I wasn't supposed to be here.
Not in this part of the building.
Not after hours.
Not alone.
But I'd forgotten my phone. Or told myself I had. Truth was, I needed to breathe where he wasn't. Where Cassian's gaze didn't slide over me like ownership. Where the walls didn't whisper NDA in every echo.
I should've turned back when the elevator stopped one floor too high.
Should've taken the stairs.
Should've ignored the way my body froze when I felt it—him—before I even saw him.
And then I did.
Dante.
Leaning against the tinted window of the hallway like he'd been waiting. Like the world bent around his fucking gravity and the building was just another cigarette he could flick away.
He wore black again. Always black. Shirt open at the collar, ink licking out beneath the fabric. No tie. No apology.
"Lex," he said.
And just like that, I couldn't breathe.
Not properly.
Not without remembering how it felt to be held down by that voice.
"Thought you might show."
I stayed rooted. Cold sweat at the base of my spine. My body screaming run, my thighs aching stay.
"What are you doing here?"
He pushed off the glass, slow. Heavy. Like a wolf stretching after a nap he never really needed.
"Business," he said. "Your boyfriend's been poking into places he shouldn't. Thought I'd pay a visit."
"He's not—" I stopped. Because I didn't know what Cassian was. Not really. My boss? My captor? My sin?
Dante's smirk said it all. Like he knew every fucked-up corner of my thoughts already.
"I see he's trained you to choke on denials."
"Fuck you."
He stepped closer.
Not fast. Not rough. Just… precise.
The kind of slow you only see in predators right before they pounce.
And God help me, I stepped back.
Not because I was scared.
Because I wanted him to catch me.
"You still smell like him," he said.
"Then don't come closer."
"Who said I'm here to fuck you?" he asked, eyes locked to mine. "Maybe I'm here to kill you."
"Maybe I don't care."
A beat.
And then he smiled.
That same one. Half-tilted. Broken. The one that promised ruin and felt like home.
His fingers brushed my throat. Just barely. Just enough.
"Lie better."
I should've hit him.
I should've screamed.
But instead I whispered, "Why are you really here?"
He didn't answer.
Not with words.
He backed me against the wall with one hand beside my head, not touching. Not yet. Just heat and danger and the kind of silence that makes you wet before you even realize you're begging.
"I tried to forget you," I breathed.
"You did?" His mouth was so close now, I could taste the sin on his breath. "Then why are you shaking?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
His fingers finally touched me.
Neck. Collarbone. Down. Lower.
Not possessive. Not gentle.
Just… remembering.
And I let him.
Because there are some ghosts that don't haunt you.
They own you.
"Dante—"
He pressed his forehead to mine, one second, two. Enough to break me open.
"Next time," he said, "I won't stop."
"I didn't ask you to."
He looked at me then. Really looked.
Not like Cassian. Not like the world.
Like I was a puzzle he already solved—and still wanted to play again.
Then he stepped back.
Vanished into the dark like he'd never been there.
And me?
I slid to the floor, legs open, hands shaking.
Because I didn't know if I wanted him to kiss me again.
Or kill me.