Dante's POV
"You don't know anything about me," she spat, each word a venomous shard. Her scent, that maddening combination of clean rain and wild sweetness, filled my senses, making the air between us thick, almost suffocating.
I leaned in, deliberately invading her space, pushing her further into the invisible wall I was building around her. So close my lips almost brushed her ear, the warmth of my breath ghosting against her skin. "I know enough," I whispered, my voice a silken threat. "I know enough to see through the act. Enough to know that pretty face and those wide, innocent eyes are just a façade for something far more predatory."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails probably digging crescents into her palms, but she didn't back down. Not an inch. The defiance was a current, palpable, almost visible, flowing between us.
"You think I want to be here? You think I asked for this?" she snapped, her voice rising now, raw with a desperate, indignant fury. "You think I woke up one day and thought, 'Oh, I just have to live in this gilded cage with a self-important prick who thinks he owns the world'?"
"Doesn't matter what you asked for," I said flatly, pulling back just enough for my eyes to lock with hers, holding her gaze captive. "You're here now. And if you're in my house, in my world, then you're mine to deal with. My problem to solve." The words were a possessive declaration, a claim to ownership that I knew would infuriate her.
Her cheeks flushed a deeper crimson, though whether from anger, indignation, or something else entirely, I couldn't quite tell. The thought that it might be something else, something I couldn't immediately identify, was a jarring intrusion.
"You're pathetic," she breathed, her voice a low, contemptuous whisper. "You sit up in your perfect little tower, judging everyone who walks through your door, like it makes you better. Like this ridiculous, over-the-top mansion makes you untouchable. But newsflash, Ashford — it doesn't. You're just a spoiled, arrogant boy hiding behind your daddy's money and your family name."
That… actually made me laugh. A low, cruel sound that ripped from my throat, raw and genuine in its derision. It was the sound of a predator recognizing a worthy opponent.
"There she is," I murmured, my voice laced with a chilling satisfaction. "The real Cassidy. Finally showing those claws. Took you long enough, didn't it? For a moment there, I almost believed your little waif act."
Her jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in her cheek. "Go to hell," she hissed, the words barely audible, yet vibrating with pure loathing.
"Sweetheart," I said, stepping closer again, pressing her back until her spine met the cold stone railing. She was trapped, framed by the moonlight and the imposing architecture, and entirely at my mercy. "I've been there. I've walked through fire, seen things that would make your pretty little head spin. And trust me—" My eyes dropped to her lips then, just for a second, a deliberate, calculated move designed to provoke, to shatter her composure, "—you wouldn't survive it." The implication hung heavy in the air, a silent challenge, a dark promise.
She glared up at me, her head tilted back, her breath coming in fast, ragged gasps. Her hands, still gripping the cold stone behind her, were clenched so tightly they looked like they might shatter. For a moment, a raw, primal energy snapped and burned in the narrow space between us. Hate, pure and unadulterated, tangled with something else, something dark and dangerous and utterly compelling. It was a potent, volatile mixture.
"Stay out of my way," she whispered finally, the words a fierce, desperate plea disguised as a threat.
"Not a chance," I murmured back, my voice barely audible, yet resolute. "Consider this your welcome, Hart. A very personal one. Because I promise you, I'm going to be in your way, always."
And then, with a control that cost me more than I would ever admit, I turned and walked away.
Not because I wanted to. Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to push her further, to see just how far I could unravel her. To continue watching her chest rise and fall with that furious, untamed breath, to witness her fight every visible instinct to look at my mouth, to break her façade completely. If I had stayed another second, I wasn't sure what I'd do. The line between cruelty and something else, something far more dangerous and alluring, was blurring with every passing moment.
And I'd already crossed enough lines for one night. For now, the taste of her defiant fury was enough. The game had truly begun.