Chapter 10
1153 Words
The evening light poured through the tall windows of the mansion, bathing the marble floors in shades of gold and rose. It was the kind of hour when silence carried its own heartbeat soft, steady, and expectant.
Dante had grown accustomed to the quiet. Since their return from Italy, the house had settled into a rhythm of muted elegance. Millia moved through the halls with practiced grace, her illness well hidden behind silk dresses and a smile too perfect to question.
But it wasn’t Millia who haunted his thoughts. It was Aria.
She had become a shadow that didn’t know it followed him laughter echoing faintly down the corridor, perfume clinging to the air long after she’d passed. She was everywhere and nowhere, and Dante hated how his eyes sought her without permission.
He’d built his life around control. Control of his business, his name, his secrets. But Aria made control feel like a thread delicate, fraying with every stolen glance.
That evening, he stood by the library’s arched window, watching the garden sway in the wind. The scent of rain clung to the air a storm was coming. He heard her before he saw her, the soft rustle of fabric, the unsteady rhythm of bare feet against polished wood.
“Dante,” she said, and his name in her voice did something dangerous to him.
He turned slowly. She stood in the doorway, the soft light outlining her figure white dress, unguarded eyes, and a kind of restless energy that didn’t belong in a house built on secrets.
“You missed dinner,” she continued, walking in. “Millia was asking for you.”
He nodded, eyes never leaving her. “I wasn’t hungry.”
Aria crossed her arms, frowning slightly. “You never are these days. You barely speak, barely eat. It’s like you’re… somewhere else.”
He said nothing. He couldn’t.
Because somewhere else was standing right in front of him.
She sighed, turning toward the bookshelves, running her fingers across the spines. “She’s trying, you know. To make things normal.”
Dante’s chest tightened. “Normal doesn’t last long in this house.”
Aria looked back at him something flickered in her expression, something she didn’t understand yet but felt deeply. “Then maybe we should try harder,” she whispered.
He wanted to agree. He wanted to tell her that she was the only reason he could breathe inside this beautiful, suffocating cage. But the weight of Millia’s trust, the vow he’d made, chained every word before it could form it.
Instead, he stepped closer, his voice low. “Your mother deserves peace, Aria. You should give her that.”
Her lips parted slightly, confusion softening her gaze. “And what about you?”
Dante didn’t answer. The silence between them stretched intimate, dangerous. It was the kind of silence that hummed.
When Aria turned to leave, her hand touched his arm. Just a touch but enough heat shot through him, sharp and real. She froze, eyes flicking to his. Neither moved.
The storm outside broke thunder rolled, rain lashed against the glass.
Millia’s voice echoed faintly down the corridor, calling Aria’s name. The spell snapped.
Aria pulled back, cheeks flushed. “I should go,” she whispered.
Dante nodded once. “Goodnight.”
But when she left, the ghost of her touch stayed on his skin, refusing to fade.
The next morning was too bright, too still. Millia sat in the garden, wrapped in a shawl despite the heat. Aria was beside her, laughing softly, and for a moment, Dante allowed himself to believe this was what peace looked like sunlight, laughter, a home not built on deception.
“Dante,” Millia called, smiling faintly. “Come join us.”
He hesitated, then did.
As he approached, Aria glanced up and that single look nearly undid him. There was warmth there, a soft unspoken bond growing stronger by the day. He returned it with a polite nod, hiding everything else behind the calm mask he’d perfected.
Millia reached for his hand. “You’ve been distant lately,” she said gently. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” he replied smoothly. “Just work.”
Her eyes lingered on him a beat too long. She knew better she always did but she let it go.
They spoke about trivial things: upcoming events, garden renovations, the rain that had ruined last night’s dinner plans. But beneath every word, tension coiled tight.
Millia coughed softly into her napkin. Aria’s smile faltered.
Dante’s gaze snapped to the faint trace of red blooming on the white fabric.
“Mother”
“I’m fine,” Millia interrupted quickly, folding the napkin, her tone light but breathless. “Just tired.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, but the worry in his eyes spoke volumes.
Aria looked between them, unease flickering. “You’re sure?”
Millia nodded, forcing another smile. “Yes, darling. I just need rest.”
She rose, steadying herself on the table, and Dante was there instantly, his hand firm on her arm. “You should sit,” he murmured.
But Millia shook her head. “No. I need to see the roses before they wilt.”
As she walked toward the far end of the garden, Dante’s eyes followed a shadow in his expression that Aria couldn’t name.
“Dante,” Aria said softly. “Is she… worse than she’s telling me?”
He didn’t look at her. “She’s strong,” was all he said.
Aria frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give.”
She stared at him, frustrated, but there was something in his voice a quiet ache that made her fall silent.
The wind carried Millia’s soft humming through the garden. For a heartbeat, it felt almost normal again.
Then the humming stopped.
Aria turned first just in time to see her mother’s figure sway, her hand slipping from the roses, collapsing against the earth.
“Mother!”
Dante was already running before the word fully left Aria’s mouth.
Rain began again sudden, relentless. He lifted Millia in his arms, her head falling against his shoulder. Aria knelt beside him, trembling, tears mixing with the rain.
“Call the doctor,” Dante ordered sharply, voice cutting through the chaos.
Aria scrambled for her phone, but her hands shook too hard to dial. Dante took it gently from her, his composure terrifyingly calm.
Within minutes, the house was alive with movement servants rushing, calls made, rooms prepared. Dante stayed by Millia’s side as they carried her in, one hand gripping hers, the other trembling just enough to betray him.
Aria stood in the doorway, drenched, watching the man who had once been just her mother’s husband become something else entirely a man of fierce, quiet devotion.
She didn’t understand the depth of it yet.
But she would.
- Writer
