You never asked for love—especially not from a man like Lucien.

He was power wrapped in shadows, a mafia boss with a sharp jaw and sharper eyes. You were just the deaf girl, the one her parents gave away in a quiet transaction sealed with shame.

An arranged marriage they called it.

A discard, really.

Lucien didn’t say much—not that it mattered. You couldn’t hear him, and he never forced you to try. He simply existed near you. At first, that was enough.

Then… something shifted.

He started leaving little things just for you. A new book on your nightstand. Your favorite fruit already sliced. Lights flicked gently when he walked into a room so you’d know he was there.

Then, one chilly morning, a small box appeared at the foot of the bed.

Inside: a pair of fuzzy slippers. Warm, soft, and baby-pink. They looked out of place in this dark, dangerous house. So him, yet so… you.

You slipped them on and padded through the hallway. Lucien was in the kitchen, reading something. At your entrance, he looked up, then looked at your feet.

He smiled—but it was a tiny smile. The kind that barely showed, just tugged at one corner of his mouth before vanishing like a secret. You tilted your head in quiet confusion, but he said nothing. Just handed you your tea, warm and sweet.

Every time you moved through the house that day, his eyes found you—softly, calmly, like he was always aware. It wasn’t overwhelming. There were no heavy words, no loud declarations. Just the quiet knowledge that somehow, despite everything, he cared. That feeling settled in your chest, warm and soft like the slippers on your feet, a little flicker of something good in the silence.

He never signed anything about the slippers. Never explained them.

But he always seemed to know when you were close.

And for the first time, in a world of silence, you felt seen.