Chapter 4 — Fire Under Glass
801 Words
Dante
The night should have ended cleanly.
A few handshakes, a photo for the press, polite nods to men whose names he’d forget by morning.
That was how Dante Morelli liked it — controlled, predictable, untouched by emotion.
But then she’d walked into the ballroom.
Selena Monroe.
In that black dress that looked soft enough to ruin his discipline.
Every word she spoke, every shy glance she tried to hide behind her lashes, worked its way under his skin like a secret he was never meant to hear.
He’d spent the rest of the night pretending not to watch her.
Pretending not to notice how his chest tightened when another man asked her to dance.
Pretending he didn’t feel her eyes on him from across the room — curious, hesitant, too pure for the thoughts running through his head.
When the gala finally ended, he escaped before she could see how close he was to losing control.
The rain outside hit the pavement in sheets, and the city smelled like smoke and expensive perfume.
He climbed into the back of the car, told his driver to go home, and loosened his tie as if the silk itself were choking him.
“Rough night, sir?” the driver asked.
Dante didn’t answer.
He stared out the window instead — the city lights slicing through the glass like shards of gold — and saw only her reflection.
He had rules.
Rules that had kept him alive in a world built on power and precision.
Never mix business with pleasure.
Never show weakness.
And never, ever want something you can’t control.
Selena was all three.
He remembered the way her lips parted when he’d brushed past her to greet a guest.
The faint tremor in her breath when he’d leaned close to hand her a drink.
Every tiny reaction, innocent and unaware, had felt like a dare.
By the time he reached his penthouse, his hands were still clenched into fists.
The city spread below him — cold, silent, obedient. Everything he owned bowed to his will.
Everything except the one woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.
He poured a drink, but the whiskey burned uselessly down his throat.
He tried to read the contract he’d brought home, but the words blurred into her voice, her laugh, her scent.
Finally, he set the glass down and pressed a hand against the window, watching the rain streak down the glass.
“Get her out of your head,” he muttered to himself.
But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t.
He’d built walls his whole life — impenetrable, unshakeable.
And one glance from her had cracked them.
When dawn came, he hadn’t slept at all.
He shaved, dressed, and went to the office early — as if burying himself in work could scrape her out of his thoughts.
It didn’t.
By the time she arrived, hair damp from the morning drizzle, a folder pressed against her chest, Dante already knew the day would be hell.
He could smell her perfume before he saw her.
It was soft, faintly sweet — and it hit him like a pulse straight to the chest.
She knocked on his door.
He told himself not to look up.
He failed.
“Good morning, Mr. Morelli,” she said.
His throat tightened. “Morning.”
Just her voice made the air in the room shift. He forced himself to glance back at the papers on his desk, pretending to focus.
But all he could think was how close he’d come last night to losing every piece of control he’d ever learned to wield.
⸻
Selena
She didn’t understand what had changed.
One day, Dante had been distant but polite.
Now he was colder — like something had snapped between them that she hadn’t seen happen.
He barely spoke to her that morning. His eyes avoided hers; his words were clipped, mechanical.
But underneath that surface calm, there was something else — something that made her stomach tighten every time he passed by.
He was avoiding her, but not because he didn’t care.
It was the opposite.
She could feel it in the air — thick, magnetic, almost dangerous.
At lunch, she found herself staring out the window, remembering the gala — the way his hand had lingered a second too long when he’d offered her a drink, the dark flash in his eyes when someone else had asked her to dance.
She should forget it. She told herself she imagined it.
But deep down, she knew better.
Every time she looked at him, something in his gaze pulled her in — a silent promise and a warning all at once.
And even though she knew she should stay away, she couldn’t stop wondering what would happen if she didn’t.
- Writer
