Legally Yours, Illegaly Mine….
Ch 1: Arrival in Milan
The sound of heels clacking on smooth marble echoed across Milan Malpensa Airport. A tall girl in a navy-blue kurta with messy curls bouncing around her face clutched the handle of a stubborn suitcase that refused to roll straight.
Her name was Anivitha Nanduri, and Milan had never felt so… intimidating.
The Italian spring air was crisp, the signs in Italian barely made sense, and the people—all perfectly dressed in trench coats and expensive sunglasses—looked like they’d walked out of Vogue. And here she was, still sweating from the flight, her duffle bag falling off her shoulder every three steps.
Anivitha Nanduri (fl)
(grumbling under her breath)
“Why do I do this to myself? I could’ve just presented online… But no. Come to Milan, Avi. Go global, Avi.”
She finally spotted a man holding a placard. Not with her name—but close.
Placard:
Anithiva Nandari
Anivitha Nanduri (fl)
“Of course. I get a free trip abroad and they still spell my name like a WiFi password.”
She marched over, managing a smile.
Anivitha Nanduri (fl)
“That’s me! I think. It’s Anivitha Nanduri, but I answer to most mispronunciations.”
The driver, who looked like a retired Bond villain, simply nodded and gestured toward a luxury black car. Inside, she collapsed onto the leather seat and exhaled.
Outside the car window, the city of Milan whirred past—sleek architecture, cobblestone alleys, ancient cathedrals and modern art galleries, all melting into one dizzying blur. Her nerves were already crawling.
Tomorrow was the international AI conference where she’d be presenting her project: a cognitive learning module for multilingual children. Big deal. Huge.
Anivitha Nanduri (fl)
(thinking)
“No biggie. Just a stage, an audience of geniuses, and tech billionaires. Perfectly casual.”
When the car stopped outside Hotel Aurelia, a jaw-droppingly elegant five-star hotel in the fashion district, Anivitha gulped.
Anivitha Nanduri (fl)
“This is not the kind of hotel where room service serves biryani, is it?”
As she checked in, the receptionist handed her a keycard with a too-polished smile.
Receptionist:
“Welcome to Milan, Signorina Nanduri. You’ve been upgraded to the executive suite. Courtesy of Mr. Jayden Morris.”
Anivitha Nanduri (fl)
(frowning)
“I didn’t… wait, who?”
Receptionist:
“He’s the sponsor of the panel you’ll be speaking on tomorrow. Said he wanted all key speakers well-rested.”
Anivitha Nanduri (fl)
(thinking)
“Okay, billionaire vibes. Slightly creepy, but okay.”
Dragging her bags to the suite, she opened the door and gasped.
The room was bigger than her flat back home in Vijayawada. A chandelier twinkled over velvet sofas, and through floor-length windows, the Duomo gleamed under the evening sun.
Anivitha Nanduri (fl)
(softly)
“Milan, you show-off.”
Just as she kicked off her shoes and fell face-first into the plush bed, her phone buzzed with a message from her best friend back home.
Deepika - Chat]
[📸 selfie of Anivitha looking jetlagged]
“Tell me you’ve already fallen in love with an Italian barista.”
Anivitha - Chat:
“I’ve only fallen in love with the bed. And maybe the marble bathtub. And definitely the cheese in the plane sandwich.”
Deepika - Chat:
“I want photos. I want drama. I want one hot mafia CEO who falls for your brain.”
Anivitha - Chat:
“Keep dreaming. The only thing falling for me here is my suitcase.”
As she changed into fresh clothes, she thought of tomorrow—tech moguls, nerves, high heels, and her first international speech.
But she had no idea that somewhere else in the city, Jayden Morris—CEO, mafia-linked businessman, and dangerously charming—was about to remember her name from a portfolio.
And that fate was already clicking its pen, drafting the craziest contract of her life.
Cherrie
Welcome to the first chapter of “Legally Yours, Illegally Mine”!
Cherrie
Anivitha’s journey has just begun, and already Milan is serving culture shock and mild chaos. Don’t worry, the Italian CEO, mafia drama, and fake wedding bells are just around the corner.
If you smiled at her suitcase wars and name mispronunciation, stick around—it only gets funnier, swoonier, and sweeter (with a bit of spice).
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