You look like hell.

Cassidy’s POV

I didn’t wait for her to spit more venom. I shoved past Jason, my shoulder clipping his hard enough to make him stumble, and stormed out the door. The hallway blurred as I descended the stairs two at a time, my duffel bag thumping against my hip like a heartbeat—frantic, unsteady. Outside, the city air hit me, crisp and unforgiving, but it was freedom. No more stale smoke, no more lies tangled in the sheets. Just me, broken but breathing.

Dante’s car was long gone, the curb empty where he’d idled, his hand warm on my thigh during the silent drive. I could still feel the ghost of his touch, the way his fingers had dug in possessively, like he was marking me even then. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I hailed a cab—probably Jason with some pathetic apology text. I ignored it, sliding into the back seat and giving the driver the first address that popped into my head: a cheap motel on the edge of downtown, the kind with flickering neon signs and no questions asked.

The ride was a haze. Buildings whipped by, but all I saw was replay: Mom’s sneer, Jason’s guilty eyes, the slap that still burned. And underneath it all, Dante—his voice in my ear, his body claiming mine, making me forget. God, I needed that again. Needed him.

At the motel, I paid with the last of my cash, checked in under a fake name because why not? The room was dingy—faded wallpaper, a bed that sagged in the middle, a TV bolted to the wall like it might run away. I dropped my bag, collapsed onto the mattress, and finally let the tears come. Hot, ugly sobs that wracked my body, soaking the pillow. I cried for the girl I used to be, the one who believed in love, in family. Cried until my throat was raw and my eyes swollen.

When the storm passed, I pulled out my phone. No missed calls from Mom—big surprise. Jason had texted a novel: *Cassie, please. I messed up. Let me make it right. I love you.* Delete. Block. Gone.

But there was one number I hadn’t saved yet—Dante’s, from the quick exchange in his car before he dropped me off. My thumb hovered over it. What was I doing? He was a stranger, a one-night escape. But he’d looked at me like I was more, called me his fire. And right now, I needed to burn.

I typed: *It’s Cassidy. Chaos sorted? Not really. Need to talk... or not talk. Where are you?*

Send.

Minutes ticked by, agonizing. I paced the room, nerves buzzing like the faulty fluorescent light overhead. What if he didn’t respond? What if I was just another notch, another girl he’d made scream his name?

My phone lit up. *Princess. Thought you’d ghost me. At the office—emergency bullshit. Meet me here? Penthouse level, Volkov Tower. Tell security Dante sent you. Don’t make me wait.*

Volkov Tower? The sleek glass monolith downtown, home to billion-dollar deals and CEOs who ruled the city. My heart skipped. Who was this guy? Not just some club prowler. I grabbed my bag—no time to change out of my rumpled clothes—and called another cab.

The tower loomed like a blade against the sky, all chrome and power. Security eyed me suspiciously, a girl in yesterday’s crop top and jeans, but when I dropped Dante’s name, they waved me through with a nod. The elevator shot up, smooth and silent, my reflection in the mirrored walls showing a mess: tousled hair, smudged makeup, but eyes fierce. Unbreakable.

The doors opened to a sprawling penthouse office—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, modern furniture that screamed money, and Dante, behind a massive desk, phone pressed to his ear. He was in a tailored suit now, black as sin, tie loosened like he’d been pulling at it. His eyes locked on mine the second I stepped in, dark and hungry, a smirk tugging his lips despite the tense conversation.

“—tell them the merger closes tomorrow or heads roll. No excuses.” He hung up, tossing the phone aside, and rounded the desk in two strides. “Cassidy.” My name was a growl, low and possessive, as he pulled me into him, hands framing my face. “You look like hell. What happened?”

I melted into his touch, the warmth of him chasing away the chill. “Everything. They were waiting—Jason begging, Mom mocking. I packed and left. Blocked them. I’m done.”

His jaw tightened, thumbs brushing my cheeks. “Good. They don’t deserve you.” Then his mouth was on mine, claiming, devouring. No gentle hello—this was fire, tongues tangling, teeth nipping. I gasped as he backed me against the desk, his body hard against mine, already straining through his pants.

“Dante—your office?” I murmured between kisses, but my hands were already tugging his tie free, fingers working his shirt buttons.

“Fuck the office,” he rasped, lifting me onto the desk with ease, papers scattering. “I need you. Now.”