The following days passed in an uneasy silence. Dante gave Isla her space, though it was clear he wasn’t giving up. His attempts to connect with her were subtle: flowers left on her bedside table, her favorite dishes appearing at dinner, and even small toys for Amara. But Isla remained wary, her walls firmly in place.
Yet, something about the man seemed different. He was no longer the domineering Dante she’d come to know. He was softer, quieter, more patient. And that made her even more uncertain. Was it all just another ploy?
That evening, as the mansion settled into quiet, Isla found herself unable to sleep. She stood on the balcony outside her room, the cool breeze brushing against her skin. Below, the garden was bathed in moonlight, the soft rustle of leaves providing a soothing soundtrack to her thoughts.
A voice interrupted her solitude.
“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”
She turned sharply to find Dante standing a few feet away, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He was wearing a simple white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, revealing the taut muscles of his forearms. His hair was slightly disheveled, as though he’d been running his fingers through it.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said coldly, though her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat at his presence.
Dante didn’t move closer but leaned against the railing, his eyes fixed on her. “I couldn’t sleep. And I thought… maybe you couldn’t either.”
Isla crossed her arms, trying to shield herself from his gaze. “What do you want, Dante?”
He sighed, the sound heavy with frustration and longing. “I want you to trust me again. I want you to see that I’m trying. For you. For Amara.”
She scoffed, turning away. “Trust? That’s rich coming from you.”
“I know,” he admitted. “I’ve made mistakes-more than I can count. But I can’t change the past, Isla. I can only try to fix the future.”
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, Isla didn’t respond. Then, finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Why now? Why are you suddenly trying so hard?”
Dante hesitated, then stepped closer, his voice soft and earnest. “Because losing you-even the thought of it-terrifies me. And I’ve already lost so much time with you and Amara. I don’t want to lose any more.”
—
A Crack in the Armor
His admission caught her off guard. For the first time, Isla saw a vulnerability in Dante that he rarely showed. It made her chest tighten, though she fought to keep her defenses up.
“Words mean nothing, Dante,” she said, echoing what she’d told him before.
“Then let me prove it to you,” he countered, stepping closer. “Give me one night. Just one. Let me show you what you mean to me.”
Isla’s breath hitched as he closed the distance between them. He didn’t touch her, but his presence was magnetic, drawing her in despite herself. She looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest.
“And if I say no?” she challenged.
Dante smiled faintly, his eyes soft. “Then I’ll leave. But I won’t stop trying.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, against her better judgment, Isla nodded. “One night,” she whispered.
—
A Moment of Vulnerability
Dante led her to the library, a place Isla had always loved but rarely visited since arriving at the mansion. The room was warm and inviting, lit by the soft glow of a fireplace. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat on the table near the window.
“You planned this,” Isla said, arching an eyebrow.
Dante shrugged, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. “I hoped.”
She shook her head, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward despite herself. Taking a seat by the fire, she watched as Dante poured them both a glass of wine. He handed one to her before sitting across from her, his gaze steady and unguarded.
“Do you remember the first time we talked about family?” he asked suddenly.
Isla frowned, caught off guard by the question. “That was a long time ago.”
“You told me you wanted a small, simple life. A cozy house, a dog, and two kids. Do you still want that?”
She hesitated, the memories flooding back. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “A lot has changed.”
Dante nodded, his expression somber. “It has. But some things haven’t. Like the way I feel about you.”
Her breath caught, and she looked away, staring into the flames. “You don’t get to say things like that, Dante. Not after everything.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But I’ll keep saying them until you believe me.”
—
Breaking the Tension
As the night wore on, the tension between them began to ease. They talked about Amara, shared stories from the past, and even laughed at a few shared memories. For the first time in months, Isla felt a glimmer of the connection they once had.
But that connection was dangerous, and she knew it.
When Dante reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers, Isla’s instincts screamed at her to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she looked up at him, her heart pounding.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
Dante’s gaze was intense, filled with longing. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”
Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a tentative kiss. It was soft, almost hesitant, as though he was afraid she’d push him away. But when she didn’t, he deepened the kiss, his hand cradling her cheek.
Isla’s defenses crumbled under the weight of his touch. She kissed him back, her fingers tangling in his hair as months of tension and unspoken emotions spilled over. The world outside the library faded away, leaving only the two of them.
—
A Night of Passion
Dante scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the nearby couch. He laid her down gently, his lips never leaving hers. His hands moved slowly, reverently, as though he was rediscovering her for the first time.
“You’re everything to me, Isla,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with emotion.
Isla’s heart ached at his words, torn between wanting to believe him and fearing the inevitable heartbreak. But in that moment, she let herself surrender to him, to the feelings she’d buried for so long.
Their passion was raw and unrestrained, a mix of desperation and longing. Dante’s touch was both possessive and tender, his kisses igniting a fire that consumed them both. For the first time in months, Isla felt truly alive, her walls falling away as she lost herself in him.
—
The Morning After
When Isla woke the next morning, the fire had burned low, casting a warm glow over the room. She was wrapped in Dante’s arms, her head resting on his chest. For a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of safety and warmth.
But reality soon crept in, and her heart sank. This didn’t change anything. Dante might claim to care for her, but their past was filled with too much pain to simply forget.
Carefully, she untangled herself from his embrace and slipped out of the library. She needed time to think, to figure out what this meant-for her, for Amara, and for their fragile relationship.
As she closed the door behind her, Dante stirred, his hand reaching for the empty space beside him. When he realized she was gone, a flicker of determination crossed his face.
This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.