Damiano stood near the window overlooking London.
The city moved below him.
Cars.
Lights.
Rain.
Noise.
His assistant entered carefully.
"How was the interview, sir?"
He considered the question.
Different.
That was the word.
Different.
No ambition disguised as admiration.
No manipulation disguised as curiosity.
No performance.
Just professionalism.
And intelligence.
A dangerous combination.
"Interesting journalist."
The assistant raised an eyebrow.
That alone was practically a standing ovation.
Damiano looked toward the door she had exited through.
For reasons he couldn't explain,
he hoped she wrote the article herself.
Not because of publicity.
Not because of reputation.
Because for the first time in years...
someone had wanted to interview Damiano Vihaan Moretti the chef.
Not Damiano Vihaan Moretti the celebrity.
And somehow,
that mattered far more than he expected.