Alessio
The fluorescent lights of the private hospital buzzed faintly overhead, too bright and too sterile. Alessio hated this place—the smell of antiseptic, the fake calm in the nurses' smiles, the way they blush when they thought he's not looking, the way every white wall felt like a countdown.
He sat on the edge of the examination table, shirt half-unbuttoned, long fingers drumming restlessly against his knee.
The doctor entered, closing the file slowly.
"Alessio."
The name hung heavily in the air. No "Mr. Moretti." Just Alessio. Like the weight of formality didn't matter anymore.
Alessio raised an eyebrow. "Bad news?"
The doctor hesitated.
"I'm afraid… yes. The condition is progressing faster than expected."
Alessio stiffened. "How long?"
The doctor exhaled. "If things remain as they are… maybe a year. Maybe less. You've held out longer than we expected. But your body is rejecting traditional treatment. Whatever this is—it's not just physical. It's... something else."
Alessio's jaw clenched. He didn't need the reminder. He lived with it every day—the curse. The invisible barrier that rejected any touch not meant for him. He always collapsed in pain if when random people touched his bare skin. He sometimes bled, have seizures at times, and nearly died on an random occasion that his girlfriend kissed him.
A curse. A punishment. A legacy no Moretti had ever spoken of aloud. A Moretti must not have weaknesses, he has also been hiding this illness for the past 25 years.
He stood, buttoning his shirt slowly, the silence wrapping around him like armor.
"You mentioned an heir," the doctor said cautiously, trying not to meet his eyes. "Is that still your plan?"
Alessio let out a hollow chuckle. "I can't even be touched. What kind of heir could I possibly have?"
"Maybe you should… consider your father's proposal," the doctor said. "If there's a chance—any chance—that a wife could unlock something, even if it's temporary..."
Alessio didn't answer.
But as he walked out of the room, the words echoed in his head.
An heir.
A wife.
He thought of her. Sienna. The one woman he has let himself be with since he was old.
Maybe she was the key.
Maybe she still wanted him.
Could she be the girl with the blurry face in his dreams? He was not sure.
But if he had one year left to live, he'd make damn sure he didn't die without an heir.
Another check-up have reminded that he was dying.
Hands buried deep in his coat pockets, he strode past nurses and visitors with his head lowered. No one dared approach him, anyway. Not when the air around him felt like frost and fire combined.
Because people who touched him… burned.
But just as he turned a corner near the cardiology wing, someone slammed into him.
Hard.
A jolt shot through his body—not pain, not fire—just… warmth.
Real warmth.
His hand had instinctively reached out to catch the stranger, gripping a delicate wrist.
And nothing happened.
No searing agony.
No curse igniting under his skin.
Time stopped.
He looked down.
A girl.
Chestnut-brown hair escaping her bun. Wide, startled eyes. Her rosy pink lips parted in shock. Her fingers still resting on his coat froze, and she smelled faintly of roses and ink.
Their eyes locked.
And then a memory flashed suddenly through his head.
A boy screaming in the woods.
A girl's trembling hands pressed to his wounds.
"Don't move," her voice had said.
Then light. Soft, golden light pouring from her palms.
Alessio staggered back.
"What the—" he muttered, shaking his head. "Who are you?"
Aria blinked, hand still half-lifted. "I... I don't know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
She stepped forward again, and something in him recoiled, instinctively.
"No," he snapped, voice sharp. "Don't."
But she froze in place. Her brow furrowed, and a faint shimmer of pain flashed across her face—confusion. Recognition.
"I know you," she whispered.
His throat went dry.
No. She couldn't.
She couldn't possibly.
He studied her more closely, now suspicious. "Are you following me?"
"What? No! I was—my dad, he's a patient here—I didn't see you—" she stammered.
But Alessio wasn't listening. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her.
He felt something shift. Inside his chest. Like a pressure lifting. Like for the first time in years, the poison that clawed beneath his skin had… paused.
He reached out again—slowly, hesitantly—and let the back of his fingers brush hers.
No pain.
No curse.
For the first time in a long while, Alessio felt hopeful. Maybe he was finally free of the curse.
Then a nurse ran round the corner and bumped into him.
Pain flared throughout his bones and he groaned.
The nurse quickly bowed and apologized profusely. "I'm so sorry, Mr Moretti."
Aria blinked. Mr. Moretti?
Before she could speak, Alessio was already stepping back.
His eyes narrowed. The warmth was gone.
"Forget this happened," he said tightly.
He turned and walked away, coat flaring behind him like wings of night.
Aria stood there, stunned, her heart hammering in her chest.
She didn't know what had just happened.