The city of Porsche, Italy, never truly slept.

Even at midnight, golden lights dripped from balconies, expensive cars purred through narrow streets, and laughter echoed through wine-filled nights. It was a city built on beauty, power… and secrets.

And at the center of it all stood one name people spoke carefully

Sylus D’Amato.

He wasn’t just rich.

He was untouchable.

A man who didn’t climb to the top—he crushed his way there.

At thirty-five, Sylus had everything: wealth, power, influence. But what made people uneasy wasn’t his success.

It was his presence.

Tall. Broad. Perfectly built like something sculpted rather than born. His face carried a dangerous kind of beauty sharp jaw, dark eyes that never softened, lips that rarely smiled.

Women desired him.

Men feared him.

And anyone who crossed him… didn’t get a second chance.

But Sylus wasn’t always alone.

Once, he had a wife.

Lilith.

She had been the only woman who ever walked beside him without fear. Bold. Beautiful. Untamed.

And for a time… he loved her.

In his own way.

They had a son.

Arwan.

But love, when placed in the hands of a man like Sylus, didn’t grow soft.

It hardened.

“You don’t love, Sylus,” Lilith had said that night, her voice shaking but her eyes steady. “You control. You suffocate. You destroy everything that tries to get close to you.”

He remembered every word.

Not because they hurt.

But because she left right after.

She walked out of his life, taking Arwan with her.

And Sylus…

Let her.

Not because he didn’t care.

But because forcing someone to stay felt weak.

And Sylus D’Amato was never weak.

The only thing he fought for

Was his son.

After months of legal battles, arguments, and silent wars, they reached a deal.

He could see Arwan on weekends.

Only weekends.

Until the day he could take full custody.

It wasn’t enough.

But it was something.

And so, Sylus returned to what he did best

Work.

Power.

Control.

Until his business demanded something else.

Marriage.

That’s how Zaelina Moretti entered his life.

She wasn’t like Lilith.

Not wild.

Not bold.

Not dangerous.

Zaelina was… soft.

Twenty-five. Small in height. Warm-toned skin that glowed under sunlight. Big amber eyes that held more emotion than she ever spoke. Her beauty wasn’t the kind that turned heads instantly

It was the kind that stayed.

The kind that felt… gentle.

Too gentle for a man like Sylus.

Their marriage wasn’t built on love.

It was built on business.

A deal between families.

A bond between empires.

But for Zaelina

It meant everything.

She stood in front of the mirror on their wedding night, her fingers trembling slightly as they touched the ring on her hand.

Mrs. D’Amato.

Her lips curved into a soft smile.

She knew what kind of man Sylus was. Everyone did.

Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable.

But somewhere deep inside her heart

She believed… she could change that.

The door opened behind her.

She turned slowly.

And there he was.

Sylus.

No softness.

No warmth.

No hesitation.

His gaze moved over her once. Calm. Assessing.

Not like a husband looking at his wife.

Like a man acknowledging something that belonged to him.

“Get some rest,” he said flatly, loosening his tie.

No compliments.

No emotions.

Nothing.

Her smile faded slightly.

“…Okay.”

That was how their marriage began.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Then months.

Sylus barely spoke to her unless necessary.

Meals were silent.

Mornings were distant.

Evenings were empty.

But nights

Nights were different.

Zaelina lay in bed one night when the door opened.

Her breath hitched softly.

He walked in, the scent of alcohol faint on him, his expression unreadable.

She sat up slowly.

“Sylus…”

He didn’t reply.

He just walked toward her.

And then

His hand gripped her jaw.

Firm. Possessive.

His lips crashed against hers without warning.

The kiss wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t loving.

It was consuming.

Zaelina gasped against him, her hands instinctively gripping his shirt as he pushed her back onto the bed.

His touch was rough, impatient, like he was trying to feel something anything through her.

And she let him.

Every time.

Because even in that roughness…

It was the only time he chose her.

The next morning

He was gone.

Cold again.

Distant again.

Like nothing had happened.

Zaelina sat alone at the dining table, her fingers lightly touching the marks left on her skin.

Her heart whispered something dangerous

At least he comes back at night.

But there was something else she noticed.

Something that slowly began to break her

Sylus never wore her wedding ring.

Instead

On his finger…

Was Lilith’s ring.

Zaelina stared at it once, her chest tightening.

She wanted to ask.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to scream.

But instead

She smiled softly and said nothing.

Because she believed

One day…

He would choose her.

And she was ready to wait.

No matter how long it took.

Saturday mornings were the only time the mansion felt… alive.

Not because of Sylus.

Not because of the staff.

But because of a small pair of footsteps that echoed through the halls.

Arwan.

