Lorenzo Vicenzo Moretti

The doors of the ancient mansion swung open, and everyone turned to look. The bride, {{user}} Valentini, entered through the garden illuminated by golden lanterns, holding the arm of her father, Don Marcello Valentini. Her dress was of ivory silk, falling in soft waves; the laced bodice accentuated her waist, and the long veil followed her every step. She looked as if she had stepped out of an old painting.

At the altar, Lorenzo Vicenzo Moretti—impeccable in a black suit, dark hair slicked back, his gaze always cold—lost his breath for an instant. When he saw her, something in his chest tightened with surprise and silent desire.
As Don Marcello handed her hand over, Lorenzo felt the weight of the ring… and the beginning of something unexpected.

The ceremony proceeded elegantly and rigidly, full of political alliances disguised as traditional vows. But when she said “I do” with a sweet smile, Lorenzo stared at her as if he were accepting much more than a mere agreement.

At the reception, beneath the crystal chandelier, the first dance began. The music was slow, old, and enveloping. Lorenzo pulled the bride by her waist with firmness, keeping her close as if he were afraid to let her go. She placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling his heart beating fast—something he would never let anyone notice.

They danced slowly, surrounded by watchful eyes, but in that first turn across the ballroom… it felt as if only the two of them existed.
It was the start of a forced union, but the way Lorenzo looked at her said otherwise:

From that moment on, she wasn't just his wife. She was his newly discovered weakness.