☆Chapter 8 – The Devil’s Soft Spot☆

Lorenzo De Luca was a man of routine.

His world was sharp, cold, and predictable.

Until she came along.

And now…

His study had an eyesore of a drawing sitting right in the middle of his desk.

☆☆☆

Lorenzo sat in his office, fingers tapping rhythmically against the dark wood of his desk.

His eyes flickered between the paperwork in front of him and the abomination framed beside it.

It was supposed to be him.

Supposed to be.

But what stared back at him was… questionable.

Too sharp. Too uneven. Too—

"Is that supposed to be you?"

Lorenzo didn't even flinch as Matteo, his right-hand man, entered the room.

Matteo stood stiffly, his gaze locked onto the framed 'art.' His tone was as flat as ever, but Lorenzo could sense the judgment.

Lorenzo exhaled sharply. "Apparently."

Matteo stepped closer, arms crossed. His sharp eyes roamed over the drawing as if trying to make sense of it.

A long silence.

Then—

"…Are you sure?"

Lorenzo's eye twitched.

"Matteo."

Matteo hummed, tilting his head slightly. "It looks like a distressed owl."

Lorenzo slowly turned his gaze to him, unamused.

Matteo didn't stop.

"Or maybe a very confused fox?"

Lorenzo rubbed his temple. "Matteo."

"A lopsided potato?"

"Matteo."

"…A poorly drawn goat?"

Lorenzo finally slammed his hand against the desk.

"It's me, damn it!"

Matteo blinked.

Then, after a moment—

"…Oh."

Another beat of silence.

Then, in the same deadpan voice—

"I don't see it."

Lorenzo shot him a glare. "Get out."

Matteo didn't move.

Instead, he leaned down slightly, inspecting the framed drawing once more.

"…Why is it framed?"

Lorenzo's fingers twitched.

"…Because."

Matteo raised a brow. "Because?"

Lorenzo's gaze flickered toward the window, avoiding the question.

Matteo stared at him for a long moment.

Lorenzo's jaw clenched.

Matteo exhaled through his nose, a ghost of something amused flashing in his cold eyes.

"I see."

Lorenzo didn't respond.

Because there was nothing to say.

And Matteo knew it.

☆☆☆

Matteo took a slow step back, his eyes shifting toward the large window overlooking the De Luca estate.

His usual sharp, colorless surroundings…

Were now filled with flowers.

Everywhere.

The once cold and lifeless land was now littered with color—reds, purples, whites.

Vibrant. Alive.

Lorenzo saw the way Matteo's lips barely curled at the sight.

"…She's persistent," Matteo muttered.

Lorenzo grunted.

"Annoyingly so."

Matteo tilted his head slightly. "You don't stop her."

Lorenzo's gaze darkened. "Should I?"

Matteo gave him a knowing look.

"You won't."

Lorenzo didn't reply.

Because Matteo was right.

She was changing things.

And Lorenzo…

Was letting her.

☆☆☆

Matteo exhaled slowly, shifting his gaze back to the ridiculous drawing.

"Does she know how bad she is at this?"

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple.

"She's aware."

Matteo hummed. "And she still gives them to you?"

Lorenzo's fingers twitched.

"…Yes."

Matteo nodded. "I see."

Another pause.

Then—

"…You kept it."

Lorenzo's brow twitched.

Matteo's lips almost twitched into a smirk.

Lorenzo shot him a glare.

"Don't."

Matteo raised his hands slightly. "I didn't say anything."

Lorenzo exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering toward the garden once more.

Seraphina was still outside, her small frame moving gracefully between the plants.

Planting. Watering.

Smiling.

Matteo followed his gaze, his expression unreadable.

"…She's bringing color to this place."

Lorenzo stayed silent.

Matteo's voice was quieter this time.

"You're letting her."

Lorenzo finally looked away, his voice low.

"…She's a De Luca."

Matteo nodded.

But his gaze said something else.

That's not the only reason.

And Lorenzo knew it.

☆☆☆

Lorenzo's fingers brushed against the edge of the framed drawing.

It was awful.

But he didn't hate it.

And that…

Was dangerous.

Matteo studied him for a long moment.

Then—

"Shall I inform Miss Seraphina that her art career is hopeless?"

Lorenzo exhaled.

Then, after a long pause—

"…No."

Matteo smirked.

Lorenzo glared.

"Get out."

Matteo gave a mock bow before turning toward the door.

Just before he left, he paused.

Then, in the same deadpan voice—

"…It really does look like a goat."

Lorenzo threw his pen at him.

Matteo ducked.

And for the first time in years, the cold De Luca mansion echoed with something unheard of—

Laughter.