Zaelina stood at the top of the staircase, her fingers lightly gripping the railing as she watched the front doors open.

A little boy stepped in, his tiny hand held by the housekeeper. Big curious eyes, soft curls falling over his forehead, and a hesitant smile that didn’t quite reach his face.

He looked around carefully like this place wasn’t home.

Because it wasn’t.

Behind him stood Sylus.

And for the first time since their marriage

Zaelina saw something different in her husband.

His expression softened.

It wasn’t obvious. Most people wouldn’t even notice it. But Zaelina did. She noticed everything about him.

The slight drop in his shoulders.

The way his voice lost its edge.

The way his eyes… warmed.

“Arwan,” Sylus said, crouching slightly.

The boy hesitated for a second.

Then ran into his arms.

Zaelina’s heart clenched.

Sylus lifted him effortlessly, holding him close—carefully, like he was something precious. Something irreplaceable.

“Did you behave this week?” Sylus asked, his voice quieter than she had ever heard it.

Arwan nodded proudly. “Mama said I was good.”

That word.

Mama.

Zaelina looked away.

She didn’t belong in this picture.

Not really.

“Come,” Sylus said, carrying the boy inside. “You’ll stay here today.”

That was how every weekend went.

Arwan came.

Stayed.

Left.

And every time he left

The mansion went back to being empty.

But slowly… something changed.

Zaelina found herself sitting beside him during lunch.

At first, it was accidental.

Then… it became routine.

“What’s your name?” Arwan asked one afternoon, tilting his head innocently.

Zaelina smiled softly. “Zaelina.”

He frowned. “That’s long.”

She laughed quietly. “Then you can call me Zae.”

He thought for a second. Then nodded seriously.

“Okay, Zae.”

Something warm spread through her chest.

From that day on

He followed her.

Into the kitchen.

Into the garden.

Into the living room where she read books in the afternoon sunlight.

And for the first time

Zaelina didn’t feel alone.

“Zae, look!” Arwan ran toward her one evening, holding a poorly drawn sketch.

She crouched down, smiling. “What is it?”

“It’s us,” he said proudly.

She blinked.

There, in messy crayons, were three figures.

A tall one.

A small one.

And one in the middle.

“You drew me?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “You’re nice.”

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

That night, when Sylus came into the room, Zaelina was still holding the drawing.

He noticed.

“Where did that come from?”

“Arwan made it,” she said, her voice softer than usual.

Sylus took the paper, his eyes scanning it.

Something unreadable passed through his expression.

Then he placed it back beside her.

“Don’t get attached,” he said flatly.

Her heart dropped.

“He’s just a child,” she replied quietly.

“He’s my child,” Sylus corrected, his tone sharper now. “And he has a mother.”

Zaelina’s fingers tightened around the edge of the bed.

“Yes,” she whispered. “He does.”

Silence filled the room again.

Heavy. Familiar.

That night

He touched her again.

But something was different.

It wasn’t just roughness.

It was frustration.

His hands gripped tighter.

His kisses burned harsher.

As if something inside him was unsettled.

Zaelina gasped softly as he pinned her beneath him, her fingers curling into the sheets.

“Sylus…”

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

Didn’t soften.

And when it was over

He turned away again.

Like always.

But this time

Zaelina didn’t reach for him.

She just lay there, staring at the ceiling, one thought echoing in her mind

Why does he only feel alive when he’s hurting something?

Weeks Later

Arwan’s visits became the only light in her life.

She started cooking for him.

Reading to him.

Tying his shoelaces when he struggled.

And slowly

He started waiting for her.

Not Sylus.

Her.

“Zae!” he shouted one day as soon as he entered.

Sylus noticed.

Of course he did.

He noticed everything.

His eyes lingered on them longer that day.

On the way Arwan held her hand.

On the way she smiled soft, genuine, real.

Something unfamiliar stirred in his chest.

Not anger.

Not exactly.

Something darker.

Something deeper.

That night, when he entered their room, he didn’t touch her immediately.

He just watched her.

Zaelina looked up, confused.

“What is it?”

His voice came low.

“You like him.”

She blinked. “Of course I do. He’s”

“My son,” Sylus cut in.

She held his gaze this time.

“Yes. Your son.”

A pause.

Then

“He likes you too much,” Sylus said quietly.

Her chest tightened.

“He’s just a child, Sylus.”

His eyes darkened slightly.

“And you’re my wife.”

Something about the way he said it

Possessive.

Low.

Dangerous.

Made her breath hitch.

And before she could respond

He pulled her toward him.

This time

Not out of anger.

Not out of habit.

But something else.

Something he didn’t understand yet.

And that…

Was far more dangerous.