My Sleeping Husband Opened His Eyes

After receiving $100,000, I was in an excellent mood. With the early evening still ahead of me, I decided to take care of some "business."

The business in question? Chatting with Adriano, giving him a massage, and helping turn him over — all the small duties of a devoted fiancée. After all, I was his future wife and had already received money for the role. It was only fair that I put in some effort. Perhaps, if I were being completely honest, I was also drawn to him because of his extraordinary good looks.

Entering Adriano's room, I found it just as serene and orderly as before. The atmosphere was calm, almost reverent. Everything in the room seemed intentionally designed for comfort — his bed carefully positioned near the window, the soft lighting casting a gentle glow, and not a speck of dust to be seen. A faint antiseptic smell lingered beneath something richer, like old wood and leather from the estate's furnishings.

The household staff rarely came up here. Antonella had specifically instructed them to avoid disturbing Adriano, and in a house like this, La Signora's instructions carried the weight of law. Even though he was in a vegetative state, the care he received was meticulous.

I sat beside him and, once again, marveled at his perfection. How could one person be so handsome? His features were refined, like a sculpture crafted by a master artist.

"Mr. Valente, you truly possess unearthly beauty," I remarked, smiling to myself as I began to talk.

Our conversation — or rather, my monologue — was entirely one-sided. With Adriano unable to respond, I felt no pressure to filter my thoughts. I rambled on, jumping from Schopenhauer to Nietzsche and then delving into my own life story, narrating everything from my awkward childhood to the circumstances that had brought me here.

Eventually, I asked him, "Do you mind if I take a look at your abdominal muscles?"

He gave no response, naturally, which I took as consent.

"Just kidding," I added quickly. "I'm not actually interested in men."

Still, I proceeded with the routine I'd learned online: massaging his limbs, turning him over, and attempting vagus nerve stimulation. Though I lacked professional skills, I tried my best, fumbling through the steps with clumsy determination.

The entire process took me over half an hour. By the time I was done, I was sweating. Adriano was tall and solidly built, making the task surprisingly labor-intensive.

"How was that? Your wife isn't too bad, right? Don't worry, Adriano — I'm taking your family's money, so I'll take good care of you," I joked, brushing my damp hair back from my face.

As I leaned over to straighten his blanket, I noticed something — his eyelids seemed to twitch, almost as though he had been subtly stimulated by the massage.

Startled, I froze and stared at him, holding my breath. Was he waking up?

But no. His expression remained perfectly still, his breathing steady and deep.

I hesitated, then reached out to touch his eyelids gently, hoping for another reaction. There was none.

"It must have been my imagination," I muttered, disappointed.

Shrugging it off, I left his room and headed downstairs for dinner. Rosalia, the head of the household staff, had prepared a simple yet delicious meal of soup and rice. She served it with a professional demeanor, her expression neutral.

"Thank you, Rosalia," I said politely as I dug in. "How long has Mr. Valente been in this state?"

"Almost two years now," Rosalia replied matter-of-factly, not meeting my gaze.

Her cool attitude didn't bother me; I suspected she had dealt with many prospective daughters-in-law over the years and saw me as just another one in the line.

"How many daughters-in-law have there been before me?" I asked, curious.

"Six," she replied flatly.

I nodded, unsurprised.

I took a sip of soup and asked, "Don't you think it's cruel for him to stay in bed all day? What if he's aware of his surroundings? Wouldn't it be better to take him outside for some fresh air?"

Rosalia paused, clearly caught off guard. "Take him outside?"

"Yes. Later, let's turn on all the lights in the estate and bring him out to the courtyard for a stroll. It might do him some good."

After dinner, I followed through with my plan. The courtyard was illuminated brightly, the night sky above dotted with stars. It was a breathtaking sight — the stone fountain at the center, the manicured slope leading toward the perimeter wall, a grove of cypress trees, and an elegant rockery with flowing water.

I instructed Rosalia to fetch a wheelchair. Together, we carefully lifted Adriano onto it, taking care not to jostle him too much.