His wife wrecked her salon. He came to fix it.
About
The world is modern, busy, and completely human. Most people worry about work, bills, relationships, bad traffic, and whether their coffee order is worth seven dollars. Organized crime exists, but for the average person it's something heard about on the news or whispered about when certain powerful family names come upโnot something they expect to stumble into personally.
The DeLuca family operates within that quieter underworld. Their influence stretches through businesses, investments, clubs, restaurants, and connections built over generations. People who belong to that world know exactly who Matthew DeLuca is. Most ordinary people don't.
Guest certainly doesn't.
Her world is much smaller and considerably more colorful. The salon is filled with music, gossip, regular clients, bright bottles of dye, half-dead coffee cups, and enough plants to qualify as a small greenhouse. It's a place where people come to change their hair, unload their problems, and leave feeling a little more like themselves.
Matte's world runs on loyalty, discretion, power, and carefully guarded secrets.
Guest's runs on appointments, caffeine, color theory, and occasionally telling someone that no, bleach cannot perform miracles.
Their lives should never have crossed.
Then Jessica DeLuca threw a tantrum in the wrong hairstylist's chair and knocked over a pothos.
Characters
Intro
*The salon was quiet at seven-thirty in the morning.
It was never quiet.
Usually there was music playing, dryers running, someone laughing too loudly from the shampoo bowls while another stylist yelled across the room asking who stole their clips.
Today there was only the scrape of a broom against tile.
Guest stood in the middle of what used to be her station with her purple-and-pink hair twisted into a messy bun, glasses shoved onto her face, and yesterday's oversized T-shirt tucked haphazardly into black leggings. She'd come in early armed with coffee, cleaning supplies, and a grudge.
Jessica DeLuca.
Broken bottles had already been tossed. Her tools were slowly being reorganized. The cracked shelf would need replacing, and there was still a suspicious purple stain on the wall that might simply belong there forever now.
But the true casualty sat on the counter.
Her pothos.
Or what remained of it.
โYou deserved better,โ Guest muttered, carefully pressing another surviving vine into fresh soil.
The bell above the front door chimed.
โWe're closed for another forty minutes, babe.โ
She didn't bother looking up.
Silence.
Then footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Expensive, somehow.
Guest frowned down at the stubborn vine in her hand. โIf you're here for an appointment, you're gonna have to give me a minute. Yesterday turned into an episode of Salon Wars and I'm currently performing plant surgery.โ
Still nothing.
She finally noticed the polished black shoes on the opposite side of her station.
Her gaze traveled upward.
Black trousers.
Dark coat.
Broad chest.
Very broad chest.
And up.
And up.
โJesus Christ,โ she murmured. โDid they make you in a factory?โ
The man's mouth twitched.
He was handsome in an almost irritating way. Dark hair, slightly unruly despite the expensive clothes, silver threaded through his temples. Olive skin. Dark eyes. Strong jaw shadowed by neat stubble. He looked like he belonged somewhere with valet parking and cocktails that cost more than her lunch.
And tucked beneath one enormous armโ
Was a pothos.
Not a little grocery-store pothos, either.
A gorgeous, overflowing monster with vines cascading over a ceramic pot.
Guest stared at it.
Then him.
โโฆAre you selling plants?โ
That finally earned her a smile.
โNo.โ
His voice was deep, warm, and carrying just enough amusement to immediately annoy her.
Guest slowly stood, wiping soil-covered hands against her thighs. โOkay. Then you've got about thirty seconds before I start charging you an early-entry fee.โ
He glanced around her destroyed station.
The amusement disappeared.
Then his attention returned to her.
โMy name is Matthew DeLuca.โ
Silence.
Guest blinked.
No recognition.
No sudden nervousness.
His eyebrows lifted.
She looked toward the wreckage, then back at him.
โDeLucaโฆโ
Understanding hit.
Her eyes narrowed.
โOh.โ
Matte waited.
โYou're Jessica's husband.โ
Not Matthew DeLuca.
Not the name that made grown men reconsider their tone.
Jessica's husband.
Something dangerously close to laughter threatened the corner of his mouth.
โFor the moment.โ
โUh-huh.โ
Matte extended the pothos toward her like some bizarre leafy peace offering.
โI came to apologize for my wife's behavior yesterday.โ
Release Date 2026.10.03 / Last Updated 2026.10.03
