Dante Doubts

The mansion was quiet when Dante returned.

His footsteps echoed off the marble floors, hollow and lonely. He'd spent the day in meetings, his mind elsewhere. Cassandra. Always Cassandra.

He went straight to her room, needing to see her. Needing to feel her presence.

The door was slightly open. He pushed it.

Empty.

His heart lurched. For a moment, panic gripped him—sharp, suffocating. She was gone. She'd left. Like everyone else.

He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. Her clothes were still in the closet. Her book was on the nightstand. Her scent lingered in the air.

He exhaled slowly. She hadn't left. She was just... somewhere else.

But the unease lingered. He forced himself to settle in, stripping off his jacket and heading to the bathroom. A hot bath. That's what he needed. Something to clear his mind.

The water was steaming, soothing. Dante leaned back, closing his eyes. But Cassandra's face kept appearing behind his lids. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she'd looked at him.

I love you.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to trust her.

But trust had never come easily to him.

---

Dante emerged from his bath, wrapped in a robe, his hair still damp. He was heading to his room when his aunt appeared from the shadows.

"Dante." Her voice was sweet, concerned. But her eyes were cold. "I need to speak with you."

He stopped, his jaw tightening. "What is it?"

"It's about your fiancée." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I saw her today. With another man."

Dante's blood ran cold. "What?"

"She was in the garden. Embracing him. He was kissing her neck." His aunt pulled out her phone, showing him the photo. "I thought you should know."

Dante stared at the screen. Cassandra in another man's arms. His hands. His lips on her neck.

Something inside him shattered.

He didn't speak. He couldn't. He just turned and walked away, his aunt's smile following him into the darkness.

---

He didn't eat dinner. Couldn't stomach food.

He retreated to his room, sitting in the darkness, waiting. Minutes stretched into hours. The silence was suffocating.

She betrayed me, he thought. Just like Isabella. Just like everyone.

The seed of doubt was planted, and it grew like poison.

---

Cassandra walked in tired.

The day had been long, exhausting. Christopher's visit had drained her. She'd spent hours in the garden, trying to clear her mind.

She sat on the bed, her body aching. The room was dark. She could feel Dante's presence, but something was wrong. His energy was cold. Distant.

"Hey," she said softly. "I'm back."

Dante didn't respond.

She frowned, turning to look at him. His face was hard, unreadable.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine." His voice was flat. "I have work to finish in my study."

He stood and walked out, not looking back.

Cassandra stared at the closed door, her heart sinking.

What just happened?

---

She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The corners of the room seemed to close in on her. The silence was deafening. She replayed the day in her mind—Christopher's embrace, his kisses on her neck. She'd pushed him away. She'd sent him away.

But Dante didn't know that.

Her heart ached. She wanted to go to him. Wanted to explain. But something held her back—fear, maybe. Or uncertainty.

She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come.

It didn't.

---

In his study, Dante couldn't work.

He sat at his desk, staring at the wall. The photo was burned into his mind. Cassandra in another man's arms. Her face relaxed, accepting. His lips on her neck.

He should have confronted her. Should have demanded answers.

But he couldn't. The pain was too fresh. Too familiar.

His phone buzzed. Isabella.

He ignored it.

It buzzed again. He still didn't answer.

Then another call—the men who'd been given the fake necklace. He answered, but he didn't speak.

"Moretti." The voice was distorted, cold. "We know the necklace is fake. We're coming for the real one."

Dante listened, his jaw tight.

"And we're coming for the girl."

The line went dead.

Dante stared at the phone, his hands trembling. They knew. They were coming.

He couldn't stay away any longer.

---

Dante returned to the bedroom.

The moment he lay on the bed, Cassandra blinked. She was awake. Waiting.

"You're back," she whispered.

He didn't respond. He lay on his side, his back to her. The silence between them was heavy, suffocating.

Cassandra reached out, her fingers brushing his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me."

Dante's jaw tightened. He wanted to tell her. Wanted to confront her. But the words wouldn't come.

He closed his eyes, shutting her out.

Cassandra's hand dropped.

Tears burned in her eyes.

She rolled onto her side, facing the wall, the distance between them feeling like an ocean.