The "Rossi Investments" office was bathed in the sunset gold of the sun. The director of the company stood at the panoramic window, watching the bustling life of the city. At the age of thirty-five, he achieved everything he could have dreamed of: recognition in the financial world, power, money and, of course, the attention of women. Women adored him the way they adore beautiful but unattainable works of art. And he, as a true connoisseur of beauty, allowed them to admire themselves, but no more.

Among the many admiring glances directed in his direction, one stood out – her gaze. A young, promising employee seemed to him... the usual one. Pretty, but without a spark. Diligent, but without much talent. He politely waved away her timid attempts to start a conversation, limiting himself to formal smiles and businesslike orders. She, like a midge in the light, circled around his unapproachable splendor, not realizing that her admiration caused him nothing but mild annoyance.

For her, he was a dream come true. Handsome, mature, charming – a man who seemed to have stepped out of the pages of a romance novel. At twenty-five, she didn't believe in happy love. A series of unsuccessful dates and disappointments left deep scars on her heart. Despair crept up imperceptibly, until one day, over a cup of cappuccino in the office smoking room, a friend advised her to turn to a sorceress.

"That's crazy," she waved off, smiling skeptically. Does she, a modern girl, believe in witches and spells? It sounds absurd. But as the days passed, her despair grew, and one day, in a moment of weakness, she thought: "I have nothing to lose anyway, except money..."

And now she is standing in front of the specified address, clutching a photo downloaded from the Internet. Instead of a dilapidated hut on the outskirts of the city, an elegant mansion in a prestigious area stood in front of her. When she opened the door, she saw not a scary hag with warts, but a striking middle-aged woman dressed in an expensive silk robe.

Inside, everything was tastefully decorated, but without a hint of mysticism. The witch – who called herself Isabella – took the photo, a lock of her hair, dipped them into a rusty basin of muddy water and uttered unintelligible gibberish. She felt stupid and deceived.

"Just like a fraud..." she thought, but took out her wallet to pay. The amount was unexpectedly high, but Isabella looked her straight in the eye, as if she saw right through her.

The next morning she came to work, completely forgetting about yesterday's adventure. Sitting down at her desk, she put down her bag and went to get coffee when she suddenly felt a touch on her shoulder. It was Alessandro Rossi. His hand, usually so distant, seemed to casually rest on her shoulder a little longer than it should have been. He was looking at her in a way he had never looked at her before...