Serena lay awake longer than she expected.
The bedroom was quiet in a way that felt intentional, like silence had been designed here. The sheets were soft beneath her fingers, the mattress firm enough to hold her without swallowing her whole. Everything about the room was controlled, measured, deliberate.
Just like the man outside the door.
She stared at the ceiling, counting her breaths, waiting for something to happen.
Nothing did.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Her body remained tense, nerves stretched tight, listening for footsteps, a knock, a sound that would confirm her fear, or justify it.
But there was only the distant hum of the city beyond the glass.
Finally, she sat up.
He said he wouldn't come unless I invited him.
The thought both steadied and unsettled her.
Serena slipped off the bed and padded softly across the room. She checked the door, locked, just as she'd left it. The handle cool beneath her palm grounded her in the reality of the moment.
She wasn't trapped.
That realization should have calmed her.
Instead, it left her restless.
She crossed to the window and pulled the curtain back slightly. The city sprawled beneath her, alive and indifferent. Cars moved like veins of light, people living their lives without any idea she stood here on the edge of something irreversible.
The height made her dizzy.
This isn't my world, she thought.
And yet, somehow, she was inside it.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Serena startled, heart leaping into her throat.
"Serena," Dante's voice came through the door, low, controlled, unmistakably him. "Are you awake?"
Her fingers curled into the curtain. "Yes."
A pause.
"May I come in?"
The question hit harder than any command would have.
She swallowed. "Yes."
The door opened slowly.
Dante stepped inside, closing it behind him with quiet precision. He hadn't removed his jacket, but the sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms etched with faint scars, marks of a life lived in violence, not luxury.
His gaze swept the room before settling on her.
"You should be resting," he said.
"I couldn't."
"I know."
That simple acknowledgment sent a ripple through her chest.
He stayed near the door, deliberately keeping distance between them. It felt intentional, like he was reminding her that this space still belonged to her.
"Do you want water?" he asked.
"No."
"Tea?"
She shook her head.
He studied her face, expression unreadable. "You're thinking too much."
A brittle smile touched her lips. "I don't know how to stop."
Dante nodded slightly, as if he understood that more deeply than he wanted to admit.
"Come sit," he said, gesturing to the chair near the window instead of the bed.
She hesitated, then obeyed.
He remained standing, hands clasped loosely in front of him.
"You're safe here," he said quietly.
She let out a short, humorless laugh. "That depends on how you define safe."
Dante didn't smile. "No one will touch you without your permission. No one will enter this room. No one knows you're here except the people I trust with my life."
"And you?" she asked softly. "What about you?"
His gaze sharpened. "I already told you. I won't cross a line you don't allow."
She studied him, searching for cracks, for signs of deception. Instead, she found restraint so tightly wound it felt dangerous.
"You keep saying that," she murmured. "Like you're trying to convince yourself."
Something flickered in his eyes.
"Perhaps," he admitted.
Silence stretched between them again.
Serena shifted in her seat. "Why stay out there? Why not just… leave me alone?"
Dante stepped closer, stopping a few feet away.
"Because," he said slowly, "you don't need to be alone tonight."
Her breath caught.
"That's not the same as wanting you here," she said, more to herself than to him.
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
She stood suddenly, the movement impulsive. "Then what is this?"
Dante's eyes followed her carefully, like he was tracking something volatile.
"This," he said, "is a moment."
"A moment?"
"Yes. Where you decide who holds power."
Her laugh was sharp. "You already do."
Dante shook his head once. "Not here."
She took a step toward him before she could stop herself. "You're bigger. Stronger. You own this place. You arranged all of this."
"And yet," he said quietly, "you could tell me to leave right now."
Her heart pounded.
"Say it," he challenged softly.
The words lodged in her throat.
She couldn't.
Dante didn't move. Didn't push.
"Exactly," he said.
She turned away, pressing her hands to the back of the chair. "I don't understand you."
"I'm not asking you to."
She looked back at him. "Then what do you want from me?"
His answer came without hesitation. "Your honesty."
Her shoulders sagged. "I'm scared."
"I know."
"I'm angry."
"Yes."
"And part of me…" Her voice broke, and she hated herself for it. "Part of me doesn't want you to leave."
Dante's breath shifted, subtle but unmistakable.
"Why?" she whispered.
He stepped closer again, stopping just short of touching her. "Because you feel seen."
The truth of it hit her like a blow.
She had felt invisible for so long, another struggling woman in a city that didn't care. But from the moment his gaze had locked onto hers, something had changed.
That terrified her.
"You don't get to own that," she said fiercely.
"I don't want to," Dante replied. "I want you to choose it."
Her hands trembled as she lifted them, pressing her palms lightly against his chest, not pushing him away, not pulling him closer. Just anchoring herself.
The contact was electric.
Dante froze instantly.
"If you don't want this," he said, voice low and controlled, "say so now."
She looked up at him, eyes searching his face. "And if I do?"
"Then we proceed slowly," he said. "On your terms."
Her fingers curled slightly in his jacket.
"I don't know how," she whispered.
"I do," he replied. "And I will teach you, if you ask."
The intimacy of the promise made her breath hitch.
She withdrew her hands abruptly, stepping back. "I need time."
Dante nodded without argument. "You have it."
He turned toward the door.
"You're leaving?" she asked, surprised.
"For now."
Something twisted painfully in her chest.
"Why does that feel worse?" she asked quietly.
Dante paused, hand on the door. "Because desire isn't the same as readiness."
He looked back at her one last time. "Sleep, Serena."
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut softly behind him.
Serena stood alone in the quiet room, heart racing, body humming with awareness she didn't know how to process.
She hadn't expected that.
Hadn't expected to feel… respected.
That frightened her more than fear ever had.
She lay back down slowly, staring at the ceiling again. But this time, the silence felt charged instead of empty.
Outside the room, Dante leaned briefly against the wall, jaw tight.
He had never wanted something he was willing to wait for.
That was new.
And dangerous.