Dante's POV
I nudged the woman off me and zipped up my trouser pants, my eyes locked on Arét.
She just stood there.
Still.
Her face was a war zone. I couldn't pin down one single expression. Anger. Disgust. Confusion. Fear. They all danced across her features at once, like they were fighting for room.
I'd lived three hundred and twenty years. Seen every kind of women. Fucked most of them too. But she was different. I couldn't read or tap into her mind.
And that bothered me.
I only caught pieces. Fragments of thoughts. Nothing clear. It was like someone had scrambled her mind just enough to keep me out.
She was fascinating. Everything about her was.
The way her little fingers twitched like she was holding back a punch. How her chest rose and fell too quickly. How her chin stayed lifted even though she looked like she could pass out at any second.
I moved closer. She backed up, hit the wall. I didn't stop.
I leaned in, not quite touching her. Just close enough to feel her breath stutter.
"Did you enjoy the show?" I said low in her ear.
Her whole body reacted. Not in the way I would have liked. She flushed, but not from desire. Her disgust was clear as day.
"Get away from me, you slave master," she spat, shoving at my chest.
I let her.
I turned to leave. Was already halfway to the door when her voice made me stop in my tracks.
"Why am I here?"
I stopped and turned.
Looked her over. She was scared. Trying to hide it, but I saw it.
I glanced at the woman still half-naked behind me, looking dumb and disoriented.
"You," I said to her. "Go find Matt. He'll give you the envelope."
She scrambled to grab her clothes and practically ran.
I looked back at Arét. Crooked my finger once. "Come."
She hesitated, but curiosity got the best of her.
I walked into the kitchen, leaned against the counter, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.
I took a long drag off the cigarette. "I've been watching you," I said.
She jolted upward, wagging her finger at me. "I knew it! I knew you were some sick pervert! A stalker! Did you take naked pictures of me from the cracks in my closet, you weirdo?!"
I chuckled. She was feisty and smart, a dangerous combo.
"I didn't need to hide in your closet to get naked pictures of you," I shrugged. "Your boyfriend did a good job."
I saw the shift happen in her eyes, confusion first. Then suspicion. Then slow, dawning horror.
"No," she whispered. "Michael would never… Michael and I, we were in love. He would never."
I reached into my pants pocket, pulled out my phone, swiped open the folder, that had her name in bold, and handed it to her.
She took it.
Then froze.
I watched her eyes move, picture by picture.
Sleeping. Half-covered in bedsheets. Laughing in her towel. Sometimes just changing. All of it from angles she never saw.
Most of them taken in his apartment.
Her hand trembled. Her lips parted. No words.
"How... how did you get this?" she whispered. "Michael... no. No. No."
I didn't try to convince her. What was the point? Denial was always the first stage. Let her go through it.
"In case it makes you feel better," I said casually, blowing out smoke, "I never jerked off to them. I just liked scrolling through."
Lie.
I couldn't exactly tell her I'd memorized the curve of her hips. Or that her face was the only one I saw when I was inside someone else. Couldn't tell her I'd spent too long in too many showers jerking off to mental images of her.
What kind of sick psycho would that make me?
She handed the phone back like it burned.
And maybe it did.
Because now she knew Michael betrayed her.
And I was watching the exact moment her heart broke.
God, she was beautiful.
"Michael suggested it to your parents to sell you off temporarily to some rich guy. They ran with the idea when they saw how much was being offered. Shitty, right?" I chuckled, but she didn't even blink. Still pale. Frozen.
"From there, it was easy. Micheal getting you pregnant wasn't part of the deal..." I scoffed, the bitter kind. "That son of a bitch. Do you know how hard it was to watch the CCTV from his room and see some guy who worked for me pumping his shriveled dick into you?" I shook my head, jaw tight with the memory.
Her face twisted, disgust written into every line. That same look of loathing.
"You're sick," she spat. "You need medical help. I don't know who you are, but you don't know how much crime you just admitted to."
I shrugged. What did it matter now?
"Why are you doing this? Why are you going this far just to hurt me?"
That one landed.
Because I didn't have an answer.
Three hundred and twenty years of nothingness. Living clean. Taking what came easily. Never craving. Never needing. I fucked women who wanted to be fucked. I took pleasure where it was handed to me.
And then one night, in a sea of a thousand faces.
A conference. A forgettable stage. But there she was.
Sweaty. Barefaced. Unbothered. Lit up with fire and passion and something I hadn't seen in centuries. And suddenly I was hard. Hard in the middle of giving a speech. Because something about her sparked a part of me I thought vampires didn't have. My heart.
"Do you remember the college conference you attended two years ago?" I asked, quiet. "The one I was speaking at?"
Her brows pulled, the dots slowly connecting.
"That was the first time I saw you," I murmured, leaning back in the chair, eyes never leaving her face. "You asked a question. It wasn't even a good one. But you stood up, and something in me... shifted."
"You know normal men approach women they're attracted to, right? Not get some cheapskate worker to impregnate them and then kidnap them," she said, spitting the words like acid. "Just in case no one told you."
"You don't understand," I said quietly. "I was burning that night. And I didn't know why. I had to understand what was happening to me before chasing something that could get me killed."
I leaned forward, eyes locked on her. "I had to know you."
She didn't say anything.
"I learned everything," I went on. "And I knew… you could never want someone like me."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"I'm not asking for forever. I'm asking for 366 days with you."
The disgust in her expression faltered, confusion taking its place.
"I don't get what you're asking," she said, shaking her head slowly.
I licked my lips, leaned back, and pulled the drawer open. Brought out the file. Dropped it on the table in front of her.
"Three hundred and sixty-six days of being with me willingly," I said, voice even. "Public appearances. Wearing my ring. Letting me touch you without hate in your eyes. Letting me make love to you."
She didn't flinch.
"I'll let you go when it's over. And you'll get ten million dollars, or as much as you want." I looked at her belly. "Even now… pregnant, I'll let the child have my name if you want. They'll never want for anything. But I want that year. One year. With you, I don't mind spending it with an heavily pregnant you."
Silence.
"I know it's crazy," I added, almost to myself. "But 366 days… it's all I'm asking. Just to feel human."
She stared at the file for long. Then her voice came out dry.
"…You're insane."