The Cold War
548 Words
The silence was my new weapon.
After Dante’s cruel performance in front of the restaurant, something inside me had shifted. If I was just a "chore" and a "waste of time," then I would stop giving him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I wouldn't look at him, I wouldn't talk to him, and I certainly wouldn't react to his presence.
I sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through my phone and sipping my coffee. I didn't look up when the elevator dinged. I didn't flinch when the heavy, familiar scent of sandalwood and rain filled the room.
Dante walked in, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, looking every bit the exhausted predator. He stopped at the counter, right next to me.
"Leo’s at the office early," he said, his voice a low gravelly rasp.
I didn't answer. I didn't even blink. I just swiped to the next photo on my feed—a picture of a guy from my class at a beach party.
"Elena. I’m talking to you," Dante said, his tone sharpening.
I stood up, rinsed my mug in the sink, and walked toward the hallway. I brushed past him as if he were a piece of furniture, not even sparing him a glance.
Dante’s Perspective
My hand clenched around the edge of the marble counter so hard I thought it might c***k.
She hadn't looked at me. Not once. For three days, I had been a ghost in this penthouse. I had called her a "brat" to save my life, but I hadn't expected her to actually listen and walk away.
The "Beast" inside me was pacing the floor of its cage, howling for her attention. I followed her into the hallway, my steps heavy and predatory.
"Stop," I commanded.
She kept walking.
I reached out and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around. I expected tears. I expected anger. Instead, I got eyes that were as cold as a winter morning in the city.
"What do you want, Dante?" she asked, her voice flat and professional. "If it’s about Leo’s schedule, he left it on the fridge. If it’s about me, don't worry—I'm staying home. I wouldn't want to be a 'chore' for you today."
"Elena—"
"I'm busy," she said, pulling her shoulder out of my grip. "I have a date later. And since you aren't my bodyguard, I'm sure you have a 'named distraction' to go find."
The word date hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. The unyielding thickness of my possessiveness surged, a hot, throbbing ache that made my vision blur. I wanted to pin her to the wall and demand the name of the man she was meeting. I wanted to show her exactly how much of a "chore" she really was.
But I couldn't. Leo was only a phone call away.
"You aren't going anywhere," I growled, my voice dropping to a dangerous level.
"Watch me," she whispered, turning her back on me again.
I stood in the hallway, my breath coming in ragged hitches, watching the woman I loved walk away from me with a heart I had broken. The "Cold War" had begun, and for the first time in my life, I was the one who was terrified of losing.
- Writer
