It had been nine days since Ophelia last saw Dante.
Nine days of silence heavy enough to bruise.
At first, the quiet had been necessary. Survival-level necessary. Her mind had needed space to sort truth from shock, affection from fear, love from danger. She'd gone home that night believing distance would calm the storm inside her.
Instead, it had taught her something else.
She missed him.
Not in a reckless, heart-racing way. Not in the breathless ache of obsession. But in the slow, persistent pull of someone who had become part of her safety without asking permission.
And that scared her more than anything else.
The Ravenwood Estate looked deceptively peaceful in the late afternoon sun. White stone, trimmed hedges, tall windows reflecting blue skies and wealth polished to perfection. It had always been her sanctuary.
Now, it felt like a beautifully decorated cage.
Ophelia sat by the window of her bedroom, legs tucked beneath her, a cup of tea growing cold in her hands. Outside, gardeners moved quietly. Inside, the house breathed around her with practiced calm.
Vivienne had insisted on staying close ever since Ophelia's "incident."
Too close.
At first, Ophelia had welcomed it. Familiar routines. Gentle concern. A sister's touch on her shoulder, soft questions whispered like prayers.
But once the fear loosened its grip, something else sharpened.
Observation.
Vivienne's concern never wavered, not once. It didn't fade with time like genuine worry usually did. It stayed perfectly measured, perfectly timed.
Too perfect.
"You barely touched your lunch."
Ophelia didn't turn around. She recognized the voice instantly. Vivienne stood in the doorway, elegant as always, dressed in soft cream silk that made her look gentle and harmless.
Ophelia smiled anyway.
"I wasn't hungry."
Vivienne crossed the room, her heels silent against the marble. "You need to eat more. Especially after everything you've been through."
Everything you put me through, Ophelia thought, but didn't say.
Instead, she set the cup aside and stood. "I was thinking of going out later."
Vivienne paused, just a fraction too long.
"Out?" Her voice remained smooth. "Where?"
"I don't know yet," Ophelia replied lightly. "I've been inside for over a week. I need air."
Concern flickered across Vivienne's face, quickly masked by a warm smile. "You're still recovering. Father would prefer you stayed home."
There it was.
Not I would worry.
Father would prefer.
Ophelia tilted her head. "Father isn't here."
Vivienne laughed softly. "You know what I mean."
Yes. She did.
Ophelia excused herself a few minutes later, retreating into the safety of her room. Once the door closed, the smile slid from her face.
Her phone sat on the bed where she'd left it that morning.
Silent.
She stared at it for a long moment, then picked it up.
Dante's name was still there. Untouched. Like he'd never left.
She hadn't blocked him. Hadn't deleted the messages. Hadn't erased the memory of his voice when he'd told her the truth, ugly, dangerous, honest.
I owed you honesty.
She exhaled slowly.
Whatever Dante was… he hadn't lied to her.
That mattered.
Her fingers moved before doubt could stop them.
Can we talk?
The message sent with a soft sound that echoed far too loudly in the quiet room.
Almost immediately, typing dots appeared.
Her heart skipped.
Whenever you're ready.
She closed her eyes, relief washing through her in a way that felt dangerously close to surrender.
Tonight, she typed. I'm not afraid anymore.
This time, the reply took longer.
I'm glad, Dante finally wrote. But I wish you hadn't needed to be.
She swallowed.
I miss you.
Three words. Honest. Vulnerable. Real.
She set the phone down before fear could take them back.
That evening, the estate buzzed with restrained activity. Vivienne lingered near her more than usual, asking questions disguised as concern, offering company Ophelia politely declined.
"I'm just tired," Ophelia said.
Vivienne's gaze lingered on her face, searching. Measuring.
"Alright," she said softly. "Rest well."
But as Vivienne turned away, her expression hardened, just briefly, before smoothing once more.
Ophelia saw it.
And something inside her finally settled.
So this is how you play.
Miles away, Dante stood in the quiet of his penthouse, phone pressed to his ear as one of his men spoke.
"No movement from the estate," the man reported. "But we've confirmed it, increased activity from inside, not outside."
Dante's jaw tightened. "She's being watched from her own house."
"Yes."
"Keep it discreet," Dante said. "No moves unless I say so."
He ended the call and turned back toward the city lights.
Ophelia had reached out.
That meant two things.
She trusted him.
And whatever danger surrounded her hadn't ended.
He'd give her the time she asked for, but he wouldn't give the threat mercy.
Back at the estate, Ophelia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time in days, her thoughts weren't consumed by fear.
They were sharp. Focused.
She didn't know how this would end.
But she knew this much:
She wanted Dante.
And she wasn't as helpless as everyone thought.
Not anymore.
——————————————————————
Later that night
Her phone lit up on the nightstand moments later.
She didn't need to read the message to know he was coming.