Chapter 4
1613 Words
Selene’s POV
He was insane.
How could someone do something so extreme to a girl he didn’t even know?
But he made you feel things... whispered a voice in the back of my mind.
Forbidden things, I shot back, angry at myself for even letting the thought exist.
I pulled the pins from my hair and slipped out of my dress, goosebumps rising along my skin. He had no right—none at all—to touch me like that. And yet, my fingers betrayed me, drifting to the spot on my neck where he’d kissed me earlier.
I flushed.
No one had ever done that to me. I hadn’t even had my first kiss… but tonight, I let a complete stranger press his lips against my skin—and I didn’t stop him.
I shook my head, as if I could force the memory from my mind. But the scent of him lingered. The feel of his thumb dragging across my lip. The quiet command in his voice.
No, I wouldn’t forget him anytime soon.
Unfortunately.
Emma stepped into the room and wrapped her arms around me from behind. “I’m so sorry about his behavior,” she murmured.
She didn’t wait for my reply—just guided me to the vanity and began removing my makeup. “He can be... intense sometimes. But did you at least enjoy the night? Maybe next time—”
“No.” I said it too sharply. Then, quieter, “No next time. Please. Tonight was… too much. I don’t want a next time.”
She paused, then nodded with understanding. “No next time, then.”
She leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose. “You looked delicious tonight, by the way.”
Delicious.
That was the same word he used.
I gave her a small smile, not wanting to make things awkward. “Thank you.”
---
The weekend passed without incident—thankfully.
“Emma, we’re going to be late!” I shouted as I raced down the stairs, my bag half-zipped and hair barely tamed.
I had no idea what delayed us so badly, but we were definitely going to miss the first class if we didn’t hurry.
I skidded to a stop the moment I stepped out the dorm door.
There he was.
Dante.
Dressed in a black T-shirt, faded jeans, and a leather jacket. No polished Armani suit today. No Bentley, either—just a sleek black Mercedes parked behind him.
My stomach dropped.
“Lucas!” Emma squealed behind me, and ran straight into the arms of the dark-eyed, tattoo-covered boy standing next to him. She jumped into his arms, kissing him without a second thought.
I stayed frozen at the top of the stairs, eyes darting between them—and Dante, who hadn’t taken his gaze off me once.
I bit the inside of my cheek and slowly descended the stairs, deliberately putting space between us once I reached the bottom. He noticed. His smile widened.
My grip tightened on my bag strap.
He looked even more dangerously handsome when he smiled.
Why was he here?
Who was he?
He didn’t say a word to me, and I didn’t offer one either.
“Babe, this is Selene. Selene—Lucas.” Emma gestured between us.
“Hi,” I whispered. Okay, I didn’t stammer. That was progress. I even smiled.
“We’re going to be late, you guys!” Emma yelled, tugging me toward the Mercedes.
Just as I reached the door, a hand caught my arm.
I looked down at a tattooed hand wrapped around my wrist—and then up into the face that made my heart stutter.
No.
Please, not now.
Without a word, he tugged me toward a sleek black motorcycle. My feet barely moved as my mind raced.
What did he want from me now?
I glanced at Emma, but she only gave me a soft, apologetic look. As if she knew there was nothing she could do.
His hand slid to my waist, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
In one swift move, he picked me up and placed me on the bike like I weighed nothing.
Students had stopped to stare.
I wanted to disappear.
The sound of the car pulling away made my stomach drop. There went my only hope of escape.
“I’m going to be late,” I whispered, staring at the ground, afraid to meet his eyes.
“You won’t,” he said, calm and sure.
Then, with infuriating gentleness, he leaned down and kissed both my cheeks.
I gasped, but he didn’t pause.
He slid a helmet over my head, lowered me gently back onto the ground, then climbed onto the bike and waited.
Like I didn’t have a choice.
I climbed on behind him with trembling hands.
He reached back, took my wrists, and wrapped them around his waist.
I sat stiffly, praying this would be over soon.
But the moment the bike roared to life, instinct kicked in—and I clung to him tightly, burying my face in his back.
This guy was going to kill me.
And the scariest part?
A piece of me didn’t want him to stop.
We arrived on campus exactly one minute late.
The lecture had already begun.
I slipped through the door as quietly as possible, praying—begging—the lecturer wouldn’t single me out.
He didn’t.
Thank God.
I made my way to the back row, where Emma and Lucas had already taken their seats. I sank into the chair beside Emma, releasing a quiet breath as I dropped my bag at my feet.
But my relief was short-lived.
Because seconds later, Dante stepped into the room.
And everything inside me froze.
The lecturer paused mid-sentence and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. Not a scolding. Not even a question.
A nod.
As if Dante wasn’t a late student—but something else entirely.
Why was he here?
He remained standing near the entrance, unmoving. Observing.
Then his eyes found mine.
And just like that, his feet started moving—each step deliberate. Each one aimed straight toward me.
Please, no.
My heart pounded painfully in my chest. I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t stop walking.
Didn’t hesitate.
He reached our row, nodded once at Lucas, and without asking, slid into the empty seat right beside me.
Close.
Too close.
His scent hit me first—spice, smoke, and something sinful I couldn’t name.
I sat stiffly, refusing to look at him.
His thigh brushed mine under the desk, and I jerked away, but there wasn’t enough space between the chairs to escape. He made sure of that.
I could feel the heat of his stare burning into the side of my face.
I gripped my pen so tightly my knuckles ached.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing just above my ear, and whispered so low only I could hear:
“You didn’t say goodbye.”
I flinched.
Emma glanced at me, brows furrowing slightly, but she didn’t say anything.
Neither did I.
Because if I opened my mouth, I wasn’t sure if I’d scream, stammer—or beg him to stop looking at me like he owned me.
All through the class, he kept touching me.
Or staring at me.
His hand would brush my arm when I tried to take notes. His knee pressed against mine and stayed there like he had every right to invade my space. And every few minutes, I’d feel his gaze—dark and heavy—trailing over me as if I were something he already owned.
I was painfully aware of every breath I took.
Every twitch of my fingers.
Every heartbeat thudding far too loud in my chest.
What have I done to deserve this kind of attention? From a guy like him?
My mistake… was going out that night.
And now—he wouldn’t let me be.
The worst part? I couldn’t even trust my own body. Because a part of me didn’t know if I wanted him to stop… or to keep going.
When his hand gripped my upper thigh beneath the desk, I squeaked.
Loudly.
Every head in the class turned toward me.
Heat flooded my face. My cheeks burned, and tears threatened to well in my eyes.
I wanted to disappear.
Emma glanced at me with wide eyes, then gave me a soft, apologetic look. She didn’t say anything—but I could tell she felt guilty. Like she blamed herself for introducing me to this madness. Maybe she should.
I didn’t know what to say or do. I had never been touched like that before—not by anyone. And definitely not by someone like him.
As soon as the class ended, I bolted.
I didn’t wait for Emma.
Didn’t look back.
I ran straight for the library and tucked myself deep between two dusty shelves where no one could find me.
Where he couldn’t find me.
This wasn’t what I wanted. I came to New York for a fresh start, to focus on school, to rebuild.
Not to have a dark-eyed stranger follow me around... touching me like I belonged to him.
I stayed hidden in the library for the rest of the day, buried in silence and the smell of old books—trying to convince myself that he didn’t mean anything, that it was just one bad night, one mistake.
But deep down, I knew better.
Because when Dante Salvatore looked at me... it never felt like just one mistake.
It felt like the beginning of something I wasn’t ready for.
- Writer
