An Unending Feelings

Early morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and gray.

Cassandra lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face. Felt his hands on her skin. Heard his voice whispering her name.

Emma.

She pressed her palms against her eyes, shame burning in her chest.

What was I thinking?

He was thirty-nine. Almost twice her age. He'd held her dying mother's hand. He'd promised to protect her. And she'd thrown herself at him like some desperate girl.

Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She couldn't face him. Couldn't look him in the eye. She needed space. Distance. Anything to escape the humiliation curling in her stomach.

She threw off the covers and dressed quickly. The mansion was quiet, the staff just beginning to stir. She padded through the hallways, her bare feet silent against the cold marble.

She found her way to the kitchen.

---

The room was warm, filled with the smell of fresh bread and coffee. Cassandra moved toward the counter, hoping for tea.

Then she heard it.

Soft sobbing. Muffled, like someone was trying to hide it.

Cassandra froze. She peered around the corner.

Two maids were huddled in the corner, their backs to the wall. One of them—a young woman with dark hair and tear-streaked cheeks—was crying. Her hands were shaking. Her entire body trembled.

The other maid held her, whispering words Cassandra couldn't hear.

Cassandra stepped forward. "What's wrong?"

The maids jumped. Their faces went pale with terror. The crying woman scrambled to her feet, wiping her eyes frantically.

"Nothing," she stammered. "Nothing's wrong. Please—"

"Don't." Cassandra held up her hands. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help."

The maids exchanged glances. They didn't trust her. Why would they? She was a stranger. A guest. Someone who didn't belong in their world.

But Cassandra didn't leave. She crouched down, bringing herself to their level.

"What's your name?" she asked softly.

The crying woman sniffled. "Rosa."

"Rosa." Cassandra smiled gently. "I'm Cassandra. And I promise—whatever's happening, I won't let anyone hurt you."

Something in Rosa's face crumbled. She sank back to the floor, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

"There's a man," she choked out. "He's been threatening me. He wants information about the mansion. About who comes and goes. About—" She sobbed. "About you."

Cassandra's blood went cold. "What kind of information?"

"Schedules. Names. When you arrived. Where you sleep." Rosa's voice cracked. "He said if I didn't help him, he'd hurt my family. My mother. My little sister. They're back home in Mexico. He knows where they live."

Cassandra's heart ached. She reached out, taking Rosa's trembling hands.

"Did you tell him anything?"

Rosa nodded miserably. "Nothing important. Just—just when you arrived. That you're staying here. He already knew most of it anyway. He just wanted confirmation."

The other maid spoke up. "She didn't have a choice. He threatened to kill her family."

"I know." Cassandra squeezed Rosa's hands. "I know you didn't have a choice."

Rosa looked up at her, her eyes red and swollen. "You're not angry?"

"No." Cassandra's voice was firm. "I'm not angry. And I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. Do you understand? I promise. I'll protect you."

Rosa broke down, sobbing. She threw her arms around Cassandra, hugging her tightly. Cassandra held her, rubbing her back gently.

"You're safe," she whispered. "You're safe now."

The other maid watched, her eyes filled with guilt. "You should tell Mr. Moretti," she said quietly. "He needs to know."

Cassandra shook her head. "I'll handle it. You're both safe. I promise."

---

Dante found them like that.

He'd been searching for Cassandra, worried she might have been taken during the night. The attack was still fresh in his mind. The fear. The rage.

He pushed open the kitchen door and froze.

Cassandra was on the floor, holding Rosa. The maid was crying, her face buried in Cassandra's shoulder. Cassandra was whispering something, her voice soft and soothing.

Something shifted in Dante's chest.

She had no reason to care about these women. They were servants. Strangers. People who meant nothing to her.

But she did care. She was holding Rosa like she was family. Like she mattered.

Dante watched for a long moment. Then he stepped forward.

"Emma," he said quietly. "We need to talk."

Cassandra looked up. Their eyes met. Something flickered in her gaze—shame, embarrassment, fear.

She stood, squeezing Rosa's hand. "I promise," she whispered. "I'll protect you."

Then she walked toward Dante, her head held high.

---

Dante led her to his study. He closed the door behind them.

"The maid," he said. "She has compromised."

Cassandra's jaw tightened. "She's scared. She didn't have a choice."

"I know." He stepped closer. "But you need to understand—this is my world. People like Rosa get caught in the middle. And people like you get hurt."

Cassandra met his eyes. "Then we protect her."

Dante studied her for a long moment. She was trembling, but she stood tall. Defiant.

"You're different from anyone I've ever met," he said quietly. "You care about people who can't do anything for you."

Her throat tightened. "That's what normal people do."

"I wouldn't know." His voice was soft. "I've never been normal."

The space between them grew heavy. The memory of last night pressed down on Cassandra. His hands on her skin. His lips on her throat.

She looked away.

"I should go," she whispered.

She fled before he could stop her.

---

Dante watched her go.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Emma.

He'd waited twenty years to find her. And now that he had, he was terrified of losing her.

But he would protect her. Even if she hated him for it.

Even if she never spoke to him again.