My Sleeping Husband Opened His Eyes

The past few days, I had been spending time with a discreet network of intermediaries old-world matchmakers who still operated through parish halls, back-room bakeries, and encrypted group chats that somehow seemed to smell of cigar smoke even through a screen. My intention was simple: enjoy the free espresso and cannoli at their gatherings while blending into the hum of negotiations. Truthfully, I wasn't there to find a match. I was there for entertainment, fascinated by the way certain families still clung to centuries-old traditions of arranged marriage.

The network wasn't made up solely of young singles. A handful of formidable older women were there on behalf of their children women who spoke softly but carried the weight of generations behind every word. One day, one of them posted a message that sent the entire group into chaos.

She wrote casually:

"I own fifty-three front businesses across the city, three estates, and five cats who answer to no one. All of it, along with the Family's full holdings, will one day belong to my only son. In addition, I'm prepared to give my future daughter-in-law a monthly allowance of $50,000."

The chat exploded instantly.

Women from every background flooded the conversation, eager to get her attention. Questions poured in, asking whether her claims were genuine.

With quiet confidence, she confirmed every word.

Then she added:

"There's just one condition. My son is in a vegetative state. I hope his future wife won't mind."

Silence swept through the group like a heavy curtain.

I, however, couldn't help laughing.

To me, it sounded less like a warning and more like a golden opportunity wrapped in a velvet ribbon.

I had long since decided that marriage wasn't part of my future. Why tie myself down? Life was far more enjoyable on my own terms. But if marrying a man in a vegetative state meant paying off my debts and securing my freedom, that arrangement sounded surprisingly appealing.

After all, I, Seraphina Cataldi, had only one true love:

Money.

Without a second thought, I replied in the group chat:

"Why would I mind? Your son is clearly my fated Sleeping Prince!"

The network erupted with laughter and applause.

Messages flooded in, calling me bold, hilarious, and shameless.

I didn't care.

To me, it was absolutely worth it.

A few moments later, the woman sent me a private message.

"Are you serious? Do you really want to marry my son, or are you joking?"

"Of course I'm serious."

"Why?"

"Because of money," I replied bluntly.

There was no point pretending otherwise. I was interested in the fortune.

She fell silent.

I assumed I had ruined my chances.

Instead, my phone chimed with a transfer notification.

She had sent me $500 as travel expenses and invited me to visit the Valente Estate the compound locals referred to as La Fortezza, perched in the hills overlooking the city. She promised me a warm welcome.

La Fortezza stood behind the most heavily guarded walls in the territory.

The Valente Family controlled the waterfront, the financial district, and the old Italian quarter. Their estate overlooked it all like a crow perched atop a cathedral spire. No one passed through those gates without blood ties or a direct invitation from La Signora herself.

This woman wasn't merely wealthy.

She was power incarnate.

Grinning shamelessly, I accepted the money and left immediately.

When I arrived at the compound, I was greeted by an atmosphere of controlled luxury and quiet menace.

Iron gates flanked by stone lions guarded the entrance. The gardens were immaculate. Two men in dark suits stood watch near the front gate, their eyes tracking me with professional indifference.

The aura of old money and even older authority made me feel unexpectedly out of place.

After smoothing my clothes and fixing my hair, I approached the entrance.

One of the guards spoke into his collar.

A moment later, the heavy oak doors swung open.

Standing in the grand foyer was a glamorous woman in her forties, her smile radiant.

She carried herself with effortless sophistication and looked no older than her early thirties. Her flawless complexion, impeccable fashion, and the strand of black pearls around her neck made her seem almost regal.

In this world, she practically was.

"Hello. My name is Seraphina Cataldi," I said, extending my hand. "I graduated from a prestigious design academy and am currently preparing for a civilian career. Something clean. Something far away from all of this."

Antonella Valente accepted my hand warmly, her eyes gleaming with approval.

"Young, beautiful, and accomplished," she said. "Wonderful."

After a few pleasantries, she invited me inside.

We settled into an opulent sitting room while she poured espresso from a silver coffee pot.

