Chapter 5
1426 Words
Dante hadn’t expected Millia to call him this late, and he hadn’t expected her voice to sound the way it did low tone, measured, threaded with something that almost felt like resignation. “Come to the house,” she had said. “There’s something I need to discuss privately.”
Now he stood in her garden, surrounded by flowers that glowed faintly in the moonlight. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and earth, and the fountain at the center of the garden murmured softly, its ripples catching the silver light.
It was beautiful here. Too beautiful for the kind of conversation he suspected she wanted to have.
He spotted her before she saw him. Millia was seated on a wrought-iron bench near the roses, a shawl draped loosely over her shoulders. The soft fabric framed her face, and for the first time, she looked less like a woman of power and more like someone trying to hold herself together.
She turned when he approached, her lips curving faintly. “You came.”
“Your message didn’t sound like one I could ignore.”
She gestured toward the seat beside her. “Then sit. I don’t want to shout across the garden.”
He obeyed, lowering himself onto the bench. The night hummed quietly around them the distant chirp of crickets, the soft splash of the fountain, the gentle rustle of leaves moving in the wind.
“I like to come out here at night,” Millia said after a while. “It’s the only place that feels honest. Plants don’t pretend to be what they’re not. They bloom, they wither, they die but they don’t lie about it.”
Dante studied her in the half-light. “You sound like someone trying to convince herself of something.”
Her lips curved, but there was no humor in it. “Maybe I am.”
A silence followed not awkward, but heavy. The kind that pressed on the chest.
Then Millia spoke again, softly. “I told you about my illness.”
He nodded.
“I’ve been thinking about what comes after. For Aria. For my company. For everything I’ve built.”
Her voice grew steadier, more deliberate. “And I’ve decided I can’t leave those things unprotected. Not in this world.”
Dante turned slightly toward her. “You mean business protection.”
“I mean protection in every sense.”
She looked up at him, her eyes catching the faintest flicker of moonlight. “Dante, I’ve met a lot of men powerful, charming, ruthless but I’ve never met one who made me feel like you do.”
He didn’t move. “And how do I make you feel?”
“Safe,” she said simply. “You make me feel safe.”
Those words hit harder than she probably intended. Safety wasn’t something Dante gave freely or easily. It was something he controlled, weaponized, and protected behind layers of silence.
Millia continued, her voice now laced with quiet determination. “I’ve made a lot of decisions out of pride. Out of fear. But I don’t have the luxury of time anymore. So I’ll say this plainly.”
She turned to face him fully. “I want to propose a deal.”
He arched a brow. “A deal?”
“A marriage.” Millia said
The word hung there, soft but sharp, slicing clean through the air.
Millia didn’t look away. “A marriage of convenience. Legal. Binding. Nothing romantic, unless we choose to make it that way. I need someone who can manage what comes next someone who can hold the company, the name, and protect my daughter until she’s ready to inherit.”
Dante stayed silent.
She took his silence for hesitation and went on. “You’d have full control of the business if anything happened to me. My lawyers can structure it cleanly. In exchange, you give me stability and the illusion of a future. That’s all I want now. The illusion.”
He could hear the truth under her calm tone the quiet fear she’d buried beneath layers of composure.
“And Aria?” he asked finally.
“She won’t know about the illness,” Millia said. “Not yet. As far as she’s concerned, I’m simply moving on. Living again. The way she wanted.”
Dante’s gaze darkened slightly. Aria wanted this. But not like this.
He looked away, toward the roses. Their petals gleamed like drops of blood under the moonlight.
“You’re offering me your name,” he said slowly. “Your legacy. That’s not something people give away lightly.”
“I’m not giving it away,” Millia replied. “I’m trading it for peace of mind.”
He turned his gaze back to her. “And why me?”
“Because you’re not the kind of man who takes without giving,” she said softly. “And because Aria trusts you though I’m not sure she realizes how deeply.”
That last line tightened something in his chest.
Millia mistook his silence for doubt again and smiled faintly. “Don’t look so serious, Dante. It’s just business. You gain power, I gain protection. It’s clean.”
Clean.
The word didn’t fit anywhere near what this was.
Because nothing about this was clean.
Not his reasons.
Not his intentions.
And certainly not the way his mind flickered with the image of Aria her laugh, her defiance, the heat in her eyes when she told him to unbutton his shirt.
He forced that image away, breathing out slowly. “You’re sure about this?”
“Completely,” Millia said. “I’ll draw up the documents tomorrow. The ceremony can be private quiet. We’ll announce it later, when it makes sense.”
Dante’s jaw flexed. “And if I say no?”
She smiled faintly, but there was sadness in her eyes. “Then I’ll find someone else. But I’d rather it be you.”
It wasn’t pleading, it was finality.
Millia Hart didn’t beg. She negotiated.
And yet, beneath the calm poise and the lawyer’s precision, Dante saw something else the faint flicker of loneliness. The need not to face death alone.
He looked at her hands pale, slender, resting against the edge of her shawl. Her pulse beat weakly at her wrist, visible in the soft light.
He reached over, covering her hand with his own.
“I’ll do it,” he said quietly.
Her breath caught. “You will?”
He nodded once. “You’ll have what you want. Protection. Security. Peace.”
She exhaled slowly, relief softening her face. “Thank you, Dante. You don’t know what this means to me.”
He didn’t answer. He just looked out at the garden, the wind whispering through the roses.
Because he knew exactly what it meant.
He was stepping into a promise built on deception one that bound him to a dying woman he respected, for the sake of a daughter he couldn’t stop thinking about.
And in doing so, he’d just crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.
Millia’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You know, I never thought I’d marry again. Not after Aria’s father.”
“What was he like?” Dante asked.
“Charming,” she said softly. “Like poison wrapped in honey. He could make anyone love him but love wasn’t enough to keep him.”
There was a faint tremor in her tone that told him the wound still lived somewhere deep.
“I’m not that man,” Dante said quietly.
“I know,” she said, almost smiling. “That’s why I chose you.”
The wind stirred again, carrying the scent of roses across the space between them. For a long moment, neither spoke.
When she finally rose from the bench, Dante followed. The moonlight framed her like something sacred fragile, luminous, fading too quickly.
“Goodnight, Dante,” she said, her voice soft. “We’ll speak in the morning.”
He inclined his head. “Goodnight, Millia.”
As she walked back toward the house, the soft rustle of her dress brushing the gravel, Dante remained where he was. Watching. Listening. Thinking.
The night closed around him, filled with the scent of flowers and the whisper of consequences.
He’d agreed to her terms.
He’d accepted the deal.
And though the garden was beautiful, the air suddenly felt heavy like the calm before a storm.
Because this wasn’t a beginning.
It was the slow, quiet birth of something dangerous.
Something sinful.
Something that would change everything.
- Writer
