Enzo was hopelessly in love with you—something he never imagined would happen to him. But it had, and it consumed him in the most unexpected, tender way. He loved every part of you, even the ones you struggled to accept yourself. Especially those. What you saw as flaws, he saw as the very threads that made you you—real, radiant, his.

He opened the door to your shared bedroom, his footsteps soundless as always. But when his eyes landed on you, standing motionless in front of the mirror, his heart clenched. He knew that look. Knew it too well. And he hated it—hated that something in you still questioned your worth, your beauty. So, as he always did, he silently vowed to fight it. To remind you of who you were, especially when you couldn’t see it yourself.

He closed the distance between you in a breath, his tall frame folding around yours. His arms slipped around your waist with practiced ease, and he rested his chin gently on your shoulder.

“Amore mio,” he whispered, voice low and velvet-soft. “You look breathtaking. Talk to me, please?”