Chapter 3

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼

His mouth is warm and demanding. A force I didn’t see coming.

I don’t kiss back, I simply can’t. My body is locked in place, like a statue carved from disbelief.

But he doesn’t stop.

His hand remain firm beneath my chin, holding me in place as his lips move over mine like they own them. Like they’ve been here before.

Then his tongue presses against the seam of my mouth, slowly, coaxing it to open. I remain frozen, my lips unyielding to his assault on my lips.

My disbelief doesn't stop me from feeling though.

I can still feel the pressure and heat. I can hear the sound of blood crashing through my ears.

Nothing makes sense. Not the kiss. Not the way he's pressed against me, not the feel of his beard tickling my face, not the way my knees want to buckle but refuse to collapse.

He finally pulls back. My lips are wet. My breath is ragged.

And he’s still looking at me.

His eyes are no longer ice, they’re molten steel, soft and tender in a way that knocks the breath from my lungs. His thumb brushes my cheek like I’m precious and fragile.

I blink. I want to look away. I need to. But he doesn’t let me.

The pad of his thumb lingers at my jaw.

Then he smiles.

It’s soft and intimate. Almost like...like he's in love.

What the hell is happening?

He reaches for my hand without asking. His fingers lace through mine, warm and sure.

“Come,” he rumbles, his voice low, like he’s inviting me into something sacred.

And I follow.

Not because I want to.

I follow because I can’t think. Because my mind has left the chat and all I’m running on is stunned obedience.

Even the guards, those trained, unshakable men, are staring. Eyes wide with confusion. Mouths slightly parted.

I’m not the only one wondering what the hell just happened.

He leads me to the car like we’re royalty. Opens the door for me. Helps me lower into the seat like I’m something delicate.

And I let him.

Because I've become a zombie.

The door shuts.

The glass tint blacks out the world.

He walks around and slips into the other side with that same quiet confidence.

Then the car moves.

And just like that… the act comes to an end and Dante Moretti becomes a different person.

There's no eye contact or follow-up. And definitely no explanation.

His current unreadable expression has me thinking I've gone crazy for a moment. Did that really just happen or did I dream all this?

I sit in the corner, trying to catch up to my own thoughts.

But if all that just happened are figments of my imagination, then how did I get in this car?

I press my palm against my mouth, like I can erase the kiss that still lingers on my lips.

A laugh bubbles out of me. Not a happy one, more like a bemused laugh, it's very dry.

“So you’re not only a thief,” I say, voice shaking with disbelief, “you’re a sexual predator too?”

His head turns toward me slowly, like he forgot I was there.

And then he smiles.

But this time, it’s nothing like before.

It’s a cold crooked and calculated smile, with the sole intent of destabilizing me again. And it's working.

He leans, I shrink lower and closer to the door, my hands going numb where I pressed them by my side.

“I remember you now,” he says smoothly. “You’re the daughter of Mr. Glover Vance.”

My heart clenches.

“You stole my father’s company.”

He leans back, one arm draped over the seat. “Is that what he told you?”

“He didn’t have to tell me. I saw it happen. But I guess you were too self-absorbed to notice there was a twenty two year old girl in the boardroom, watching you gut everything he built.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes. Then he smiles.

"I'm sorry I didn't recognize you earlier. You just look so different."

His eyes drag lazily over me and I have this irrational urge to cover myself up. "I almost didn't recognize you without the pearls and princess dresses."

My heart skips. So he did see me.

I frown. I can't tell if he's trying to throw a jab at me or he's being serious.

"You stole from us Mr Moretti. I don't and I cannot understand how people like you still have all this power in your hands." I say softly.

"I didn't steal from your father."

"You did." I say sharply, looking into his eyes, he doesn't flinch and I look down again.

"Is this why you came today? To rant about your father?"

"No. I just wanted...I want to help my father." I mumble.

Now that I actually have him listening to me, I can't really place why I'm here. Rather, I can't tell him fully, that I'm here because seeing him on that post notification broke all my restraints. That would be too silly for him.

“And your plan,” he drawls, his eyes unreadable “was to help your father by humiliating yourself in front of my employees, three years later?”

I grit my teeth. “My father is sick, Mr. Moretti. He is dying. And it's all because of you. If you had never showed up with your fake promises, if you had at least had the decency to accept your fault, none of this would have happened to us. We did nothing to you."

Something shifts in his gaze.

His eyes twitch, just barely.

It’s fast. Almost too fast to catch.

Sympathy?

If it’s there, it’s gone the next second.

“The court didn’t find any foul play from my company,” he says, tone flat, like he’s reading a memo. “Your father made poor decisions. Mismanaged funds. Lost focus. It wasn’t personal, Miss Vance. It was just business.”

I stare at him like he’s made of stone. And maybe he is.

“Unbelievable,” I whisper. “You’re still hiding behind that line.”

His gaze casually trails over me.

Then his lips curl again.

"It's facts. You know, your father was such a pain in my ass. 6 lawsuits? Really? Now that I think of it, I should be calling you the theif, you tried to steal from me with those law suits, telling lies. It was your father who couldn't accept he faults. If he had, then maybe you wouldn't be in this mess."

My jaw clenches.

"You will not turn this against us."

"There's proof, undeniable proof to show that I am telling the truth." He counters.

"Your father is the reason why you now live like a pauper. Reeking of poverty."

I feel the slap in that sentence.

It hits harder than I expect.

And something inside me snaps.

“Stop the car,” I say.

He doesn’t flinch.

“I said, stop. The. Car.”

The driver keeps going.

My chest tightens. “I’m not playing, I swear to God—”

Dante sighs like I’m ruining his day and motions to the driver.

The car slows. Pulls to the curb.

Before it even comes to a full stop, I yank the door open.

“I hope you rot, you manipulative bastard,” I spit. “I hope every single dollar you make turns to ash in your hands. You’re evil. You ruin lives, and one day you will pay!”

I slam the door with everything I have. The sound echoes like thunder on pavement.

Then I walk.

Fast and furious. Blinded by tears, by the sheer stupidity of what I have done.

What did I think was going to happen? I couldn't even articulate myself well. I should have...I could have demanded for money.

The car speeds off behind me.

I don't turn around.

I can’t.

But each step away feels heavier.

My pace slows.

Stupid, idiotic me. Completely gullible. I had the opportunity to get some money and I didn't even think of it. That kiss, that kiss would have been the perfect opportunity to get some money...

I stop in my tracks. The kiss.

My eyes go wide in horror.

I let that kiss slide.

He kissed me. In front of so many people. In public. Without my consent.

My chest rises and falls erratically. I wipe my face once, twice, but the tears don’t stop.

Now it makes sense why he even let the conversation about my father go on for that long. He was distracting me.

That scammer.

Oh my God.

“Fucking bastard,” I whisper, choking on my breath. “Screw you, Dante Moretti.”

My voice breaks again.

“Screw you.”

I fold forward, hands on my knees, crying on a sidewalk in broad daylight, feeling like the fool I'll always be.