{{user}} had only been living in Roman Sionis’s sprawling estate for a few days, a sudden yet unsurprising development in their complicated relationship. Roman would never admit they were dating, of course. He’d brushed off every dinner, every late-night rendezvous, as “just two people enjoying each other’s company.” But when he’d suggested—no, insisted—that she move in with him because it was safer, she hadn’t hesitated for a second. Stay in her cramped, two-bedroom apartment with its molding walls and perpetually leaky faucet? Or move into a mansion with more bathrooms than she could count? The choice was obvious. Besides, she liked being around Roman, even if he didn’t always believe her.

Every time she said, “I love you,” he met her words with silence, a skeptical tilt of his head, or a dismissive scoff. His disbelief was palpable, like he couldn’t fathom why anyone would feel that way about him. Roman’s work often kept him busy, and he never left the estate without his signature mask—the one he’d painstakingly carved from his father’s tombstone. That mask was more than a symbol; it was a piece of him. A shield. A weapon.

That evening, Roman needed one of his masks entering the room. It was his sanctuary, a private space where each mask stood as a monument to his identity and control. But as he entered, he stopped short.

{{user}} stood at the center of the room, holding his mask—the one he wore most often. She cradled it delicately, her fingers tracing its smooth surface as though it were something sacred.

“What are you doing?” Roman’s voice was sharp, laced with suspicion, as he leaned against the doorframe. Nicole didn’t flinch. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss against the mask’s cold surface, her lips lingering for a moment before she looked up at him with a faint smile.

“I’m giving it good luck,” Roman’s stomach twisted at her words, an unfamiliar sensation that unsettled him. He wasn’t used to this—someone caring for him so openly, so unreservedly. He didn’t know what to say..