Ophelia POV
The days after that night blurred together in a haze of cautious calm.
Too calm.
Sleep didn't come easily anymore.
Every time Ophelia closed her eyes, she felt it again, the weight of Dante's hand at her waist, the steadiness of his voice, the way his presence made the world feel quieter and more dangerous at the same time.
She shifted beneath the sheets, exhaling slowly.
It had been days since the night he'd taken her home, days since fear had chased her through the streets, and yet… it was Dante who lingered in her thoughts, not the men.
That unsettled her.
She wasn't naïve. She knew men like Dante Moretti didn't drift into someone's life without consequences. There was power in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at her like he saw more than she said aloud.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table.
She didn't need to check the name.
Dante:
Are you awake?
A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.
Ophelia:
Barely. Is that your way of asking if I'm thinking about you?
There was a pause.
Long enough to make her heart beat faster.
Dante:
I don't ask questions I already know the answer to.
Heat spread low in her stomach.
She sat up, pulling the sheet tighter around herself, suddenly aware of how quiet the house was. Vivi had retired hours ago, the estate settled into its usual illusion of peace.
"Danger hides best in calm places," Dante had said once.
She hadn't forgotten.
Ophelia:
You're bold.
Dante:
You don't seem to mind.
She bit her lower lip.
He was right.
Her phone buzzed again.
Dante:
I wanted to see you tonight. Just to know you're okay.
Just.
She doubted that word meant the same thing to him as it did to her.
Ophelia:
I am. Mostly.
Dante:
Mostly isn't good enough.
The possessiveness in those words sent a shiver through her.
She stood, walking to the window, peering out at the manicured gardens below. Safe. Guarded. Yet somehow, she felt most secure when Dante was near.
"That's dangerous," she murmured to herself.
Ophelia:
You worry too much.
Dante:
No. I plan.
Her breath caught.
Before she could reply, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway. She turned just as Vivi knocked softly on the door.
"Ophelia?" Vivi's voice was sweet, concerned. "Are you awake?"
She glanced at her phone, hesitating only a second.
Ophelia:
Someone's here. I'll text you later.
Dante:
I'll be waiting.
The words felt less like a promise and more like a claim.
She tucked the phone away as she opened the door.
Vivi stood there in silk pajamas, worry painted perfectly across her face. "I just wanted to check on you," she said gently. "You've been… distant."
Ophelia smiled, careful, polite. "I'm just tired."
Vivi nodded, studying her in a way that made Ophelia's skin prickle. "You should rest. After what you went through… you shouldn't be alone with your thoughts."
If only Vivi knew.
After the door closed again, Ophelia leaned back against it, heart racing.
She pulled out her phone once more.
Ophelia:
Tomorrow. Dinner. Properly.
This time, Dante didn't hesitate.
Dante:
I'll pick you up at eight.
She stared at the screen, pulse quickening.
Tomorrow, she would step deeper into his world.
And some part of her, reckless, daring, wanted to see just how far he would let her go.