For You

TWENTY QUESTIONS (ZANYA)

The mansion was eerily silent as I wandered through its endless hallways, lost in my own thoughts. My mind replayed the events of the past few days, each moment wrapping itself around me like a thick fog. The revelations, the family I never knew I had, the monster lurking in my past—I was drowning in it all.

I sighed, rubbing my temple, willing the ache behind my eyes to disappear. The mansion was beautiful, extravagant even, but it still didn’t feel like home. Would it ever? Could it?

As I turned a corner, movement caught my eye, snapping me out of my thoughts. My breath hitched slightly as Dante stepped out of the restroom, his phone in hand. His dark hair was an absolute mess, sticking out in different directions as if he had run his fingers through it repeatedly. His shirt was untucked, the top buttons undone, revealing a sliver of his sculpted chest. His sleeves were rolled up, veins prominent against his tanned skin. He looked disheveled, raw—undeniably breathtaking.

Beautiful.

The word floated into my mind before I could stop it.

As if sensing my gaze, Dante’s eyes lifted from his phone, locking onto mine. A sharp current of electricity crackled between us, so potent it sent shivers down my spine. His intense gaze roamed over me, slowly, deliberately, as if mapping out every inch of my existence.

I suddenly became hyperaware of my attire—a delicate silk nightie that barely reached mid-thigh. The fabric clung to my curves in all the right places, the soft lace trim adding an innocent yet sinful allure. It was cute, modest even, but the way Dante was looking at me made it feel like the most provocative thing I could have worn.

His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring slightly as his heated gaze darkened. I could see the precise moment his thoughts shifted, the images forming in his head—of what he could do to me, of how easy it would be to push the straps down, to press me against the nearest wall and—

I cleared my throat, snapping the tension in half before it suffocated me. "Dante."

He didn’t respond, but his lips twitched slightly, as if he found my attempt at composure amusing. His gaze finally lifted back to my eyes, but the hunger there hadn’t dimmed.

I swallowed hard. I needed to get a grip.

His presence alone was intoxicating, his dominance effortlessly suffocating. And the way he looked at me—like I was something precious, something his, something he wasn’t willing to let go—sent my heart into a frenzied rhythm.

But I wouldn’t let him affect me. Not like this. Not now.

I straightened my shoulders, feigning indifference, and forced my lips into a small smirk. "Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?"

Dante’s lips curled into a smirk of his own, slow and dangerous. "Only when I don’t like what I see."

His words sent another wave of warmth flooding through me, and I clenched my fists, willing my body to behave.

Damn him.

I took a deep breath before making my way toward Dante. He stood near the large window in the hallway, his phone in hand, looking far too composed. For a man who had just exited the restroom in complete disarray earlier, he had recovered fast.

He noticed me approaching and raised a brow. “What is it, angel?”

I shifted awkwardly on my feet before finally gathering the courage to speak. “Apparently, my dad thinks we should share a room.”

Dante stilled for a fraction of a second before a slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. It was brief, barely there, but I saw it. And then, as if remembering something, he wiped the expression clean and replaced it with a neutral look.

“Come on, then,” he said smoothly, pushing off the wall and extending a hand toward me.

I hesitated for a second before placing my palm in his. His grip was warm, firm, and strangely reassuring as he led me toward the room we would be sharing. When we arrived, I stepped inside, my lips parting slightly in amazement.

The bedroom was breathtaking.

A blend of deep blues and warm golds decorated the room, the bed was massive with an elegant canopy draping over it. The walls were adorned with intricate artwork, and a grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow.

“Wow,” I breathed, my fingers grazing the silk sheets as I perched on the edge of the bed.

Dante hummed in amusement. “Like it?”

I nodded, still mesmerized. Meanwhile, Dante had already walked into the closet to change. I heard the rustling of fabric, the sound of drawers opening and closing, but my mind was still preoccupied with the room, with the fact that I was sharing this space with him.

Minutes later, I heard his footsteps approaching, and I looked up just as he stepped out. He was now dressed in a loose black shirt and sweatpants, his hair still slightly damp. His gaze flickered to me, and something in his eyes shifted.

“You’re not ready to sleep yet,” he noted. Before I could react, he moved.

In one swift motion, he grabbed me by the waist and lifted me effortlessly. A startled gasp left my lips, and instinct took over as I wrapped my legs around his waist, my hands gripping his shoulders.

“Dante!” I exclaimed, but he simply carried me toward the balcony as if I weighed nothing.

The night air was cool against my skin as he stepped onto the balcony, holding me as securely as ever. The sky stretched above us, stars twinkling like scattered diamonds across a velvet canvas. It was beautiful, mesmerizing.

For a moment, I forgot about the position I was in. Forgot about the way Dante’s hands rested firmly on my thighs, the warmth of his body pressed against mine. But then his voice broke through the silence.

“Let’s play a game.”

I jumped slightly at his words, still in his arms, and turned to face him. “A game?” I asked, confused.

“Twenty questions,” he clarified, his lips tilting slightly. “You answer one, I answer one.”

Realization dawned on me. This wasn’t just a game.

This was Dante’s way of unraveling me, of peeling me apart bit by bit. And he was starting tonight.

My breath hitched, but strangely, I didn’t protest. Because a part of me wanted to play.