“Now,” Mattia replied, taking her hand, “I realize that the only thing worth having is the one thing I can’t force you to give.”
“I’ve spent my life making sure nothing could touch me,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper against the city noise. “And now?” she asked.
“You’re supposed to be working,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
The turning point came during a gala Mattia had dreaded. Amidst the hollow praise of colleagues, he found Elena on the balcony. For the first time, he didn't try to dictate the moment. He simply stood beside her.
One rainy Tuesday, Mattia found Elena in his library, not dusting shelves, but lost in a worn copy of poetry. The sight of her, bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp, cracked the armor he had worn for years.