Chapter 358: The Scent Of Bitter Perfume

While Laurent and three boutique assistants carefully loaded the custom-monogrammed leather trunks into the Maybach’s reinforced boot, Naomi gave Luca’s fingers an apologetic squeeze.

"I need to use the powder room," Naomi whispered, her cheeks still faintly pink from the shopping spree. "I’ll be right back."

"Alright. I’ll wait out here," Luca replied.

She giggled, playfully swatted his bicep, and disappeared into the boutique arcade.

With a few minutes to spare, Luca wandered over to a shaded café terrace overlooking Place Vend?me. He pulled out a wrought-iron chair, ordered a double espresso, and settled back to enjoy the pleasant autumn afternoon. Just then an overpowering fragrance drifted toward him. A heavy mixture of French tuberose and night-blooming jasmine.

Luca didn’t bother looking up. He simply continued swirling the espresso in his porcelain cup.

Across the cobblestones, Chloé de Valois adjusted her oversized designer sunglasses and studied the café terrace.

She had just stepped out of her metallic-purple Lamborghini Aventador, casually tossing the keys to an intimidated valet. Paris had been dreadfully boring lately. The aristocratic bachelors she’d encountered were either drowning in family debt, painfully dull, or so desperate for her attention that they practically worshipped the ground beneath her Louboutins.

To Chloé, men were little more than disposable playthings.

Then she noticed someone who caught her attention.

A young foreign man sat alone at a marble-topped table. His charcoal cashmere coat was understated, but it rested over broad shoulders that suggested a physique built through more than an expensive gym membership. He leaned comfortably against his chair, displaying the sort of effortless confidence that usually belonged to men with considerable power or even greater wealth.

Her gaze eventually settled on his wrist.

Beneath his cuff sat an exceptionally rare Vacheron Constantin tourbillon, its polished surface catching the afternoon sunlight. Across the pavement, a bespoke black Maybach waited with two private security escorts standing nearby.

Chloé felt a faint flutter in her chest.

’Now, that’s interesting.’

He wasn’t another foreign tourist desperately advertising his wealth through oversized logos and gaudy accessories. There was something genuinely attractive about him, from his sharply defined jawline to his dark, penetrating eyes. Even his relaxed posture carried a quiet magnetism that made the European heirs she usually entertained seem rather childish by comparison.

A slow smile spread across her red lips.

For the first time in months, she felt genuinely interested in someone.

With her heels clicking against the stone, she approached the café, her silk trench coat shifting as she walked. She stopped beside Luca’s table, allowing her perfume to announce her presence before she even spoke.

Luca took another sip of espresso.

He didn’t need to spend minutes looking to assess the woman standing beside him. She was undeniably beautiful, tall and blonde, with striking cheekbones and the sort of figure that belonged on a fashion runway. Most men would probably consider her a goddess.

To Luca?

A tier below.

He had Vivienne’s commanding elegance, Arabella’s almost otherworldly beauty, Sophie’s heart-melting sweetness, and Naomi’s radiant charm. Compared to them, this woman was little more than a synthetic diamond beside a collection of flawless gems.

Her appearance wasn’t even the main issue.

Having spent months dealing with ruthless billionaires, Luca had become rather good at reading people. He recognized that expression immediately. It was the look of someone who regarded other people as possessions waiting to be acquired.

And he had absolutely no interest in entertaining her.

With three pregnant partners back in San Fierro, Arabella, Rachel, Sophie waiting for her turn, and Naomi currently freshening up inside the boutique, he had enough women around his life.

The last thing he needed was a high-maintenance woman looking for attention.

Chloé slid her sunglasses onto her head and leaned slightly toward him.

"A gentleman like you shouldn’t be drinking alone in Paris," she purred in flawless English, her voice smooth and deliberately seductive.

Her manicured finger lightly tapped the rim of his porcelain saucer. Her eyes briefly settled on his watch.

"A Vacheron Constantin Patrimony Traditionnelle. You certainly have exquisite taste, Monsieur. But sitting out here on a sidewalk seems rather wasteful when Paris has so many more exclusive places to offer. Provided, of course, you have the right company."

Luca finally glanced up.

His expression held mild curiosity, much like someone observing an unusually persistent pigeon that had landed on his balcony.

Mistaking his silence for fascination, Chloé’s smile widened. She reached into her crocodile handbag, retrieved an embossed gold-leaf business card, and placed it neatly in the center of the table.

"Perhaps I could show you how true nobility spends an evening?" she added, giving him a deliberate wink.

In her mind, the outcome was already decided.

’He’s speechless. Naturally. How often does a man like this get approached by a de Valois? He’ll probably frame the card.’

Luca glanced at the name printed across it.

Chloé de Valois.

He made no attempt to pick it up.

Instead, he took his metal teaspoon and calmly pushed the card back across the marble surface until it stopped beside her manicured hand.

He then placed the spoon down, wiped his fingers with a linen napkin, and met her gaze.

"Thank you, but I’m currently waiting for someone."

Chloé’s smile froze.

For a moment, she genuinely struggled to understand what had happened.

’He... pushed it back?’

’With a spoon?’

She was Chloé de Valois!

Men from Europe’s oldest noble families spent months trying to secure introductions to her at private equestrian clubs. Tech billionaires and oil heirs competed for the privilege of obtaining her personal number.

And this foreigner, this seemingly nameless tourist sitting at a public café, had just rejected her without even bothering to touch her card.

A wave of humiliation washed over her, quickly followed by burning anger. Her jaw tightened, and the smile she’d worn so confidently moments earlier disappeared.

"You..." she began, her usually smooth accent trembling with outrage.

Before she could continue, the familiar clicking of heels approached from the boutique arcade behind her.

"Luca! Did you get one for me too, or did you..."

A sweet, radiant voice interrupted the tense atmosphere.

Naomi had returned.