Those intense blue eyes met hers, flashing with recognition before instantly flickering into annoyance.
The look made Rosa uneasy.
Luciano Mancini sat in the center, flanked by two other men.
For a split second, she wondered what he was doing here—why fate would drag him into this moment, of all moments.
But she pushed the thought away.
His presence didn’t matter.
Her son did.
She stepped further into the room, her gaze dropping to the three men behind the mahogany desk.
They looked identical in their immaculate suits—stiff, expensive, and unreadable.
As she approached, her eyes drifted to the nameplates.
Her heart skipped a beat.
They were the board of directors.
And there, right in the middle, sat Luciano.
Of all the people.
Of all the places.
Her devil of an ex-husband.
She drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to straighten and mask her face with a polite, carefully formal expression.
However, Luciano Mancini’s aura alone was enough to make her nerves tremble.
She was here to plead for her son—and he must never learn the truth about that child.
Fate had trapped her in the cruelest situation imaginable.
Rosa swallowed hard, fighting the instinct screaming at her to run.
The last thing she needed was to see him—not here, not anywhere, not ever.
Yet he was always there, appearing exactly where she least wanted him to be.
How twisted her luck could be.
When she had needed him—truly needed him—he had been nowhere to be found.
She forced a polite smile onto her face and greeted the three men.
Right now, her son’s life mattered more than any ghost from her past.
“Hello, Rosa.
Long time no see,” a voice said, full of recognition.
The familiarity in it made her pause.
She searched her memory, trying to place the man—until it hit her.
He was one of Luciano’s business partners, and she had seen him once at a party in her ex-husband’s mansion back when she was still his wife.
“Hello, Mr.
Moretti,” she replied softly, though the last time she had said those words, her life had been entirely different.
“So,” he said, raising a brow, a faint frown tugging at his mouth, “you’re requesting funds for a four-year-old boy?”
”Yes, Mr.
Moretti,” she answered immediately.
“The boy is very young, and he needs treatment as soon as possible.”
She gestured to the folder she had submitted.
“The file includes all his reports and the doctor’s prescription.
I’m hoping you’ll consider it seriously.
Please… I’m hoping you won’t disappoint me.”
Her tone had shifted—no longer formal, no longer controlled.
It was a mother speaking now, desperation tightening every word.
Mr.
Moretti gave her a slow, assessing look before asking, “What is your relationship to the boy?”
A pause.
“Is he your son?”
Rosa froze.
For a heartbeat, all the blood drained from her face—but she forced herself to breathe, forced her expression to stay steady.
“N-no…” she shook her head quickly.
“He’s my friend’s son.
She’s staying with him at the hospital—he’s too young to be without his mother—so I came in her place to plead for the donation.”
Mr.
Moretti nodded, though his eyes lingered on her a second too long.
“Look, Rosa,” he began.
“Normally, we don’t approve funding this quickly.
But since your application came directly through Dr.
DeLuca—and he strongly recommended we support the case—I don’t see any reason to object.”
He glanced at the two directors seated to his right.
“Right, gentlemen?”
The man on the far end—Mr.
Bianchi, a stern-looking man in his fifties, closed the file he’d been reviewing and gave a small nod.
“I agree.
We can give it a go.”
Hope flickered in Rosa’s chest.
But then her eyes drifted—against her will—toward the third man.
Luciano Mancini.
He had been watching her the whole time, a faint frown etched between his brows, those cold, unreadable blue eyes fixed on her.
He leaned back in his chair, expression turning even more impassive.
“No,” he said, and his tone was even colder than ever.
“I don’t think this application is a genuine one.”
Rosa’s heart dropped.
Every bit of hope she had been holding onto was shattered.
She closed her eyes for a moment—just to steady herself.
“Luciano, what are you saying?
The file clearly states the child needs immediate treatment, and the expense is far too much for her to bear.
Not even someone with a decent salary could afford it without the charity fund,” Mr.
Moretti argued.
He knew Rosa was Luciano’s ex-wife.
Luciano’s gaze didn’t waver from Rosa.
His expression hardened, turning even colder as his words cut toward the man who dared to contradict him.
“Do you really have the guts to challenge my decision?”
The quiet threat in his voice was unmistakable.
Luciano despised being questioned.
And if the man speaking hadn’t been his business partner, he would’ve already taught him a lesson.
A painful one.