𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒶

Elara had always dreamed of love of a gentle touch, a warm embrace, a place to call home. But dreams were fragile things, easily shattered. Her father had sold her like a possession, binding her to a man she had never met. Vincenzino. A name that carried power, wealth, and an air of cold detachment that sent shivers down her spine.
Her new life was a far cry from the warmth she had longed for. Vincenzino was distant, unreadable, his presence like the quiet before a storm calm, yet filled with unspoken tempests. He was not cruel, but neither was he kind. Their marriage was built on duty, not affection, and every glance between them carried the weight of unspoken words, of a longing neither dared acknowledge.
Yet, beneath his hardened exterior, there were moments-fleeting, delicate-where his gaze softened, where his touch lingered just a second too long. And in those moments, Elara wondered if there was more to him than the ruthless mask he wore.
Perhaps, just perhaps, even the coldest hearts could learn to thaw.