation returned immediately. "Why."

"I need a bath," he said, tone flat. "And food."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he continued, unbothered. "Prepare my bath, then find something for me to eat."

Her jaw tightened. "You are in my house."

"And I am injured," he said calmly. "Or did you forget."

She scoffed, turning away. "You're unbelievable."

Yet...she did it.

She ran the bath, hands moving sharply, muttering under her breath the entire time. No one had spoken to her like that in years. She was May Boston, CEO, feared and respected, not a personal assistant to an amnesiac stranger. And yet here she was, doing exactly what he asked, irritation burning hot beneath her skin.

She handed him a towel without looking at him. "Don't take long."

He took it from her fingers slowly, eyes never leaving her face. "Thank you."

The words shouldn't have unsettled her, but they did.

When she returned to the kitchen, reality hit her harder than expected.

She stopped in the doorway.

The kitchen was...empty.

Not stylishly minimalist, not intentionally sparse...just empty. A fridge with little more than bottled water and half-used condiments, cabinets holding plates she barely touched, a life built entirely around eating out and working late.

For the first time in years, she felt something close to embarrassment.

She searched anyway, opening drawers, cupboards, the fridge again as if food might magically appear. Eventually, she found a single pack of instant noodles, crushed at the edges.

Expired.

She stared at the date, sighed sharply, and tossed it into a pot.

It was the best she could do.

When Luca returned, freshly bathed, hair damp, shirt clinging slightly to his torso, she placed the bowl in front of him with more force than necessary. "Eat."

He sat, posture relaxed, and lifted the fork.

One bite.

That was all it took.

He spat it out instantly.

Her breath caught.

He lifted his gaze slowly, cold and piercing, eyes locking onto hers with a look so sharp it sent a chill straight down her spine. For a moment, she forgot he was injured, forgot he had amnesia, forgot everything except the instinctive warning screaming in her chest.

This man was not harmless.

"What is this," he asked quietly.

She swallowed. "Food."

"It's inedible."

"I don't cook," she snapped, trying to reclaim her ground. "Be grateful."

He leaned back slightly, studying her, expression unreadable. "You live like this."

"That's none of your business."

His gaze lingered a second longer, then he stood. "We're going out."

Her brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I'm hungry," he said. "And I refuse to eat that."

She hesitated, then grabbed her keys sharply. "Fine."

The eatery was nearby, small but decent, the kind of place she never noticed until now. They sat, and immediately Luca took control, scanning the menu with quiet authority.

"I'll have the premium steak meal," he said. "Medium rare. Add the imported wine."

May blinked. "You know premium meals."

He looked at her. "Apparently."

"You have amnesia," she reminded him. "How do you know that."

He paused, genuinely thoughtful. "I don't know," he said slowly. "The words just came."

That unsettled her more than anything else.

Pete's call came while Luca was still eating.

May barely glanced at her phone before answering, irritation already simmering beneath her calm exterior. "What?"

There was a brief pause on the other end, the kind that warned her something had gone wrong. "I tried to clear your schedule like you asked," Pete said carefully, "but there's a situation."

May closed her eyes for a second. "Pete...define situation?"

"The top model," he replied. "The one we fought for months to sign."

Her jaw tightened instantly. "Serena Vale?"

"Yes," Pete said. "She just landed in Los Angeles and she's already at the agency. She's demanding to see you...now."

May exhaled slowly, irritation sharpening into something close to fury. Serena Vale was not someone you postponed, not someone you rescheduled, not someone you annoyed.

"I'm not dressed," May said flatly.

"I noticed," Pete replied. "She says if you don't show up, she walks."

May ended the call without another word.

She lifted her gaze...and froze.

Luca sat across from her, completely unbothered, eating like a man born into privilege, posture relaxed, movements precise, calm in a way that irritated her beyond reason. He hadn't heard the conversation, but his eyes met hers with quiet curiosity.

"Problem?" he asked.

She glared at him. "You."

He continued eating. "That's unfortunate."

She pushed her chair back sharply. "I have an emergency meeting."

He nodded once. "Good."

"You are the reason I'm not prepared," she snapped. "I stayed back because of you."

"And yet," he said mildly, "you don't look displeased."

She stood abruptly. "Finish eating. We're leaving."

"Where?" he asked.

She grabbed her bag, irritation written plainly on her face. "We're going to my company."

The drive to the company was quiet but tense.

May focused on the road, fingers tight around the steering wheel, irritation simmering beneath her composed exterior. Luca sat in the passenger seat, gaze fixed on the towering structure ahead, eyes narrowing slightly as the building came fully into view.

"That's yours?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied shortly.

He leaned forward a little, studying the glass-and-steel tower that dominated the skyline. "It's...big."

She glanced at him. "You're not coming down."

He turned to her slowly. "Why?"

"Because it wouldn't be nice," she said coolly. "And because your clothes are starting to smell. There's no spare outfit, and I won't have my staff gossiping."

He looked down at himself briefly, then back at her. "You should've warned me."

"I warned you not to touch anything in my car," she snapped. "That includes getting comfortable."

She parked and killed the engine. "Stay here."

Luca lifted a brow. "I'll try."

She didn't miss the faint amusement in his voice, and it annoyed her more than she cared to admit.

