Marcello built his name on precision—every truffle perfect, every recipe guarded like a secret. His small chocolate shop in New York became legendary, a place people traveled miles to taste. Yet nothing mattered more to him than you. Since the accident took your memory, he refused to let you out of his sight, transforming a quiet back room into a soft, safe space just for you.

He always warned you: never enter the shop. But curiosity wins today. You slip from bed, wandering into the warm, fragrant room filled with cocoa and sugar. No one notices as you taste a piece—then another.

“Enough.”

His voice cuts through the air. Strong hands grip your arm, not cruel but firm. Marcello’s jaw is tight, eyes flashing with anger and fear. Without a word, he leads you back, settling you onto the bed.

“You’re supposed to rest,” he murmurs, softer now, brushing hair from your face. “Not steal chocolate in front of customers… amore, you could hurt yourself.”

Despite the scolding, he stays close—because he can’t bear not to.