CHAPTER 5
1734 Words
ARIA'S POV
At dinner, Dante sits across from me at the long table, sleeves rolled up, his attention fixed on his phone. The food is good, warm— but he barely touches it.
“You’re not hungry?” I ask.
“I ate earlier.”
That’s all he says.
I nod and return to my plate, but I started having this uneasy feeling, it doesn’t leave. It presses at the back of my neck, sharp. Since this morning, something has shifted. I don’t know exactly when it happened — maybe when I asked to call my parents and he said not yet. Maybe when I stood too close to the window and he closed the curtain without asking. Just small things. Easy to excuse. After dinner, I wander toward the sitting room, drawn by the sound of voices. Low. Male.
I pause in the doorway.
Two men I don’t recognize stand near the far wall. I thought we were the only ones here. Well I thought wrong. One of them laughs quietly, saying something I can’t hear. The other turns — and stops when he sees me. His gaze lingers a second too long. He seemed curious. Dante moves instantly.
He steps into my line of sight, his body blocking theirs without touching me. His voice is calm, polite.
“That’s all,” he says. “You can go.”
The men exchange a glance and leave without protest.
I stare at Dante.
“That was abrupt,” I say lightly.
“They didn’t need to be here.”
“They were talking,” I point out.
“They were looking.”
Something tightens in his jaw. I cross my arms. “I’m not invisible.”
“No,” he says quietly. “You’re not.”
We stand there for a moment, the space between us charged with something I don’t yet have a name for.
“I’d like some air,” I say finally.
“I’ll walk with you.”
“I meant alone.”
His gaze sharpens.
“That’s not possible.”
I blink. “Why not?”
“Because you’re still a target.”
“I’m inside your fortress,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Who exactly is going to reach me on the balcony?”
He steps closer.
“You don’t see half the things I do,” he says. “And I won’t risk you because you want to feel normal.”
The words sting. Who the hell does he think he is?
“I don’t want to feel normal,” I reply. “I want to feel like a person.” His eyes darken.
“You are a person,” he says. “You’re also the most valuable thing in this building.”
I freeze.
“Well that’s not comforting,” I whisper, savagely.
“I didn’t say it to comfort you.”
I turn away, my chest tight, and walk toward the hallway.
“Aria,” he says.
I stop but don’t turn around.
“I know you’re scared,” he continues. “But pushing boundaries right now isn’t safe.”
I laugh quietly, bitterly. “You mean your boundaries.”
Silence stretches.
When I finally face him again, his expression had changed.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says.
“Then what did you mean?” I ask.
He hesitates. I see that he has fears, not of Sebastian but of losing me.
“I mean,” he says slowly, “that the idea of you slipping out of my sight—of someone else deciding they can touch you, look at you, take you—” He stops himself.
“I don’t handle that well.”
The honesty knocks the breath from my lungs.
“That sounds like jealousy,” I say softly.
“It is,” he admits.
The word hangs between us.
“And control,” I add.
His gaze holds mine. “Yes.”
My pulse races.
“I don’t belong to you,” I say.
“I know,” he replies immediately. “And that’s what makes this dangerous.”
“I didn’t ask you to feel this way,” I whisper.
“No,” he agrees. “You didn’t.”
“And I don’t want to be locked away because of it.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s forcing himself to loosen a grip.
“You won’t be,” he says. “But you won’t be careless either.”
“Are you angry?” I ask.
“No,” he says quietly. “I’m trying not to be.”
I turn away, my thoughts spinning.
As I walk back to my room, I feel it — not bars, not locks. The sense that every step I take is being measured and watched. Protected, I guess.
I stop in the doorway and look back at him one last time. Dante stands exactly where I left him, arms crossed, gaze fixed on me like he’s memorizing every move I take. He's not only saving me from a monster, he’s fighting one inside himself, too.
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DANTE'S POV
I don’t move when she turns away. That’s the first restraint I manage. Every instinct in me wants to follow her, to stop her, to pull her back into my line of sight where I can breathe again. Instead, I stay where I am and let the distance be. I hear her slam the door closed. That somehow hurts.
I run a hand down my face and exhale slowly, forcing my pulse to slow. Control isn’t about strength. It’s about timing. About knowing when not to act. And I’m failing at that more than I like to admit.
I don’t remember when it started — this feeling of possession curling tight in my chest. I’ve protected people before. Dozens of them. High-risk assets. Witnesses. Families who never knew my name. None of them got under my skin. None of them made my thoughts fracture like this. Aria doesn’t even know she does it. The way she looks at the world like it might still be kind. The way she flinches, then steadies herself. The way she refuses to shrink, even when fear presses in on her from all sides.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes.
Sebastian wanted to own her. That’s the difference. I just want to keep her. The realization sits real heavy.
A sound pulls me back — the door opening. I straighten immediately.
She steps into the hallway, wrapped in a sweater that’s too thin for the chill in the air. Her arms are crossed, but her chin is lifted.
“Don’t,” she says when she sees me draw breath. “Don’t soften it. I don’t want excuses.”
I nod once.
“Then don’t soften your questions,” I reply.
She walks closer, stopping a careful distance away.
“You don’t get to decide where I go,” she says. “You don’t get to limit my world because it makes you uncomfortable.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
Because I’m afraid. Men like Sebastian don’t let go quietly. If something happens to you, it will break something in me I don’t know how to fix.
I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I meet her gaze and tell the truth that hurts the most.
“Because I don’t trust myself to be rational when it comes to you.”
Her breath catches — just slightly.
“That’s not reassuring,” she says.
“It’s honest.”
She looks away, jaw tight. “You’re starting to sound like him.”
The words hit like a blade. I step back as if she struck me.
“Don’t,” I say quietly. “Don’t put me in the same place as him.”
“Then don’t cage me,” she fires back.
There's a silence that snaps between us.
I drag a hand through my hair, frustration burning hot beneath my skin.
“You think I don’t see it?” I ask. “The way you’re adjusting? Calculating? You’re already planning how to survive me.”
Her eyes lift, sharp. “Should I not?”
The question guts me.
I laugh once, bitter. “That’s fair.”
“I don’t want to own you,” I say. “I want you alive.”
“And I don’t want to be alive at the cost of myself,” she replies. I could see she's just asking for dignity not freedom without consequences.
“I don’t know how to do this halfway,” I admit. “I’m trained to eliminate risks, not negotiate them.”
“I’m not a risk,” she says softly. “I’m a person.”
“I know,” I whisper. “That’s the problem.”
“You scare me,” she says after a moment. “Not because you’re violent. Because you care like it’s a weapon.” I swallow.
“That’s because it is,” I say. “In my world, caring is leverage. It’s how people die.”
“And yet,” she says, stepping closer, “you keep choosing it.”
I look at her, standing there unafraid enough to stay.
“I choose you,” I say quietly. “That’s what I don’t know how to undo.”
“Then don’t turn me into something you’re guarding instead of someone standing beside you.”
Beside you.
I nod slowly. “I can try.”
She studies me, “You won’t always succeed,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “But I won’t pretend I’m right when I’m wrong.” That matters to her. I can see it. She exhales, tension draining just a fraction.
“Come sit,” she says, surprising me.
“Where?”
“Anywhere that doesn't seem like a battlefield, Dante.”
We end up on opposite ends of the couch, close enough that I can feel her presence, far enough that she doesn’t feel trapped. Neither of us touches the other.
“I don’t trust you completely,” she says quietly.
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“But I don’t think you’d let him take me again.”
“No,” I say firmly. “Never.”
She nods, accepting that.
That moment I realise that I might be her temptation.
- Writer
