He wasn't just the danger. He was the reason I stopped running from it.
I didn't know where I was going.
I just walked.
Fast. Quiet. Through corridors of mirrored glass and curated silence. The walls of Cassian's empire suddenly felt too smooth, too perfect. Like they were built to reflect someone I'd never been.
I didn't know if I was angry.Or shattered.Or just tired of pretending.
All I knew was—I couldn't breathe.
Not in that room.Not under her perfume.Not under his name in her mouth.
So I found the back elevator. The one no one used. Pressed the button for the underground level, where deliveries came in and secrets slipped out.
The door slid open.
And he was there.
Dante.
Leaning against the wall like he hadn't just detonated my entire nervous system two days ago. Like he wasn't supposed to be anywhere near this building. Let alone waiting in the dark like a ghost who didn't believe in haunting from a distance.
"You followed me," I said.
"No." His eyes scanned me. "You found me."
I didn't move.
Neither did he.
There was maybe three feet between us. But it felt like a fuse. Lit. Hissing. Hungry.
"What are you doing here?" My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
He pushed off the wall. Walked toward me slowly. Controlled. Like a man who knew exactly what would happen the moment he touched me—and didn't care how many alarms it set off.
"I heard you had a visitor."
I froze.
"You were watching?"
He shrugged. "You know how I am with secrets."
His hand lifted, fingers grazing a lock of hair behind my ear. Not rough. Not sweet. Just deliberate.
"You look like you need to be reminded."
"Of what?"
He didn't answer with words.
Just closed the distance. Pressed me back against the wall. Not fast. Not violent. Just inevitable.
I gasped.
Not because I was afraid.
But because my body remembered this shape.His breath.The tension that lived in his silence.The violence he wore like a cologne.
"You let him mark you," he said, voice low. "Dress you. Play house."
"Fuck you."
"You tried that." His hand slid down my side, over the fabric, the tension, the ache. "Didn't stick."
I pushed at his chest. He didn't move.
"You don't get to be here."
"Sweetheart," he whispered, mouth at my neck now, breath turning into heat, "I've never left."
My pulse slammed against my ribs. My hands were still on him—half pushing, half begging. I didn't know what I wanted. No. I did.
I just couldn't admit it.
"Dante—"
His lips brushed my jaw.
Not a kiss.
A promise.
"I saw the look in your eyes when she told you. About her. About him. You wanted to run."
I swallowed hard.
"And you know where people run when they break?"He paused."They run to what's real. Even if it hurts."
I was trembling now.
Because I hated how right he sounded.
How his presence didn't scare me—it centered me. Like the truth you never wanted, but always knew was coming.
He stepped back.
Didn't say goodbye.
Just walked toward the service door, like this was just another casual fuck-up in his calendar.
But before he left, he looked back.
And said the one thing that broke me worse than all the rest.
"I'll wait."
Then he was gone.
And I stood there—nails digging into my palms, heartbeat screaming—and knew that nothing in Cassian's world would ever be enough to drown this.
Not anymore.