Chapter 6

Clarissa’s POV

Dante stood by the window with his phone pressed to his ear as he spoke in a low voice. I sat on the couch, trying to focus on the quiet hum of the refrigerator instead of the uneasiness that had been building in my chest since the last message I got earlier that morning. 

When he finally ended the call, he turned to me with that same reassuring look he always had.

“I’ve spoken to a friend,” he said. “There’s a property about thirty minutes away from here. It’s private, secure, and in a quiet area. I’ll have everything arranged. It should be ready in about five days at most.”

I straightened in my seat. “Five days? That’s fast.”

He nodded. “They owe me a favor. It’ll be fitted with cameras, coded locks, the whole setup. You’ll be safe there.”

“That sounds… good. But Dante, I can pay for it. You’ve done enough already.”

He shook his head immediately. “No. You’re not paying for it. It’s the least I can do.”

“That’s not right,” I said, folding my arms. “You’ve been running around for me since the day I left that house. I don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of your kindness.”

He leaned on the wall, pocketing his phone. “You’re not. You needed help, and I had the means. Let me do this.”

I frowned slightly. “You say it like you owe me something.”

He gave a small shrug. “Maybe I do.”

I looked at him for a while. “Why are you really helping me, Dante? Be honest.”

He went quiet. For a few seconds, the only sound was the faint ticking of the wall clock. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Because it’s what I should do. It’s what a lawyer like me is supposed to do.”

His answer didn’t tell me everything, but I didn’t push. “Thank you,” I said softly.

He smiled a little. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” I insisted. “You’ve done more for me in a few days than most people did in years.”

He grabbed his jacket from the arm of the chair. “Get some rest today. I’ll drop by tomorrow to check on you.”

“I will,” I said.

When he left, I locked the door behind him and stood there for a moment, listening as his car drove off. The apartment felt quiet again, almost too quiet. I tried to distract myself by unpacking the few groceries I’d bought the day before, arranging them neatly on the counter. My phone buzzed just as I closed the refrigerator door.

I reached for it, expecting a message from Dante. But when I saw the name on the screen, I froze for half a second—Sasha.

My thumb hovered over the notification before I opened it. It was a picture of Sasha and Nicho, smiling at some event, wine glasses in hand. Her head leaned against his shoulder, and his hand rested at her waist like it belonged there. The caption read, “Some people just don’t know when they’ve lost.”

I stared at the image longer than I should have. Not because it hurt, but because of how familiar it looked. It wasn’t pain that I felt anymore; it was something duller, heavier. I wasn’t jealous or angry.

The tug in my chest wasn’t for Nicho. It was for all the wasted time. For the woman who stayed too long trying to fix something that was never whole.

I took a screenshot, saved the picture in a folder on my phone, and labeled it “Evidence.” Every piece mattered now. If he wanted to play dirty, I’d be ready for him.

I put the phone down and went to the small desk by the window where my la[top sat. I hadn’t used it in weeks. The last time I’d opened it was for a freelance job I’d barely had time to finish before everything fell apart. I ran my fingers over the lid and then opened it.

The screen lit up, and I logged in to my account. The homepage looked the same as always—projects, bids, deadlines. For a moment, I felt a bit of relief. Maybe I could get back to work, build something again. I clicked on a few listings, sent in a couple of applications, and waited.

An hour passed. Then the rejection messages started coming in.

“Your application was declined.”

“The client chose another freelancer.”

“Profile flagged for review.”

I frowned, checking my account settings. Everything was in order. My profile still had good reviews and completed projects. There was no reason for this. I tried applying again using a different client posting. Another rejection appeared instantly.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

I clicked on the help chat and typed out a message.

“Hi, I think there’s a problem with my account. My applications are being automatically declined.”

The support agent replied a few minutes later.

“Hello Clarissa, your account has been temporarily restricted due to a report filed under the Devereux Legal Group. We recommend contacting them for clarification.

I sat back, staring at the message. My heart sank. Nicho. Of course it was him.

Without thinking twice, I picked up my phone and texted Dante.

Me: >Dante, my freelance account has been blocked. They said it’s tied to Devereux Legal Group.

Dante: >He blacklisted you. It’s his way of cutting you off financially.

Me: >Can he even do that?

Dante: >Technically, no. But with his connections, he can make it difficult. Don’t panic, I’ll handle it.

Me: >He’s getting desperate.

Dante: >That’s exactly what this is. Desperation. Just stay put. I’ll make some calls.

I dropped the phone on the desk and rubbed my forehead. He wasn’t just trying to control me anymore. He was trying to erase me from everything I’d built outside of him.

I stood up and walked to the kitchen. The clock on the wall read past seven, but I wasn’t hungry. I poured myself a glass of water instead. My hand trembled slightly as I set it down.

Every time I thought I had a step ahead, he found a way to remind me that he still had reach. But this time, it wasn’t going to scare me back into silence.

The phone buzzed again.