The morning air felt heavy.
Serena walked down the quiet street, clutching her bag strap like it was the only thing holding her upright. She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, Ethan's voice resurfaced, cruel and dismissive, shredding her all over again.
Her friends had begged her not to leave the house, but she needed space. She needed to breathe.
She rounded the corner near a small café, barely noticing the dark car parked across the street—or the tall figure who stepped out just as she passed.
"Serena."
Her name froze her mid-step. She turned slowly, heart thumping.
Dante stood there, sharp as ever, the kind of man who seemed to bend the morning light around him. His black suit was casual compared to his usual, jacket draped over his arm, shirt sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the veins in his forearms. But it was his eyes that made her shiver—calm, assessing, knowing.
"You look pale," he said softly, his voice carrying that smooth, commanding weight. "Like the world's been unkind to you."
Serena swallowed, trying to find her footing. "What… what are you doing here?"
Dante's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Coincidence. Or maybe fate, depending on what you believe." He glanced toward the café. "Come. You look like you need coffee."
Her first instinct was to refuse. But something about him—the steadiness in his tone, the quiet certainty—pulled at her. Before she could stop herself, she nodded.
Inside, the café was warm, smelling of fresh bread and espresso. Dante chose a corner booth, one with a perfect view of the door, of course. He gestured for her to sit, then ordered for both of them without asking.
Serena arched a brow. "You didn't even ask what I wanted."
"You strike me as a cappuccino girl," Dante replied smoothly. "Sweet, but strong enough to keep someone awake through long nights of overthinking."
Her breath caught. He was right.
When the drinks arrived, she wrapped her hands around the cup, letting the heat sink into her chilled fingers. Dante didn't touch his immediately; instead, he studied her, his gaze sharp but not unkind.
"You've been crying," he said simply.
Her throat tightened. "That's… none of your business."
"Maybe," he allowed. "But it doesn't mean I didn't notice."
The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. Something in his presence steadied her, as if he saw the storm inside her and refused to flinch.
Then the café door opened.
Serena froze. Her entire body went rigid as Ethan stepped inside, scanning the room casually—until his gaze landed on her.
His expression faltered.
"Serena."
Her stomach churned. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the booth. But Dante leaned back casually, one arm draped along the seat, his posture screaming possession without a word spoken.
Ethan's eyes flicked to him, narrowing. "Who's this?"
Dante's smirk was slow, deliberate. "A friend. And you are?"
Ethan bristled. "Her boyfriend."
The words made Serena flinch. She opened her mouth, but Dante beat her to it.
"Funny," he drawled, his voice velvet and steel, "because she doesn't look like she belongs to you."
The café went quiet.
Ethan's jaw clenched. "Watch your mouth."
Serena's pulse raced. The tension between them was electric, dangerous. Ethan looked furious, but Dante remained calm, almost amused, as if he were testing the younger man.
Serena finally found her voice. "Stop. Both of you." She pushed her cup aside and stood abruptly, her chest tight. "I'm not doing this."
She moved toward the door, but Dante rose immediately, his hand brushing her elbow—not restraining, just steadying. His voice was low, meant only for her.
"You don't have to face him alone."
Her breath hitched. For a split second, she wanted to lean into him, to let him shield her. But fear and confusion tangled inside her, and she pulled away, stepping into the street.
Behind her, Ethan's voice followed, sharp and accusing. "So this is what you do? Run straight to another guy?"
She froze, shame and anger warring inside her.
But Dante's reply came like a blade, cutting clean through.
"Careful with your words, boy. You don't know who you're talking to."
Serena glanced back. Dante's eyes were ice now, his presence towering, commanding. Ethan faltered, confusion flickering in his face—as if, for the first time, he sensed the dangerous weight behind the man before him.
Serena's chest rose and fell quickly. She couldn't breathe here. She turned and walked faster, disappearing into the street.
From the café doorway, Dante watched her go, jaw tight. Ethan glared, but Dante didn't look at him again.
Instead, he pulled out his phone, texting Andres:
Stay on her. Don't let him near her again.
And when he slid the phone back into his pocket, a rare flicker of emotion passed over his face—something raw, something possessive.
Because whether she knew it yet or not, Serena was stepping further into his world with every choice she made.
And there was no turning back.