The moment felt stretched, fragile, like a bubble of impossible intimacy. My world had shrunk to the space between us, filled with the warmth of his hands on my waist and the storm of unspoken feelings in his eyes. He was looking at me not as a duty or a burden, but as a woman. I looked back at him, my heart racing with an overwhelming mix of acceptance. This was it. The edge.
Then, as if burned by the thought, he dropped his hands and stepped back. The retreat was so sudden and complete that it hit me like a physical blow. The warmth disappeared, and the connection broke apart. In its place, the familiar, icy barrier of the CEO slammed down, twice as high and ten times colder than before.
"You should be more careful," he said, his voice flat and lacking any emotion. He turned away, adjusting his shirt cuffs in a dismissive gesture. "A fall could have reopened your wound. You need to wait for Aria or Elara if you need help."
I stared at him, shocked by the abrupt change. The man who had held me moments ago was gone, replaced by a cold, distant stranger. "Dante…" I began, my voice shaky.
"Mr. Moretti," he corrected, without looking at me. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of scotch, his back turned like a wall of rejection. "The informalities of the sickroom are no longer necessary now that you are recovering. We should keep some distance."
Distance? After he had bled for me? After he had shared his deepest trauma in the dead of night? His words stung like a slap. Hurt pierced through me, sharper than the ache in my side.
"Right," I said, my voice breaking. "Of course. My mistake."
Clenching my jaw against the sting of his rejection, I gathered all my strength to walk, unaided and proud, back to my room. I didn't look back, but I could sense his gaze on me, a cold, clinical weight. The door clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it, the emotional chaos making me feel weaker than the gunshot ever had.
I had been foolish. I had confused his guilt for kindness, his closeness for care. He had made it painfully clear: I was a burden he had to handle, and now that I could stand on my own, he was redefining the terms of my confinement.
From her doorway down the hall, Aria had witnessed everything. She watched her brother stand rigidly at the bar, staring into his drink, embodying self-imposed isolation. Then she glanced at my closed door, where she could almost feel the waves of confused pain. She shook her head, letting out a sigh of pure frustration. Her brilliant, powerful brother, struggling with his emotions, was about to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him. And she, for one, was not going to let that happen.