It was Tessa's idea. Of course it was.
"Come on, Isolde," she begged, eyes glittering as she looped her arm through mine. "There's a campfire at Banza Beach this weekend. Music, drinks, the whole campus is going. You need this."
I hesitated. The last party had nearly ended in flames—literally. But her voice was too insistent, too sweet. Against my better judgment, I agreed.
What I didn't know was that Tessa had her own plans.
---
The campfire was wild. Flames licking at the night sky, shadows dancing across drunken faces, guitars strumming off-key. I thought it might actually be fun—until Tessa nudged me toward a tall guy with soft hazel eyes and a too-perfect smile.
"Isolde, meet Adrian," she said, all sugary sweetness. "He's single. You two should talk."
I froze. My stomach twisted. Why did it feel like a setup?
Adrian was kind. Funny, even. He asked me questions about my classes, laughed at my sarcasm, offered me his jacket when the night grew cold. For three days after, he kept showing up—walking me to class, sitting with me at lunch, acting like I was his.
And part of me… let him.
Because maybe it was safer than Dante.
---
On the third night, Adrian and I sat cross-legged in my bedroom, books spread across the floor. The lamp glowed softly, shadows clinging to the corners.
"Isolde," he said quietly, leaning closer. "You're… different. Not like anyone else here."
My chest tightened. His hand brushed mine. Then slowly, carefully, he tilted toward me, lips hovering just a breath away.
My heart thundered. For one insane second, I almost let him. I almost wanted to drown in the simplicity of a boy who didn't come with blood on his hands.
But I couldn't. Not when every part of me already burned for someone else.
I shook my head, pulling back. "I can't."
And then—
Knock. Knock.
I barely had time to process before Adrian got up, smiling. "I'll get it."
The door creaked open.
And in the next heartbeat, Adrian staggered back with a punch straight to his jaw.
"Dante!" I screamed.
He stood in the doorway, eyes blazing, chest rising and falling like a storm barely contained. His knuckles bled, his voice venom when he spoke.
"You think you can just let any boy in here? In your bedroom?" His gaze flicked to me, raw, furious, broken. "Do you even know what kind of danger you're in?"
Adrian groaned, clutching his face. "What the hell is wrong with you, man?"
Dante lunged again, but I shoved myself between them, hands pressed against his chest. His heart was racing, his body trembling with rage under my touch.
"Stop it!" I yelled. "You can't just—this isn't—"
"Isolde." His voice cracked like a whip. His eyes, usually hard as steel, softened for a split second. "You don't understand. They'll use him to get to you. They'll use anyone. And I—" He swallowed hard, his fists clenching. "I can't watch them take you from me."
The room fell silent except for our ragged breaths.
Adrian stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
And when it was just me and Dante, the air was heavy, thick with something dangerous. His hand cupped the side of my face suddenly, his thumb brushing my cheek.
"I should walk away," he whispered, his voice rough. "But God help me, Isolde, I can't."
And for the first time, I realized his anger wasn't just jealousy. It was desperation.
Because Dante Moretti wasn't just dangerous.
He was terrified.
---