Aruna didn’t let go of him.
Not in the car.
Not in the elevator.
Not even when the penthouse doors closed behind them.
Her fingers remained wrapped tightly in Dante’s shirt, as if reality might dissolve if she loosened her grip.
Dante didn’t try to pull away.
He let her hold on.
He let her breathe him in.
He let her remember she was alive.
Safe.
His.
The city lights spilled across the penthouse in fractured gold, but Aruna barely saw them.
All she saw was him.
All she felt was him.
All she knew—
Was that he had chosen her.
Not because he had to.
Because he wanted to.
Dante reached up slowly, his hand brushing her hair away from her face.
His touch was gentle.
Careful.
Almost reverent.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she whispered.
She hadn’t stopped.
N
