Chapter Five

-2 YEARS-

Dante's Pov.

“And why Criminology?” I ask her, watching as she reaches for the television remote. I love how she does this, how she scrolls through the channels. I know she's going to pick Princess Diaries again; we've watched that movie at least ten times since we met. I love watching her watch it, the way she smiles, giggles, and kicks her feet while her head is on my lap as I fiddle with her hair. It's a comfortable, easy love.

“You've asked me this before,” Imogen chuckles. She picks the movie and joins me on the couch, settling in between my legs with her head resting on my shoulder.

“I just want to know if your reasons changed,” I say, my voice low. “You're in your second year now.”

“No... it's still for my Uncle. He worked as a paralegal and then a Juvenile Justice Specialist, which is the path I'm following because I love children. As I've said before, Mr. Salvatore.” She grins, her eyes sparkling.

I kiss her hair softly as the movie starts. “And that's very noble of you, Miss. Darcy. But children? That's new.”

“Yes, not until recently.... I just love the idea of being a mom,” she says, her voice a soft whisper.

“You should focus on school first,” I chide gently. “But it has to be a girl first, then maybe a boy. A girl first, then the dude.”

A smirk curls on her cheeks. “You shouldn't be picky with kids, but I'd love if she has your eyes.”

“No, she'll have yours... they're far too beautiful.” I'm serious. Her eyes are a window to a soul I want to protect.

“Flirt.”

“I'm serious. Alright, what would we call her?”

“Sia. I love the name Sia.”

“How about Alessia instead, to keep it long? Alessia Isla Salvatore.”

“Hey, Isla is my middle name.”

“I love it, so our daughter should have it, shouldn't she?” I playfully tickle her stomach. “You shouldn't be a greedy mommy.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughs, a sound I want to bottle up and keep forever. Then she sighs. “I feel like you'll ask me this until I graduate.”

“Maybe I will... your uncle sounds like a cool guy.”

“He really is. He said on my graduation he'd show up with multiple rose bouquets and he'd gift me a Bentley, too. Not until he died and his family donated it all.”

“I thought you were a Mercedes girl.”

“I don't really like cars, but I did like the Bentley idea. It's a shame my uncle won't be there for my graduation.”

I have an idea. “I could just get it for him. Do you think he would have wanted that?”

She raises her head to look at me, her eyes wide with shock. “You shouldn't waste your money, Dante... I—”

“I'm not wasting my money, Princesspa. It's our money, by the way... I'm only helping your uncle get it since he left a little too early.”

“I love you.” She smiles, and I feel a pang of something I can’t name, a mix of joy and a terrible, looming dread.

My eyelids flutter open, and I let out a sigh. I rub my head as I sit up. Another memory. Another dream. For two years, I am haunted by her, a constant, sharp ache. I let it happen. I can't even sleep, and the pills I take don't work. I've only slept for forty minutes. I take it as a curse that I deserve for what I've done. I remember how she held on to me in her sleep as I get out of bed, a gentle, trusting grip. I kissed her gently, fighting back my tears.

I have to let her go. It's the only way. I made a deal with my father ten years ago. My punishment for killing my cousin was to go to England. After my studies, I am retained as a professor. I have four more years before I must return home, and I meet Imogen in the last two. It was meant to be a fling. I thought it was lust; I wanted to just sleep with her and get it over with, not until I saw how innocent she was. Her gentle spirit and pure heart make me fall for her completely.

What I initially proposed as a private class grows into love that has me asking my student to date me like a lovesick teenager. I don't regret a thing. But our worlds are too different. I didn't expect it to grow this deep or that she would become a target. It's been two years, and I still cry myself to sleep every single night. The guilt is a constant, suffocating presence.

Despite the urgency to take over the syndicate and group, I left her with keys to another apartment in the city—the one she had rejected when we started dating. I changed the black card's details to her name, making sure she is financially okay to stay without me. She doesn't move into the apartment. I have someone check two weeks after I left, and she isn't there. Maybe she hates me, doesn't want to see me, but it's for the best.

For years, I shut out every media outlet, changed my phone, and deleted my socials. I don't want her to reach me, and I don't want to get updates on anything related to Oxford. Not until three weeks ago. A tabloid popped up on my tablet as I leave the office. Her graduation is today, and I am going to keep my promise.

As I get ready that morning, I try to keep my breathing calm. I'm going to speak to her. I just want to see her achieve all she had dreamed and worked for, even in my absence. I know she'll do well; she has more potential in her than in me.

Just as I clip on my watch and head outside, Isabella, my fiancée, walks in. It's hard to accept that I belong to another woman now. The thought makes me sick, but we need this marriage, as my father explained. I need it to protect Imogen ever since they found out about her. She is the perfect source of my weakness, and I know that if they want to ruin her, they would in less than a day.

“Where are you headed?”

“England,” I answer, brushing past her.

“It's been two years, Dante, and you still call for her in your sleep.”

I halt and then turn to her. “Because no matter how many rings I give you, Isabella... you already know I belong to Imogen. Don't wait up for me. I'll be back tomorrow.”

“Good luck finding her.” She scoffs, a strange, knowing look in her eyes that makes me uneasy.

I don't understand her statement and don't bother to until the jet lands in England. My body is trembling in anxiety. I remind myself to stay hidden when I see her. I just need to see her, get a grasp of reality that she's okay.

The Bentley is at the entrance, filled with multiple rose bouquets just for her. I have the anonymous number ready to text her to receive it. But while I watch the names of other students called, I don't hear hers, don't see her.

I step out of the hall, through chattering students, just when I bump into an old colleague, Fredrick.

“Dante Salvatore?” He raises a brow with a smile.

“Fredrick Cage?”

“Yeah, it's been what, two years? Congratulations on the Salvatore Group. It must have been a lot, especially with what happened.”

“What happened?”

“That student of yours... Imogen, the one that got expelled. It was great you already resigned, though; she almost got you in trouble.”

My heart drops. Imogen couldn't graduate. My mind races, trying to process the information. What have I done? I've left her exposed and destroyed her future.