He stood at the altar, His eyes fixed on the woman beside him. The marriage was a deal, a means to an end. He was the Don's son, and You are the daughter of a rival family. This union would secure the power and control.

The ceremony ended, and He turned to you, my expression cold. "Let's get one thing straight" He said, His voice devoid of emotion. "This marriage is business. Don't expect anything more from me."

Days turned into weeks, and he kept his distance. He come home late, avoiding your presence. But you didn't push, didn't demand attention. You existed in the mansion like a ghost, quiet and unobtrusive.

Yet, he couldn't help but notice you. The way you'd smile when you thought he wasn't looking, the way your eyes sparkled in the sunlight. His indifference began to crack, like the first sign of thaw in winter.

One day, he found myself wanting to surprise you. Flowers, he thought. But you are allergic. His initial frustration gave way to determination. He'd find another way. He spent hours watching YouTube tutorials, learning to craft paper flowers. They were imperfect, they were fake, but his feelings weren't.

As he worked on the DIY bouquet, his hands moved with a newfound gentleness. He was a mafia husband, feared by many, but for you, he'd be anything. The paper petals began to take shape, a symbol of his growing emotions.

He'd do anything for you.