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DANTE
Dante paced back and forth in the dimly lit study room in Eleanor’s mansion, the weight of Eleanor's words hanging heavy in the air.
The room was filled with the scent of burning wood from the fireplace, casting flickering shadows on the dark mahogany walls. My usually composed demeanor was replaced with a rare look of frustration and worry.
I clenched my fists, struggling to calm the turmoil inside me.
Eleanor's voice echoed in my mind, her sharp eyes piercing through me as she had spoken:
*"Dante, it's time you come clean. Whatever you're hiding, it needs to come out now."*
I had tried to deflect, to reassure her that everything was under control, but the way she looked at me—like she already knew the truth—had shaken me more than I cared to admit.
Finally, I s
