The morning sun spilled across the tarmac in molten gold, catching the gleam of steel and glass as Dante's Lamborghini purred to a halt before the private hangar. The world seemed to hold its breath in that moment, as if even the air itself acknowledged that Dante Montgomery was not a man who arrived anywhere unnoticed. The black machine roared once more before dying into silence, leaving only the thunder of jet engines in the distance.
The door opened, and Dante stepped out first, his tailored black suit cutting against the brilliance of morning. His sunglasses reflected the runway like mirrors, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips as though the universe existed purely for his amusement. Then his hand extended , possessive, commanding, undeniable , as he guided Anastasia out of the car.
