The first thing Sarah noticed was the silence.
No storm. No music.
Only her own heartbeat and the faint hum of city life far below.
She blinked against the light spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Dante's penthouse looked different in daylight — colder, too beautiful to be real.
And then she realized she wasn't in her own bed.
The silk sheets tangled around her legs.
The scent of smoke and his cologne clung to her skin.
Memories flickered like flashes — his hands, his voice, his command.
For a moment, she couldn't tell if she'd won or lost.
Sarah sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.
The clock on the wall read 9:04 a.m.
She'd never slept this late in her life.
Her head wasn't foggy.
Her heart was.
Last night had been chaos — control and surrender, anger and ache.
But now, in the quiet aftermath, her mind whispered questions she didn't want to answer.
Was it revenge?
Or something dangerously close to desire?
She found her dress on a chair, heels near the door.
Neatly placed — as if someone wanted her to see them.
Of course he did.
Sarah slipped into her clothes quickly, avoiding the mirror.
Her reflection wasn't the woman she wanted to be — not yet.
She moved quietly toward the door.
But just as her fingers brushed the handle, a voice stopped her.
"Leaving so soon?"
She froze.
Dante leaned against the wall near the kitchen, shirt unbuttoned, a coffee cup in his hand.
He looked maddeningly composed — as if nothing that happened between them had disturbed his control.
"I have work," she said, her tone clipped.
"So do I," he murmured. "But you don't see me running."
"I'm not running."
He took a slow sip of coffee. "You're trying to convince yourself of that."
Her glare was sharp. "You think last night means something?"
He tilted his head. "Doesn't it?"
"It was revenge," she said quickly. "That's all."
He smiled — quiet, knowing. "You keep saying that, hoping it'll be true."
She crossed her arms, forcing her voice steady. "Don't flatter yourself, Moretti. You were just—"
"—convenient?" He chuckled, finishing for her. "You can call it whatever you want, princess. I know the difference between hate and hunger."
Her chest tightened. "Don't call me that."
He set his cup down and walked toward her — slow, measured steps that made her pulse stutter.
She stepped back until her shoulder brushed the door.
"Don't," she said again, but her voice lacked its usual bite.
"Tell me, Sarah," he murmured, stopping inches from her. "When you closed your eyes last night, who did you see — him or me?"
She swallowed hard. "You're disgusting."
"And you're lying."
His hand came up, resting lightly against the door beside her head. Not trapping her. Just close enough to remind her who she was dealing with.
Her breath came faster. "Move."
He didn't.
Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping low — dark silk and quiet steel.
"You started this, Sarah. I'll decide when it ends."
The words hit her like a spark to dry wood.
She hated how her pulse answered him, how her body betrayed her anger.
"You think you own me now?"
"No," he said softly. "But you gave me something last night you can't take back."
Her throat tightened. "And what's that?"
"Your truth."
She almost laughed. "You really think one night changes anything?"
"I know it does."
His eyes were calm, unreadable. "Because you didn't leave when you could. You stayed."
Sarah's hand tightened on the doorknob.
"You don't get to define me," she said quietly. "And you don't get to use me as your game piece."
He smiled faintly. "Then don't play like one."
For a second, they stood there — silence and heat and something that felt too real to name.
Finally, she turned the handle. "I don't need you, Dante."
He stepped back just enough for her to open the door.
But before she could step through, his voice stopped her again.
"You'll come back," he said simply.
She froze.
"Because revenge," he continued, "isn't finished until you've taken everything. And I'm the only one who can teach you how."
Sarah turned to face him. "And what do you get from that?"
His lips curved. "You."
Her breath caught. "For how long?"
His eyes darkened. "Until I decide I've had enough."
For a heartbeat, the world went still.
Then she stepped out, the door closing softly behind her.
But even as she walked down the hallway, her hands trembled.
Because deep down, she knew — this wasn't over.
---
Back inside, Dante watched the elevator lights descend.
He smiled to himself, slow and dangerous.
> "You started this, Sarah," he murmured, echoing his own warning.
"And I'll decide when it ends."