The hundredth night descended with a restless storm. Rain fell in torrents, cascading down the marble eaves and into the moonlit garden.
Isabella stepped into it with reckless delight. Her gown clung to her skin, her hair turned wild, and the raindrops glittered against her lashes like jewels. She tilted her head back, arms stretched wide, surrendering herself to the sky.
Dante, from the staircase, paused mid-step. The sight of her—unguarded, luminous in the storm—stilled him in a way no battle ever had. Then, almost unwillingly, he moved forward, drawn into her orbit.
Isabella caught sight of him. A mischievous smile curved her lips as she scooped water in her palms and flung it at his face.
"Come down from your throne, Dante," she laughed, her voice ringing clear against the thunder.
Droplets slid down his cheek as he blinked, momentarily startled—then a rare grin cracked across his face. He strode into the rain, the storm embracing him as readily as it did her.
Together, they leapt into puddles like children, their laughter carrying through the night. Isabella spun once, her drenched hair scattering water in a halo around her. A few strands plastered against her face, and she shook her head quickly, droplets flying as she wiggled her ears in a small, self-contented gesture. Dante's chest tightened at the sight; she looked so breathtakingly unbothered, as if the world and its curses had forgotten her for this single instant.
He couldn't help but stare. She noticed—and, emboldened, flicked another spray of water at him with a sharp flick of her fingers.
"You look too serious," she teased. "This night is meant for laughter."
He stepped closer, water cascading from his hair, his eyes locked on hers with a storm fiercer than the one above.
"And what if I wish," he murmured, "for this night never to end?"
Her smile faltered into something softer, almost aching. She whispered, barely audible against the rain, "Then let no being—no fate—separate us."
Before either could breathe, lightning split the heavens. A tree behind them ignited, its branches clawing into fire. Isabella flinched, a sharp cry escaping her throat as she stumbled back.
Dante's laugh broke through the chaos, low and mocking, though his eyes betrayed tenderness.
"Afraid of thunder, Isabella? The girl who dares defy alphas and fate trembles at this?"
Her cheeks flushed. She swatted at him half-heartedly, but before she could retreat, his arms scooped her up. He carried her swiftly inside, bridal style, the rain dripping from their clothes onto the stone floor.
In the dim chamber, he set her on the bed and fetched a towel. He knelt before her, hands steady yet reverent, brushing the fabric over her soaked hair. She shivered—not from the cold, but from the way his fingers lingered near her skin.
Their eyes met. Silence pressed in, heavy, unrelenting.
At last, Dante spoke, his voice raw, trembling at its edges.
"Isabella… you belong to Theodore. The Moon branded you his, and to fight that bond is to summon death upon you. If I touch you—if I claim what is not mine—it will bring you agony beyond measure."
His hand stilled, still tangled in her damp hair. He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers.
"But I love you, Isabella. More than my own breath, more than the Moon's decree, more than the world itself. And yet… all I can do is love you in silence."
The rain hammered against the windows like an unrelenting drumbeat, as though the heavens themselves bore witness to his torment.
Isabella closed her eyes, her lips parting with an unspoken confession—but sleep, exhaustion, or perhaps fear claimed her. Dante tucked the blankets around her trembling frame.
He lingered in the shadows, whispering words never meant to reach her ears.
"Let this night burn into me. Your laughter, your storm, your eyes in the rain. If fate tears you from me, I will still carry you—in defiance, in silence, in eternity."