Oil portraits of stern-faced men lined the walls. I assumed they were former Valente patriarchs, their painted gazes carrying the same authority as the living members of the family.

She asked about my background, my work, and my future plans.

"My parents divorced when I was young, and neither of them stayed in contact," I explained. "I've been on my own ever since."

Without thinking, my right hand drifted toward the faded scar on the inside of my left wrist. Catching myself, I quickly folded both hands in my lap.

"As for work, I'm a fashion designer. My annual income is around 0-000,000."

Antonella nodded thoughtfully.

Her expression revealed nothing.

Fortunately, she didn't press for further details.

Instead, she rose and gestured for me to follow her upstairs.

"Are we finally going to meet my Sleeping Prince?" I teased.

She smiled.

"Yes. My son is also my precious Sleeping Prince."

We climbed to the third floor.

The hallway was silent.

Not ordinary silence, but the kind that felt deliberately maintained. Thick carpets absorbed every footstep. The doors remained firmly closed. Somewhere behind the walls, I could hear the faint hum of medical equipment.

Antonella stopped before a bedroom door and pushed it open.

I stepped inside.

Truthfully, I hadn't expected much.

I had already accepted that this would be a purely transactional marriage. Love wasn't necessary. All I needed was to secure the arrangement and fulfill my responsibilities.

But the moment I saw him, my breath caught.

There he was.

Lying peacefully on the bed.

His long lashes cast delicate shadows across his cheeks. Every feature seemed so perfectly sculpted that he looked less like a man and more like a masterpiece.

The collar of his shirt hung slightly open, revealing sharp, elegant collarbones.

Even motionless.

Even silent.

He somehow dominated the room.

There was an undeniable presence about him, as though the stillness itself were a form of authority. The machines surrounding him didn't feel like devices keeping him alive.

They felt like servants waiting for permission to continue.

My heart began to race.

A single thought echoed through my mind.

This... this is my prince.

For the first time in my life, I felt something beyond ambition or greed.

Something warm.

Something dangerous.

Was it excitement?

Attraction?

Infatuation?

I couldn't tell.

But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

This arrangement was not going to be nearly as simple as I had imagined.

I had never imagined that my Sleeping Prince would be this devastatingly handsome.

His looks were enough to rival any celebrity.

For years, I had been completely indifferent to men. Romance, attraction, relationships none of it ever interested me. But now?

I was beginning to understand why people said women were visual creatures.

Standing beside the bed, Antonella Valente gently held her son's hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. When she looked at me, her elegant features softened with sorrow.

"Seraphina, this is my son, Adriano Valente."

Her voice was calm, but grief lingered beneath every word.

"His father was killed when he was still young. I prayed every day that he would grow up healthy and strong, that he would have a better life than the one he was born into. But fate had other plans. An attempt on his life took everything from him..."

Her voice faltered.

She lowered her gaze to Adriano's motionless figure, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. One hand instinctively brushed the strand of black pearls around her neck before falling back to her side.

A strange ache settled in my chest.

I had come here for selfish reasons. Money was the only thing that had brought me through those gates.

Yet looking at this mother and son, I couldn't help feeling sympathy.

"Maybe a miracle will happen," I said softly. "Maybe Adriano will wake up one day."

Antonella shook her head.

"He's been receiving treatment for years. The doctors have already confirmed that he's permanently vegetative."

Her voice cracked on the last few words.

Fresh tears gathered in her eyes.

Not knowing what else to say, I fell silent.

After a while, she managed to compose herself and led me downstairs.

"Seraphina, if you're willing, you can move in immediately. Stay here for six months. If you still feel the same way afterward, then we'll discuss the marriage."

I blinked in surprise.

"Move in now?"

"Yes."

She smiled reassuringly.

"Family business has kept me away from the territory for too long, and I need to leave again soon. The staff will help you settle in. Think of this estate as your own home."

I glanced around at the sprawling mansion surrounding us.

Moving into a place like this?

It sounded less like a responsibility and more like winning the lottery.

"All right."

I nodded without hesitation.

