He had seen many people walk into his restaurant, but the moment she stepped inside, time seemed to pause.
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Dante had been sitting at his usual corner table, swirling the wine in his glass, eyes casually scanning the room as he always did. Most people were predictable, boring. Not her.
She walked in with quiet elegance, Ophelia Ravenwood. Simple, understated, yet impossible to ignore. No flashy clothes, no loud accessories, her presence alone demanded attention. She chose a table for one, settled in, and ordered. A solo date.
Nothing about the evening hinted at danger. Everything was… normal.
Dante leaned back, observing. He didn't approach. Patience was a tool, and control was everything in his world.
When she finally left the restaurant, he slipped out before her, moving toward his car. The streets were calm, lights reflecting off wet pavement, the city humming quietly.
A few minutes later, she emerged. He saw her immediately, her hair catching the streetlights, her red bag swinging gently as she walked. But this time, his instincts screamed.
Other eyes were on her.
He noticed them before she did, figures lingering in shadows, subtle movements that didn't belong. She had no idea she wasn't alone.
Dante's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He never ignored danger.
He didn't know her name yet, but someone dangerous was following her, and he would not let harm come to her on his watch.