The car rolled to a slow stop in front of the school gates, the sleek black machine drawing curious glances from the parents and nannies lingering nearby. The morning sun glinted off its polished hood, throwing sharp reflections against the white walls of the school. Inside, the silence felt heavier than it should have, thick with unspoken things.
Dante rested one hand casually on the wheel, the other fishing into his wallet with a kind of careless elegance that only made Anastasia's roll her eyes. A few crisp bills appeared between his fingers, and he looked at her, he extending them across the console.
"Trust me, Anastasia," he murmured, his voice low, edged with a quiet warmth that curled around her nerves.
Her brows drew together. Still, she reached out and took the money. His fingertips brushed her palm, lingering deliberately, and when her eyes shot up to his, she found warmth glimmering there—warmth wrapped in a cage of arrogance.