Her trust was unexpected, but I certainly wasn't about to refuse.

Antonella's smile widened.

"Good. Since you've openly admitted that you're here for the money, I'll have my people conduct a full background check. You're comfortable with that, right?"

What a refreshingly direct woman.

"Of course."

I wasn't bothered in the slightest.

She extended her hand.

"You're honest, Seraphina. I like that."

Her gaze lingered on me thoughtfully.

"In the last two years, I've met countless women who wanted to marry Adriano. None of them felt right. You're the first one who feels genuine."

I nearly laughed.

Genuine?

That was probably the first time anyone had ever described me that way.

Still, I smiled politely.

"I'll leave everything in your hands. Keep Adriano company. Talk to him. Let the staff handle everything else."

Then she added:

"And don't worry. Your monthly allowance will arrive on time."

This time, I couldn't stop myself from nodding enthusiastically.

That very afternoon, Antonella left for the city.

And just like that, I officially moved into the estate with my few suitcases.

The household staff were indeed plentiful, but there was surprisingly little for them to do. The mansion was already maintained with near-perfect efficiency.

Most of the time, everyone simply went about their routines quietly, leaving me with an abundance of free time.

Only the armed guards stationed at the main gate served as a reminder that this wasn't an ordinary home.

I chose the bedroom next to Adriano's.

It was bright and spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens below.

A perfect place to relax.

A perfect place to work.

And, if I was being honest, a perfect place to get paid for doing almost nothing.

After unpacking my belongings, I decided to visit Adriano again.

When I entered his room, he looked exactly as he had before.

Peaceful.

Silent.

Beautiful.

In the soft afternoon sunlight, his features somehow appeared even more striking.

"What a waste," I murmured.

"A prince like you shouldn't be trapped like this."

Pulling a chair beside the bed, I sat down and smiled.

"Hello, Mr. Valente."

I gave a little wave.

"I'm Seraphina Cataldi. Your future wife."

Then I grinned.

"Starting today, I'll be taking care of you."

As expected, there was no response.

Not even the slightest movement.

Later, I returned to my room and opened my laptop.

Curiosity got the better of me.

I spent the next hour researching vegetative states.

According to the medical articles, there were generally three categories.

The first involved minimal consciousness.

The second allowed patients to open their eyes and display subconscious reactions while remaining unaware of their surroundings.

The third was the most severe.

Permanent vegetative state.

No awareness.

No consciousness.

No meaningful response.

Unfortunately, Adriano belonged to the third category.

I continued researching recovery cases.

There were stories of miraculous awakenings, but they were extraordinarily rare.

Some articles recommended sensory stimulation, conversation, and physical therapy.

Others suggested regular massage and emotional engagement.

But statistically?

The odds were practically nonexistent.

One in a million.

Maybe even worse.

With a sigh, I closed the laptop.

A one-in-a-million chance wasn't much different from no chance at all.

Just then, a faint cough drifted through the silence.

I froze.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Adriano?"

I immediately jumped to my feet and rushed next door.

But when I entered the room, disappointment quickly followed.

He was exactly where I had left him.

Still.

Silent.

Motionless.

As beautiful as a sleeping sculpture.

I scratched my head awkwardly.

Guess I had imagined it.

There was no way Adriano had coughed.

"Well..."

I glanced at him and shrugged.

"I might as well do my job properly."

"Collect the allowance, be the perfect future daughter-in-law, and enjoy the good life."

Speaking of allowances

My phone suddenly chimed.

A transfer notification appeared on the screen.

0-000,000.

Transferred successfully.

For a moment, I stared at the number.

Then my eyes lit up.

A hundred thousand dollars.

Just for moving in.

Just for existing.

At that instant, every trace of doubt vanished.

Living in this estate suddenly felt like paradise.

I could eat what I wanted.

Buy what I wanted.

Sleep whenever I wanted.

And never worry about money again.

For the first time in a very long while, genuine contentment settled over me.

Maybe this arrangement wasn't such a bad idea after all.

After receiving 0-000,000, 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 fiance. 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.