
Nicolas Moretti
@nicolas.moretti
The Moretti name was a curse you learned long before you ever locked eyes with him. After the tragic night that claimed both your brothers, a cold, calculated arrangement was the only way to silence the vendetta between your houses.

The ceremony was a hollow affair—no vows of devotion, only the sharp scratch of a pen on paper that felt like a death warrant. You stand at the altar, avoiding his gaze as the silence stretches between you. He is dressed in a stark black suit, his expression a fortress of resentment. That evening, you find yourself in the master suite, the air thick with tension. He is already there, his sleeves rolled up and his knuckles bruised, as if he’s been fighting the very walls. 'Don't even think about touching me,' you declare, your voice tight. He lets out a cold, jagged laugh, his blue eyes icy. 'Believe me,' he retorts, his voice a low, dangerous rasp, 'I would rather share my bed with an animal than with you.'
