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.

Night finally gave May what the day hadn't.

Silence.

The house was dim, lights low, the city outside reduced to a distant hum. Luca had fallen asleep on the couch earlier than she expected, exhaustion finally winning over whatever force kept him alert through the day. She had watched him for a moment longer than necessary before retreating to her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

For the first time since the accident, she was alone with her thoughts.

She sat on her bed, robe loose around her shoulders, tablet balanced on her knees as she scrolled absently at first...emails she ignored, notifications she dismissed, messages she would deal with tomorrow. Then a headline caught her attention.

Explosion on Los Angeles Highway...Driver Still Missing.

Her fingers stilled.

She tapped it.

The article was brief, frustratingly so. A luxury sports car had been rammed by a trailer late at night, the impact triggering a violent explosion. Authorities believed the driver may have been ejected from the vehicle, but no body had been found. Investigations were ongoing.

The date stared back at her.

The same night.

Her stomach tightened slightly.

She scrolled through the images, blurred photos of twisted metal, scorched asphalt, flashing lights frozen mid-chaos. Something about it felt...off. Too violent for a random accident. Too cleanly unexplained.

Her gaze drifted away from the screen, mind replaying Luca's calm authority, the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he ordered without effort. He didn't behave like a man who had lived modestly. He didn't think like one either. His instincts were expensive...taste refined, posture disciplined, confidence unshakable.

Wealth wasn't learned overnight.

She frowned.

If he had been involved in something like that...if he was the missing driver...why hadn't his name been everywhere? No frantic family statements, no media frenzy, no background pieces dissecting his life. People with money made noise when they disappeared.

She typed his name into the search bar.

Luca.

Too vague.

She refined it.

Luca Los Angeles accident.

Nothing useful.

She tried again.

Luca Italian.

Profiles flooded the screen...models, chefs, athletes, businessmen, social media influencers. Different faces, different lives, none of them him. She scrolled, brows knitting together as irritation slowly gave way to unease.

She added more details...keywords she wasn't sure why she was choosing.

Luxury car explosion driver.

Still nothing.

If he was someone important, someone with influence or wealth, the media would have eaten the story alive. Yet the article treated it like a footnote, a brief interruption between politics and celebrity gossip.

It didn't make sense.

She leaned back against the headboard, tablet resting loosely in her hands, thoughts spiraling quietly. Luca was a contradiction...commanding yet lost, polished yet displaced, dangerous in ways she couldn't yet name. Amnesia explained the gaps, but not the instincts, not the ease with which he slipped into dominance, not the way people unconsciously responded to him.

Her gaze drifted toward the door, beyond it, toward the living room where he slept.

Who are you...really?

The question lingered unanswered.

She locked the tablet and set it aside, sleep still far from her reach, unease settling deep in her chest. Somewhere between the explosion, the missing driver, and the man under her roof, May Boston knew one thing with unsettling clarity.

Luca was not just a stranger who had wandered into her life by accident.

*

Morning came in a blink.

May didn't overthink it.

Luca couldn't keep wearing the same clothes, and she was tired of pretending the situation was temporary when it clearly wasn't. After a quick shower and a strong cup of coffee, she told him they were going out.

"Where?" he asked, pulling on the jacket Pete had brought days ago.

"Shopping," she replied. "Unless you plan on haunting my house in that outfit forever."

He glanced down at himself, then at her. "I don't mind."

"Well, I do."

They drove to one of her private clothing stores, a sleek glass-fronted building nestled between luxury boutiques, understated yet unmistakably expensive. Inside, the space was curated, not crowded...neutral tones, clean lines, racks spaced deliberately to let each piece breathe.

Luca stepped in and paused.

He didn't gawk, didn't rush, just skimmed his gaze across the store like someone assessing territory he already understood. He moved with ease, fingers brushing fabrics, eyes sharp, dismissing some pieces instantly, lingering on others without touching them.

May watched him quietly.

As a fashion executive, she trusted her instincts, and she selected items she knew would suit him...tailored trousers, structured jackets, shirts cut to frame his shoulders. He accepted them without comment, neither impressed nor dismissive.

Then he stopped.

In front of a display case sat a designer shirt, minimalist, rare, outrageously priced.

Luca stared at it.

May followed his gaze and raised a brow. "You like it?"

"It's fake," he said calmly.

She laughed. "That's a one of one," she said. "Designed by Alessandro Vitale from Italy. It never went into mass production."

"I know," Luca replied. "I'm looking at it because it's fake."

She turned to him, amusement still lingering. "And how would you know that?"

He looked at her then, expression unreadable. "Because I bought the original."

Her smile faltered slightly. "That's funny."

"I'm not joking."

She crossed her arms. "Prove it."

He leaned closer to the glass, pointing without touching. "The stitching at the inner collar is wrong. Vitale hand-finishes his seams, this one was machine-locked. The dye gradient is off by two shades, and the fabric blend is incorrect. The original uses untreated silk-cotton, this one has a synthetic thread woven through it."

May's breath caught.

She called over the store manager, asked questions casually, masked her interest. Within minutes, confirmation came in awkward silence.

The shirt wasn't authentic.

She dismissed the staff and turned back to Luca slowly, studying him like a puzzle she hadn't realized she wanted to solve.

"You knew all that," she said quietly.

He shrugged. "It felt obvious."

Her mind raced.

This wasn't instinct alone. This was familiarity, ownership, authority. Whatever life Luca had lived before had brushed shoulders with power, money, exclusivity...maybe even ruled over it.

As she watched him walk toward the fitting rooms, unbothered, unconcerned, a thought crossed her mind, sharp and dangerous.

Maybe she could use him.

And for the first time since bringing him home, May Boston smiled with intention.