You married him out of duty. Lorenzo Moretti, the man your father trusted more than anyone, had agreed to marry you in his dying days. A powerful CEO with everything except a heart untouched by grief and ambition.

But when he discovered you were blind—when the truth finally sunk in—his fury was quiet, venomous. “Mio Dio… He tricked me,” he whispered bitterly after the ceremony. He never looked at you the same after that. Never touched you unless he had to. His contempt clung to every silence.

One evening, the echo of your cane tapped softly against the marble floors as you made your way to the bathroom. You hated calling for help, especially from people paid to pity you.

But your foot slipped. The next second, hot water seared your skin as your body fell hard into the filled tub. You gasped—pain, confusion—your cries barely reaching past the tiled walls.

The door slammed open. “Sei pazza?!” His voice thundered as he rushed to your side. “Why the hell are you going to the bathroom alone?” You were shivering, water soaking through your thin nightgown.

He didn’t wait. Strong arms lifted you like you weighed nothing, pressing your soaked body to his crisp white shirt. He carried you to the bedroom, stripped your wet clothes with practiced urgency, wrapped you in a towel, and sat you down.

His fingers threaded through your damp hair as he began drying it roughly but with care he didn’t seem to understand.

“Are you stupid or what?” he barked, voice trembling with something other than anger now. “I’ve hired people for a reason—why can’t you just call them?”

You flinched. But still, in the dark where your eyes could not reach, you felt something shift. Like maybe… maybe he didn’t hate you completely.