Inside the building, heads turned instantly.

May felt it the moment she stepped in...the surprise, the confusion, the whispers. She was never seen like this. No perfect hair, no tailored suit, no calculated polish. Just May, sharp-eyed and irritated, moving with purpose.

"Is that...?"

"She looks different."

"Did something happen?"

She ignored them all and headed straight for the elevator.

Serena Vale was already waiting when she entered her office.

Tall, flawless, dressed like she was about to step onto a runway rather than into a meeting, Serena leaned against the desk with clear impatience etched into her expression.

"You're late," Serena said.

"You're demanding," May replied calmly, dropping her bag. "That balances us out."

Serena's lips tightened. "I'm here because your agency promised exclusivity for the Milan campaign. I don't do shared spotlights, and I don't compromise."

May folded her arms. "And I don't renegotiate contracts because someone woke up dissatisfied."

The meeting dragged.

Serena complained about creative control, about photographers, about styling teams that didn't revolve entirely around her preferences. Each demand chipped at May's patience, her irritation growing with every minute wasted.

Then the noise started.

At first, it was faint...murmurs, then giggles, then raised voices. May's gaze flicked instinctively toward the glass window blinds that overlooked the staff offices. She rose slightly, pulling them aside just enough to see.

Women clustered together.

Blushing. Whispering. Laughing.

And in the middle of it...

Luca.

He stood near the reception desk like he belonged there, one hand dipped casually into his pocket, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. His presence alone seemed to bend attention toward him, staff lingering longer than necessary, glances stolen openly now.

May's stomach dropped.

"You have got to be kidding me," she muttered.

She turned sharply and stormed out, heels striking the floor with barely restrained fury. As she approached, she could hear it.

"He's so tall."

"Is he a model?"

"Those eyes..."

Luca looked up when he saw her, unfazed.

"You told me not to come down," he said calmly.

"I told you to stay in the car," she hissed.

"The heat was unbearable," he replied. "I needed air."

"You touched my car?" she snapped.

"No," he said. "I suffered."

She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. "You are impossible."

He leaned slightly closer. "Get me hot tea. The air conditioning in the car is killing me."

Her glare could have drawn blood.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her office. "One more word out here and I will personally escort you back to the hospital."

Inside, Serena looked up instantly.

Her gaze locked onto Luca...and stayed there.

Too long.

May noticed.

Luca noticed too.

Serena straightened, smile slow and deliberate. "Well," she said softly, "you didn't mention you'd bring company."

May gestured toward the chair beside Serena. "Sit."

Luca did, unbothered, crossing his leg with effortless confidence.

Serena's eyes never left him.

He glanced at her once, then said flatly, "You're not good-looking enough to stare at me for that long."

The room went dead silent.

Serena stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"I don't repeat myself," he replied calmly.

May didn't know when it happened...but she smiled.

Serena stood abruptly, face flushed with anger. "This is unacceptable."

"So are your demands," May said smoothly.

Serena grabbed her bag. "We'll revisit this."

"Or we won't," May replied.

The door slammed behind her.

May leaned back against her desk, exhaling slowly, then glanced at Luca.

"You are a problem."

He met her gaze evenly. "You brought me here."

She smiled again before she could stop herself and that annoyed her most of all.

*

The rest of the day should have gone smoothly.

It didn't.

By noon, May realized she had somehow become Luca's errand girl.

"Water," he said at some point, not looking at her.

She ignored him.

Five minutes later..."It's warm in here."

She clenched her jaw and adjusted the temperature.

When one of her staff offered to help, Luca dismissed them with a glance so cold the woman visibly stiffened before retreating. Another tried again, smiling politely, and he responded with silence so heavy it made May sigh in frustration.

"Stop intimidating my employees," she snapped under her breath.

"I didn't say anything," he replied calmly.

"That's the problem."

Every time someone else tried to assist him, he either ignored them or gave them a look that suggested they were beneath acknowledgment. Eventually, the staff stopped approaching him altogether and looked to May instead.

And she hated that they were looking at her like that.

By late afternoon, her patience was thin, her schedule wrecked, and Luca looked...completely unfazed. Exhausted physically, yes, but mentally sharp, observant, commanding in a way that made it impossible to forget he was not an ordinary man.

When they finally left the building, May didn't speak until they were halfway home.

Traffic was terrible. Someone cut her off aggressively, honking as they sped past.

Luca's jaw tightened. "Vaffanculo."

She turned sharply. "What did you just say?"

He glanced at her briefly. "I don't know."

"That's Italian," she said slowly.

He frowned. "It is?"

Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. A memory surfaced suddenly, uninvited...the airport, the collision, the man who had brushed past her muttering the same word in the same accent.

Her heart skipped.

She glanced at him again. "You cussed at me like that before."

"When?" he asked.

"At the airport," she said. "You bumped into me. Same accent. Same word."

He went quiet.

She studied his face, searching for recognition, for anything. "Are you Italian?"

He stared ahead for a long moment. "I don't know," he said finally. "The word just came to my head."

That unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

She looked back at the road, unease curling slowly in her chest, the realization sinking deeper with every mile.

Luca might have lost his memories...but his instincts were still very much alive.

And May Boston had brought them home with her.