Chapter 20 – Fault Lines
1218 Words
The sky was already bruised when Selena left the office.
Rain threatened again, heavy and low, the kind that blurred everything it touched. She walked fast, ignoring the looks from the staff who sensed the tension between her and Dante. Everyone had. No one dared to name it.
By the time she reached her apartment, her chest felt too tight. She threw her bag on the counter and paced.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry.
She didn’t.
Instead, she replayed every word he’d said.
You should be afraid of both.
Afraid of him.
The man who had kissed her like she was air and fire and everything in between now looked at her like a liability.
She poured a glass of water, her hands unsteady. The phone vibrated once, flashing his name. She almost didn’t answer. Almost.
“Selena,” Dante’s voice came through, low and rough.
“What do you want?”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No,” she said sharply, “you shouldn’t have. You don’t get to treat me like some piece on your chessboard and expect me to nod and smile.”
There was a pause. “Where are you?”
“Home. Don’t bother—”
“I’m coming over.”
“Don’t you dare.”
But the line was already dead.
⸻
Fifteen minutes later, she heard the knock.
Not loud—controlled. Always controlled.
She opened the door before she could talk herself out of it.
He stood there, rain-soaked and furious, the storm outside written across his face.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She crossed her arms. “We already did.”
“Not properly.”
He stepped inside without waiting, bringing the scent of rain and danger with him. His presence filled the small space instantly. She hated that it still made her pulse race.
“I told you everything I could,” he said.
“No,” she shot back. “You told me nothing. You warned me about Dean, but not why. You protect me, but from what? From who?”
He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture almost human. “There are things in my world you can’t—”
“Understand?” she interrupted. “Try me.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and she saw something flicker in his eyes. Regret. Fear. Want.
“You think this is about work,” he said finally. “It’s not. Someone is coming after me, and now after you. Carter’s just the surface.”
“Then tell me what’s underneath.”
He hesitated, jaw tight.
“Dante.” Her voice softened. “You said you were protecting me. You can’t protect me from the truth.”
The sound of his name, spoken with such raw vulnerability, seemed to strip the last of his professional armor. She took a step toward him, her hand lifting instinctively. Her fingers brushed his arm, just above the cuff where his sleeve was soaked with rain and his skin was hot beneath the fine, damp fabric.
The casual, calming touch was a devastating mistake.
The air snapped, thick with the sharp scent of ozone and arousal. Dante immediately caught her wrist, his grip firm but not bruising, and brought her hand to his chest, pressing her palm flat over his racing heart. His own breath hitched.
“You want the truth?” he growled, his voice a guttural confession. “The truth is that standing here, fighting you, watching you demand answers, I want you more than I want air. That’s the most dangerous truth I have.”
He didn’t release her. Instead, he leaned in, trapping her against the wall with the sheer force of his proximity. His mouth was inches from hers, every nerve ending screaming. She felt the heavy, demanding outline of his body against hers, and the anger she held fractured into pure, blinding desire.
“Don’t,” she whispered, but the word was a plea, not a command.
“I told you I never lied about what I feel,” he countered, his eyes locked on her mouth. He let go of her wrist only to slide his hands into her hair, cupping her head, tilting her face up. “This… this is the line, Selena. Stop me now, or I swear I won’t stop until I’ve taken every doubt, every fear, right out of your system.”
She felt the tremor in his hands, the terrifying mix of rage and passion. She should pull away, demand he leave, but the magnetic pull was too strong. Her hands moved, not to push him away, but to clutch his soaked jacket, dragging him closer.
“Then tell me,” she breathed, her mouth brushing his, “tell me everything.”
He ignored the request, overwhelmed by the physical proximity. His lips crashed down on hers, deep and consuming, a kiss that felt less like love and more like a desperate attempt to fuse them together, to use pure physical heat to burn away the ugly secrets.
He broke away sharply, the control snapping back into place before it fully broke. He was breathing heavily, his eyes blazing, a terrifying possessiveness back in his grip.
He exhaled hard. “There are accounts. Deals. Things I had to bury to keep the company alive after my father died. Someone found them. And they’re using them to get to me—through you.”
Her breath hitched. “So Dean’s part of this?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew?”
“I suspected.”
She stared at him, stunned. “You let me walk right into it.”
“I didn’t think he’d be that bold.”
“Then you don’t know him like I do.”
He stepped closer. “And you don’t know me like you think you do.”
The air between them went tight again, like a string drawn too far. Her pulse pounded.
“You want me to trust you?” she said quietly. “Then stop lying to me.”
He reached out, fingers brushing her jaw in a touch so careful it almost hurt. “I never lied about what I feel.”
Her heart stuttered. “That’s not the same as telling the truth.”
“No,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. “But it’s all I can give you right now.”
She swallowed hard. “Then maybe that’s not enough.”
She stepped back, his hand falling away. The distance felt colder than the rain outside.
He didn’t stop her when she opened the door.
He just stood there, drenched, expression unreadable.
“Be careful,” he said softly. “Carter’s not finished.”
“Neither am I,” she replied, and closed the door.
⸻
For a long time, she just stood there, forehead pressed against the wood, breathing shallowly.
She hated that she still wanted him.
Hated that she believed him more than she should.
Her phone buzzed again—another unknown number.
You shouldn’t have pushed him. He’s not who you think.
— D.C.
She froze, staring at the screen until the letters blurred.
Then she deleted the message and whispered into the empty room:
“Neither are you, Dean.”
- Writer
