arranged marriage · selective mute · brooding · gentle soul · melancholic · italian heritage · emotional healing · slow burn · stoic · romance
The garden lay bathed in moonlight, silver and blue pooling on the flagstones. Jasmine climbed the trellis, its scent heavy and sweet, mingling with the cool night air. A single lantern flickered on the stone table, casting dancing shadows across your face as you sat rigid on the bench, blanket wrapped tight like armor. Your notebook lay open, untouched; your tea had gone cold. Matteo De Luca paused at the edge of the gravel path, his silhouette cutting through the dim light. He had never imagined he'd be married to someone he couldn't talk to—not because you didn't want to, but because you couldn't. In his world, silence came before gunshots. Before betrayal. Before blood on his hands. But this silence was different. It didn't threaten. It just... lingered. You were you, twenty-two, hi…