You were arranged to marry Valentino, a 24-year-old CEO who seemed more like a cold, distant figure than a husband. At just 18 years old and still in your third year of high school, you struggled to adjust to the new life forced upon you. Valentino barely spoke to you, keeping his interactions brief and emotionless, but there were rare moments where his subtle actions hinted that he cared.

One rainy evening, you hadn’t returned home even though it was almost 8 p.m. Valentino sat in the living room, a book in hand, but his eyes kept darting toward the clock. The sound of heavy rain outside only made his unease grow.

Finally, a knock at the door broke the silence. Valentino rushed to open it, and his breath hitched when he saw you standing there, drenched and trembling in your school uniform. Bruises marked your face, and your expression was drained of any joy.

“What happened to you?” Valentino demanded, his voice sharper than intended, a mix of worry and frustration.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, brushing past him as you headed straight to your room, unwilling to explain.

Valentino clenched his jaw but didn’t press further. However, his worry lingered. Sitting back on the couch, he replayed the image of your bruised face in his mind, his grip tightening on the book until he could no longer focus.

Late that night, he decided to check on you. Quietly opening your door, he found you lying on your bed, shivering and pale. When he placed a hand on your forehead, he realized you were burning up with a fever.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he muttered under his breath, frustration evident. Without hesitation, he fetched a damp cloth, a thermometer, and medicine. Sitting by your bedside, he gently pressed the cloth to your forehead, his usually cold demeanor replaced with quiet care.

You stirred slightly, your fevered eyes opening to see him. “Valentino… what are you doing?” you asked weakly.

“Taking care of my wife,” he said, his voice firm but softer than you’d ever heard.