MasukDante's Pov.Flashback:]“Richardo's men attacked the manor last night, your grandfather's getting old... he wants you home,” Mariano says as I get into the car. I know their symbol when I see them; it's a cold, familiar dread. I had just dropped Imogen at the bus stop and watched her leave when he drove up to me, a theatrical way to make an entrance. Nothing has changed. He is still the tall, aloof man I had left, only with more grey hairs and an intense addiction to his weed.He's been here two weeks ago. I've been stalling it, thinking of ways to tell Imogen. I'm trying not to leave any tracks, but she’s been noticing that my mood is off. We’ve just left the ice cream shop she dragged me to, an attempt to cheer me up with a cone. I don't look at her, seeing her worried. I don't want to leave her. I'm thinking of ways to negotiate and have her come to Italy with me, or better still, we could work out a long-distance relationship while I'm away. Dating her was a great alteration to m
Dante's Pov.I'm calling her old number as I head out of the campus, a frantic, useless effort. I've already called someone to pick up the car before taking a cab back to my old apartment. She isn't answering. I don't know where her house is; I never got to visit because of how strict she said her parents were. She kept that part of her life separate, a boundary I respected. Now I curse myself for it.I pray silently that she's at the apartment, the one I gave her. I told Reginald to check on her the next morning, so maybe he knows where she lives. The cab pulls up to the building, and I barely give the driver a second look as I throw some cash at him. I don't pay attention to the old neighbors who squint at me, their faces a mix of surprise and suspicion. I try to walk briskly, avoiding any potential paparazzi, and finally get upstairs.Memories of her hit me like a physical blow. The way we messed up here, how I had kissed her on the staircase with her legs wrapped around my waist,
-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
Imogen's Pov. I force my legs to move, pushing myself through the campus gates. I can feel eyes on me, a heavy, scrutinizing weight. The whispers start up again, a low, venomous hum just like on the bus. Every gaze feels like a physical blow, a harsh reminder of everything I've lost. My confidence, once a steady flame, is snuffed out. The night before, I cried until I was empty, as if tears could somehow erase the past or bring him back. They didn't. They just leave my eyes swollen and my heart raw. I've covered the puffy redness with a thick layer of makeup and a pair of dark glasses, hoping to hide my despair. But even with the disguise, their words find me in the hallway. I hear their jabs, sharp and cruel, cutting through the low hum of the crowd. “And she looks so innocent, getting fucked by Mr. Salvatore.” “I wonder what he sees in her, she's so average.” “What do you expect? She gave herself away, it's free, but I'm sure he could manage it.” I blink away the hot tears t
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Henry scoffs as he lets me in, his voice dripping with an all-too-familiar disdain. I have known for years that my older brother has never really liked me. They couldn't afford college for him, so he had to open an arcade down the street instead. At almost 27, he still lives with my parents, and in his mind, somehow, that is my fault. It is a blame he has carried and wielded against me since the day I received my acceptance letter.I don’t answer him. I simply walk into the house, my shoulders slumped with the weight of my shame. I came all this way from my university campus because I have no choice. My parents are solidly middle-class and can barely afford my tuition and dormitory at once. Our deal has always been clear: they pay for my tuition, and I live at home to handle the rest.But living at home isn’t an option. I need to escape the suffocating silence and blame I know will be waiting for me. I need to escape Henry's constant resentment. S
Imogen's Pov.I call for him like a lost child, the single word leaving my lips a desperate whisper into the empty apartment. "Dante!"My own echoes are all that greet me. He isn't here. A cold, hollow feeling settles in my stomach. No, this can't be real. My lips tremble as I quickly gather my hair into a messy bun, my hands shaking with a mixture of fear and confusion. I reach out, my fingers brushing against the soft cotton of his shirt from the night before, a small comfort I desperately cling to.Just as my hand closes around the fabric, the front door of the apartment bursts open. A sudden flood of people storms in, their movements frantic and chaotic. I let out a scream, a raw sound of pure terror, as bright flashes of light erupt from every direction. Cameras. Why are there so many cameras? Reporters? Why are they here, in his apartment, with me? My mind races, trying to make sense of the scene, but the pieces won't fit."Miss, miss!" A woman with a harsh voice pushes through







