The mansion was shrouded in silence, moonlight slipping through the tall windows in pale, cold streams. The night pressed down heavy and thick, but Avery's mind refused to rest.
She moved silently through the darkened halls, each step measured, cautious — until she reached the door to Dante's room.
Pushing it open just enough, she slipped inside.
The flickering fireplace cast dancing shadows across the walls, and there, lying on the bed, was Dante. His features were calm, serene—almost peaceful—as if sleep had claimed him completely.
Avery's breath caught. She stepped closer, drawn in by something she couldn't name.
Slowly, she reached out, her fingers trembling as she gently cupped his cheek. His skin was cool beneath her touch. Leaning in, she whispered his name—barely audible.
> "Dante…"
No movement.
Avery let out a quiet breath, convinced he was truly asleep. Turning to leave, she took a tentative step back—
Suddenly, a hand shot out, strong and unyielding, gripping her wrist like iron.
> "Lost at midnight?" His voice was low, slow, a dangerous tease.
"Want me to tell you a bedtime story?"
His eyes snapped open—dark, unreadable—locking onto hers.
Avery's heart thundered in her chest.
The night had just become far more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.
Avery stared at him, her throat tightening under the weight of his words.
Control belongs to me.
She wanted to laugh—to scoff at the arrogance of it—but the truth was far more dangerous than his pride. Dante Harlan wasn't just a man who craved dominance. He was a force carved out of shadow, built from fire and control. Every movement he made echoed restraint… and lethal intent.
"You think you scare me?" she asked, lifting her chin, defiant.
Dante's eyes flickered with amusement—no warmth, just the edge of a predator entertained by a challenge.
"I don't need to," he said quietly. "You already know what I am."
Avery opened her mouth to speak, but the words vanished as he stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but close enough that the air between them turned razor-thin.
"Tell me, Avery Quinn," he murmured, her name tasting like a sin on his tongue, "was it desperation or curiosity that brought you here tonight?"
Her lips parted. "Does it matter?"
"It matters to me," he said.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and taut.
Then he turned from her, walked toward the far side of the room. "Go back to bed," he said, as if he hadn't just pulled the floor from beneath her.
Avery didn't move. "You said the bargain begins now."
"I did." He faced her again, expression unreadable. "But not tonight. Tonight, you learn the rules."
She folded her arms. "And what are those?"
Dante walked back to her slowly, stopping just a breath away. His voice was low, final.
"You don't come to my room. You don't touch me without permission. And you don't ever think you'll outplay the devil."
Her breath caught.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he leaned in, his lips near her ear.
"Unless you want to get burned."
Avery couldn't move.
Her skin tingled with the nearness of him, and her thoughts buzzed in chaotic defiance. She wasn't some trembling girl out of her depth. She had come here knowing the stakes. But standing in front of him now—this cold, controlled man with eyes like dying stars—made her feel like a pawn already halfway sacrificed.
She took a slow breath. "Then maybe I don't mind the fire."
Dante's gaze didn't flinch. But something flickered. A crack—so quick, so fleeting—in his carefully constructed armor. Then it was gone, replaced with a mocking smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Be careful what you flirt with," he said coolly. "The flames aren't as forgiving as you think."
Avery swallowed her retort and turned away, heart pounding. She could feel his stare follow her as she reached the door. Her hand touched the knob—cool metal against skin that still burned from his voice.
"Goodnight, Dante," she said without looking back.
His answer came, low and dry.
"We'll see if it is."
---
She slipped out, the hallway swallowing her like a secret. The silence in the mansion was different now—thicker, laced with something unspoken and waiting. Each step back to her room felt slower, as if she were walking deeper into a story she hadn't meant to star in.
Back in her room, she pressed her back to the door and exhaled. Her hands were shaking. Not from fear—but from something harder to name.
She'd stared into the lion's den tonight… and for a terrifying moment, part of her had wanted the lion to bite.
She slid under the covers, eyes wide in the dark. Sleep wouldn't come easily. Not when her mind was stuck replaying every word, every glance, every controlled breath of Dante Harlan. The man was a storm in human skin—and she had just stepped willingly into his path.
But as her gaze drifted to the small sliver of moonlight on the floor, a strange sort of resolve crept in.
She could handle fire.
She had to—because her soul wasn't the only thing at stake.
Ethan.
She closed her eyes, clinging to his name like an anchor.
The bargain had begun.