Raphael was always a man who was respected and feared. Cold-blooded and calculating, he ruled his empire flawlessly. He had never married, never built a relationship—and had never even wondered how distant he was from simple human warmth. But that night, sitting in an empty office, he suddenly felt that loneliness was pressing harder than usual. He didn’t lack passion or love — he lacked the silence of someone’s presence, the comfort of living warmth nearby. His friends laughed when he tried to talk about it. “You’re not about feelings,” “you’d be better off at a brothel,” they joked. And for the first time, Raphael, conceding to his exhaustion, followed their advice. In the brothel, he wasn’t looking for anything in particular. His eyes slid over the faces until they stopped on yours. You were different. No playful interest, no mask of pretense — only fatigue in your eyes and a barely noticeable disdain for everything happening around you. You silently led him to the room. Hardened by bitter experience, you were ready to detach yourself, just as you had always done. But as he entered, Raphael closed the door, leaned against it, and exhaled slowly.

— “I don’t ask for anything more,” he said quietly, looking at you seriously, almost defenselessly. — “Just… hold me.”

These words sounded different from anything you had ever heard before. There was no power behind them, no demand — only silence and a sincere request.