When Enemies Circle

Celeste didn’t go home.

Dante wouldn’t allow it.

Her childhood house the place where her brother used to sprawl on the couch and argue politics with her was now a liability. A message. A threat.

“Pack what you need,” Dante said, already on the phone. “You’re staying at the main residence.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Celeste snapped, still staring at the photo on her phone.

“No,” he replied calmly. “But survival is.”

She hated that he was right.

The Navarro estate wasn’t in the city.

It rose from the outskirts like something ancient and watchful steel gates, layered security, guards who didn’t speak unless spoken to. Everything about the place screamed territory.

Celeste stepped out of the car slowly.

“So this is where you keep your ghosts,” she said.

Dante glanced at her. “No. This is where I bury other people’s.”

That should have frightened her.

Instead, it steadied something in her chest.

Inside, the house was quiet but alive movement behind walls, eyes always aware. A woman approached, elegant, sharp-eyed.

“This is Sofia,” Dante said. “She runs the house.”

Sofia inclined her head. “Welcome, Ms. Morgan.”

Not guest.

Not lawyer.

Something closer to acknowledgment.

Celeste nodded back.

Dante turned to her. “You’ll have your own wing. No one enters without permission.”

“And you?” she asked.

A pause.

“I knock.”

The answer unsettled her more than if he hadn’t.

That night, she couldn’t sleep again.

The bed was too large. The silence too alert. She found herself pacing the balcony, wrapped in a robe, the cool night air brushing against her skin.

“You’re restless.”

She didn’t turn. “You watch people when they can’t sleep?”

“Only the ones under threat.”

She faced him then. Dante stood a few steps back, hands in his pockets, gaze unreadable.

“Someone was inside my old house,” she said quietly. “They wanted me to know they could reach me.”

“Yes.”

“And you brought me here to protect me.”

“And,” he added, “to show them where you stand now.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “So I really am bait.”

“For men like Ethan,” Dante said, stepping closer, “bait that bites back.”

She studied his face. “Why not end him?”

“Because,” he replied evenly, “dead men don’t confess.”

A chill ran through her.

“You’re building a case,” she said.

“I’m building an ending.”

The next days blurred into a strange rhythm.

Meetings. Files. Names she recognized and names she wished she didn’t. Dante’s world wasn’t chaos — it was order, brutally enforced.

He never touched her unnecessarily.

Never raised his voice.

Never apologized.

That was worse.

At night, they ate together controlled, quiet dinners where conversation felt like chess. Every look meant something. Every silence was weighted.

One evening, she finally broke.

“You’re not sleeping with me,” she said abruptly.

Dante didn’t look surprised. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said calmly, “once I do, this stops being a strategy and becomes a weakness.”

Her breath caught.

“And you don’t want me?” she challenged.

His gaze lifted slowly to hers.

“That,” he said softly, “is the problem.”

Silence thickened the air.

She stood. “Goodnight.”

As she turned away, his voice followed her.

“Celeste.”

She paused.

“If you leave this room shaken,” he said, “it’s because you want to be.”

Her pulse thundered.

She didn’t turn back.

The attack came three days later.

A car followed hers through the city. Subtle. Professional.

Security caught it.

Dante was furious — not loud, not explosive. Cold.

“They’re getting closer,” Marcus said.

“They always do,” Dante replied.

Celeste watched from the doorway. “This isn’t about intimidation anymore.”

“No,” Dante agreed. “It’s about forcing a mistake.”

She stepped closer. “Mine?”

“Or mine.”

That night, she received a message.

Unknown: He will choose power over you. Just like before.

She showed Dante.

He stared at the screen for a long time.

“They’re trying to divide us,” she said.

“They’re trying to make you doubt.”

“And will I be wrong if I do?”

He met her eyes. “Ask me what you’re afraid to ask.”

Her voice trembled despite her control. “If it comes down to it… will you sacrifice me?”

The room went utterly still.

“No,” Dante said finally. “But you might wish I had.”

Her stomach dropped.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said quietly, “I will burn everything before I let them take you.”

Fear and something dangerously close to desire twisted together in her chest.

She realized the truth then — the terrifying, intoxicating truth.

This wasn’t just revenge anymore.

This was obsession.

And it was mutual.

When protection turns into possession, will Celeste still recognize the line when it disappears?