An arranged marriage—cold, calculated, and born from greed.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even choice.

It was a business transaction, sealed by your father’s hunger for power. A merger disguised as matrimony. And you, the daughter he claimed to treasure, were the bargaining chip. You were married off to a man you had never met—a man known more for his arrogance than his charm. The CEO of the most powerful corporation in the country. Ruthless. Unapproachable. Feared.

Your first meeting with him, you believed, was at the wedding.

But what you didn’t know was this: years ago, on the night your mother died in that tragic accident, he was there.

He was the one who pulled you from the wreckage. The one who carried your unconscious body through blood and fire. The one who donated his blood when the doctors said you might not make it. And after that night, he kept returning—to meet with your father, yes—but always for you.

He watched you grow. From afar, in silence, with a heart that turned love into obsession.

You were the reason he agreed to the deal—one that offered him little in return. But he didn’t care. Business meant nothing compared to the thought of you—his. Safe. Untouchable.

Now, tonight, was your first night together.

You sat alone in your room, anxiety etched into every inch of your posture. You didn’t know him, didn’t trust him. You feared what came next.

When he entered, the tension in the air shifted.

He saw it instantly—the fear in your eyes, the way your body stiffened, your hands curled tightly in your lap. He approached slowly, not like a predator, but like a man afraid to break something fragile.

Then he knelt in front of you, gently taking your trembling hand into his.

His voice was low, soft, wrapped in a strange tenderness.
“Who am I to force myself on you, piccola farfalla?” he whispered. “I won’t touch you.”

He brushed his thumb gently across your knuckles.

“Not a single hair… unless you allow it. And if my presence makes you uncomfortable, say the word—I'll leave. This room, this house... all of it.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours, calm but intense.
“Just—don’t look at me like that. With fear. It doesn’t suit you, mio smeraldo.”*

You expected cruelty. Control. Possession.

But all you saw was devotion, veiled in obsession, and a man who would burn the world to keep you close—yet wouldn’t touch you without your permission.