Chapter 5 Episode 5

The morning after he laid beside me-without touching, without saying another word-I woke up before the sun.

For a long time, I didn't move. I just watched him.

Dante slept on his back, one hand resting loosely over his chest. He looked... peaceful. Human. Like the walls he kept so carefully reinforced had finally cracked in the dark. It made something in me ache.

Because this wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to feel anything.

And yet, I was starting to want him to keep sleeping beside me.

That terrified me.

I slid out of bed gently, trying not to wake him, and padded into the bathroom.

When I came back out, he was sitting up, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"You always wake up that early?" he asked, voice low and gravelly.

I crossed my arms. "You always sneak into bed in the middle of the night like a ghost?"

He met my eyes. There was a hint of amusement in his.

"Only when I think you won't scream."

"I don't scream."

"Not yet."

He said it so casually, so effortlessly teasing, that it made heat climb my neck. I didn't know if it was anger or... something else.

Before I could respond, he stood and walked toward the closet.

"Be ready in an hour. We're going out."

I blinked. "What?"

"You've been cooped up in here too long."

He disappeared into the dressing room, leaving me reeling.

He was taking me out?

Why?

And why did that make my heart hammer harder?

---

An hour later, we were in his black SUV. Luca was in the front passenger seat. A driver I didn't know was at the wheel.

I was tucked beside Dante in the back. The space between us felt like a battlefield. Neither of us spoke.

The windows were tinted. The world outside passed in vague smears of color and light. I had no idea where we were going.

I kept my eyes on my reflection in the glass.

The woman staring back at me looked composed.

But she was unraveling inside.

---

He took me to a private art gallery.

Not the public kind with velvet ropes and schoolchildren shuffling through exhibits. This one was housed in a converted warehouse in the city, tucked away behind security gates and motion sensors.

When we walked in, it was empty. Silent. Lit only by soft spotlights above each piece.

I followed him through the space, watching the way his hands stayed tucked in his pockets. Casual. Controlled.

"Why here?" I asked finally.

He paused in front of a painting.

"Because no one else will be here," he said. "And sometimes... silence is the only thing that makes sense."

I looked at the painting-a chaotic storm of reds and blacks, like a heart exploding in slow motion.

"I thought you were all about noise," I murmured. "Power. War. Strategy."

He turned to me. "You think those things aren't loud?"

His voice was calm, but something in his eyes was turbulent.

I didn't ask anything else.

We wandered through the gallery in near silence, occasionally stopping at a sculpture or a photograph that caught his eye. I realized, slowly, that Dante appreciated beauty-not in the shallow way men ogled women, but in the way someone who'd seen too much darkness craved something untouchable.

When we reached the final room, I spoke again.

"Why did you marry me, Dante?"

His posture shifted.

He didn't answer right away.

Then: "Because I had to."

"Because of my father?"

He nodded. "The alliance. The war. It was the only way to stop the bloodshed."

"And now?" I asked quietly. "Do you still think it was worth it?"

He turned fully to face me.

"I don't regret the choice," he said. "But I didn't realize how much it would cost me."

My throat tightened. "What's it costing you?"

"Control."

---

That night, something was different.

When we returned to the mansion, we didn't separate.

We walked through the doors together. Ate dinner in silence. And when he followed me upstairs, I didn't stop him.

He entered the bedroom. Closed the door behind him. Sat on the edge of the bed, just like the night before.

I didn't speak.

I sat beside him.

Close.

Very close.

"I don't know how to feel around you," I admitted.

He didn't look at me. Just stared at the floor, his fingers laced together. "That makes two of us."

"I'm not the same girl I was two weeks ago," I whispered.

"I know."

"I don't know what you're expecting from me."

"I don't expect anything anymore."

There was something heartbreaking about the way he said it.

I reached for his hand.

He didn't pull away.

---

The next few days passed like a dream. A strange, slow unraveling of tension.

He wasn't soft. But he was less cruel.

He didn't pretend to love me. But he listened.

He didn't kiss me.

But sometimes I felt like he wanted to.

---

Then everything changed.

It was a Sunday evening. Late. The sky was thick with storm clouds, and thunder rattled the windows.

I was reading on the couch in the living room, the fire casting golden light across the marble floor.

And then-everything went black.

The power cut.

I stood, disoriented. "Dante?"

No answer.

I reached for my phone.

No signal.

The front doors slammed.

I froze.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Not just one pair.

Multiple.

I backed up, heart racing, until my shoulder hit the wall.

And then-

A hand wrapped around my mouth.

I screamed, but it was muffled.

A voice growled in my ear. "Don't move."

I kicked, struggled. But it was no use.

Another man stepped into view.

And in that moment, I knew:

This wasn't random.

This wasn't a burglary.

They'd come for me.

---

They dragged me out of the house, down the back stairs, through a garden gate I didn't even know existed. A black van was waiting with the engine running.

I was thrown inside.

The door slammed shut.

My wrists were tied.

My eyes were covered.

The engine roared to life.

And all I could think was-he'll come for me.

He had to.

Because even if I didn't understand what we were...

Dante would never let someone steal what was his.

Right?