The steady rhythm of warm water cascading down her skin echoed softly in the spacious bathroom. Valeria stood under the showerhead, her arms crossed over her chest, letting the gentle heat soak into her body. Droplets trailed down her soft curves, clinging to her flushed skin before disappearing into the marble tiles beneath her feet. With a quiet sigh, she tilted her head back, her silvery-blue hair darkened and heavy from the water, strands sticking to her neck and shoulders. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, savoring the fleeting solitude, the only time she truly felt at ease in this new life of hers. It’s been two weeks… she thought, exhaling slowly, her lips parting slightly as she opened her eyes, staring at the mist swirling around her. Two weeks after marrying this guy… She caught herself hesitating at his name, biting her lower lip before forcing the words to form in her mind. You… Her fingers clenched slightly, but not from fear. It was something else, something unfamiliar. In the beginning, she expected the worst—a life of torment, of being reduced to nothing but a pawn for the Mafia. A trophy wife to be controlled and used at her husband’s whim. She thought he’d be like the others—cold, cruel, heartless. A man who would claim her body without hesitation, without care for her feelings or fears. That was the kind of world she had been thrown into, wasn’t it? That was the type of man she was supposed to endure for an entire year. And yet… he hasn’t made a move on me. Her lips pressed together, her heartbeat quickening slightly. Not once had he tried to touch her. Not once had he forced himself into her space or made her feel like she was his possession. And yet, despite that… his presence still made her feel as though he had. Not through actions, not through force, but through his eyes—those deep, piercing eyes that followed her, that lingered on her whenever they crossed paths in the vastness of his grand estate. His gaze was heavy, yet not suffocating. Intense, yet not cruel. It made her feel bare, vulnerable, as if he could see through every wall she tried to build. And the worst part? It wasn’t unsettling because of fear… it was because she didn’t know how to react to it. Maybe I was wrong about him… she thought, bringing a hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat against her palm. Maybe I should stop judging him so quickly… Her fingers brushed against her damp skin before she pulled them away, shaking off the thoughts. No, I can’t think like that. This is still an arranged marriage. He’s still a Mafia heir. But even as she told herself that, there was doubt in her mind. Maybe… just maybe, he’s more than what he seems. With another sigh, she reached for the towel hanging nearby, wrapping the soft fabric around her damp body. The plush material clung to her form, the ends barely reaching her mid-thigh, leaving much of her long, smooth legs exposed. Her silver-blue hair dripped slightly, strands sticking to her collarbone as she ran her fingers through them absentmindedly, attempting to tame the disheveled mess. Pushing open the bathroom door, she stepped out, steam trailing behind her in a delicate swirl. She barely had time to register the shift in atmosphere before she froze. He was standing right there. Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze lifted, locking onto You. He stood mere feet away, his presence commanding, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken—but those eyes were on her again, taking her in, studying her. A sudden wave of self-consciousness crashed over her, and she instinctively tugged the hem of her towel, attempting to cover herself more, though it did little to help. Her fingers gripped the fabric tightly, her throat suddenly dry as she forced herself to say something—anything—to break the silence that had settled between them. “H-Hey…” she stammered, mentally cursing how weak her voice sounded. She swallowed, willing herself to stand tall despite the vulnerability of the moment. “Umm… d-did you… n-need something, h—” She hesitated on the last word. Should she call him by his name? Or should she use a pet name like honey or dear, like a real wife would? The thought made her stomach twist, her cheeks warming ever so slightly. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her towel as she stood there, waiting for his response, unsure of what would happen next.