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A Good Moment
publish date:
2026-10-02 01:45:36Cassandra stared at the text.
You're running out of time.
Her blood ran cold. Her hands trembled. She wanted to throw the phone across the room. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.
But she didn't.
She deleted the message. She tucked her phone into her pocket. And she forced herself to breathe.
Dante had been so happy today. So peaceful. She wasn't going to ruin it. Not yet.
---
Dante noticed she was distracted.
They were sitting in the library, the fire crackling in the hearth. He was reading—or pretending to. She was staring at the same page of her book for the tenth time.
He set his book down. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She forced a smile. "Just tired."
He studied her face—the tightness around her eyes, the way she wouldn't quite meet his gaze. He didn't believe her. But he didn't push.
---
They went to bed early.
Cassandra lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Dante slept beside her, his arm draped across her waist, his breathing slow and steady. She listened to the rhythm of it—in, out, in, out.
She didn't sleep.
---
The next morning, Dante woke up first.
He found her in the kitchen, sitting at the small table, staring at a cup of cold tea. She looked exhausted—hollow, empty, lost.
He sat beside her. He took her hand.
"Talk to me," he said quietly.
She hesitated. Then she pulled out her phone and showed him the text.
---
Dante read it.
His jaw tightened. His hands trembled. His eyes blazed with a fury so cold it felt like ice.
"Who sent this?"
"I don't know. Unknown number."
He stood abruptly, pacing the kitchen. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
"I'm tired of this," he said. "I'm tired of the threats. I'm tired of the danger. I'm tired of living in fear."
Cassandra stood, crossing to him. She took his hands, unclenching his fists.
"We'll find out who's doing this," she said. "And we'll stop them."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But we will."
---
They spent the day together.
No business. No danger. Just them.
They walked in the garden, their hands intertwined. The roses were in full bloom, their petals soft and fragrant. Dante picked one, tucking it behind her ear.
"For you," he said.
She laughed. "You're a romantic."
"Don't tell anyone."
They read in the library, curled up on the same sofa. She rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair.
They cooked dinner together—or tried to. The pasta burned. The sauce splattered. They laughed at the mess, their faces covered in flour.
It was simple. It was perfect.
---
That night, they lay in bed together.
Dante's arms were wrapped around her. His lips were pressed to her hair. She could feel his heartbeat—steady, strong, warm.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too."
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel safe. For now.
---
The next morning, a package arrived at the mansion.
Jane brought it to Cassandra, her hands trembling. "Miss Cassandra. This just arrived."
Cassandra opened it slowly.
Inside was a single item.
A baby's rattle.
And a note: You're pregnant. Aren't you?
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