Chapter Forty One — Dante

I paused in the corridor, counting the beats until her breath steadied. Silence after an exchange like that was not emptiness — it was the echo of a promise being born. Desire gathers itself in the pause, accumulates weight. I liked to watch it form.

There’s an intimacy in being watched. Not the crass kind that reduces a person to a body, but the exacting, careful attention of someone who studies the map of another soul. I catalogued her small betrayals: the tremor when she laughed too loudly; the way her fingers hovered at the edge of a table as if she could steady herself; the slow exhale that followed any mention of me. Each was a breadcrumb. Each led me closer.

I walked to the room that connected to the conservatory and moved a single lamp’s switch, so a warm pool of light bled across the Persian rug. The light was an actor I set on stage—nothing harsh, everything flattering. Ambience matters. Control is as much about environment as it is about words.

When I reentered, Selena had