Semua Bab Stalked By My Boyfriends Best Friend: Bab 51 - Bab 60

Luna’s POV Waking up, I groan softly, rolling over to take in my surroundings. This isn’t the room Dante had locked me in before. It feels more lived in, more personal, and my gut tells me this must be his bedroom. The room itself is a testament to luxury. The walls are painted in deep, muted tones, giving the space a warm, inviting feel. A massive king-sized bed dominates the center, dressed in dark, plush linens that feel like they’re made from the finest fabric. The headboard stretches up the wall, upholstered in dark velvet with a modern design. To my right, floor-to-ceiling windows are draped with heavy curtains in a rich charcoal gray, drawn closed but letting in slivers of light. The floors are polished hardwood, partially covered by a large, thick rug, so soft it practically swallows my feet when I touch it. Three doors are spaced along the walls, leading to who knows where. Climbing out of bed, I wince, groaning again as I notice the blood on the sheets. Great. Dante might

Luna POVAs we leave, I can still hear the sounds of pleasure from the other side of the glass, and the image of three men tangled together lingers in my mind, leaving me more confused than ever about this place—and about Dante. Dante opens another door, and as I step in, my heart pounds. This room is similar to the others—dark, luxurious, and almost too perfect. Through the large one-way window, I see a woman with two men. They’re all engaged in a scene that seems intimate but controlled, completely at ease in what they’re doing. “So, what?” I snap, the frustration bubbling up again. “These people in these rooms... they’re hookers? Prostitutes?” Dante’s expression hardens immediately, and his voice is fierce. “Don’t call them hookers or prostitutes. Working women, working men, yes. But they’re not hookers.” The disgust in his tone is unmistakable, and it throws me off. “Sorry,” I mutter, unsure of what else to say. His reaction isn’t what I expected, and for the first time, I rea

Dante’s POV I watch her, waiting for her to crack, for her to let something—anything—slip past the walls she’s so carefully built. Luna doesn’t let anyone in, not really. Sure, there’s Lucy, but even that feels guarded. Justin was always on the outside of those walls, and now I can see her fighting to keep me there too. This battle, her resistance, the biting words—it’s her defense. It’s her way of pushing me away, keeping me out of the place where she’s most vulnerable. But I see it. I see the truth she’s afraid to face. She knows that if she lets me in, if she stops fighting me and lets down those walls, she won’t be able to use the excuse of mistrust. She won’t be able to shove me out. She’ll have to face the fact that she’s not alone in her darkness anymore. And that terrifies her. All I want is to walk beside her through that darkness. I want to prove to her that there’s more than just hiding, that opening up isn’t a death sentence. But she’s making this harder than I imagined

Dante POVAs I push open another door, her body stiffens, eyes widening in shock. The room we step into is like an upscale club, but far more decadent. Podium cages line the space, each one holding a man or woman, completely nude, surrounded by an array of sex toys. Some women and men stand on small platforms, others are sprawled luxuriously on velvet couches, their bodies on display. Some are dancing, their movements slow and hypnotic, while others are interacting with the patrons, the air thick with lust and abandon. “This is the main stage area,” I whisper, watching Luna’s eyes dart between the cages and the figures moving within them. There’s a mixture of discomfort and something else playing across her face as she takes in the scene. “People come here to watch, to choose, or sometimes just to enjoy the atmosphere. It’s… well, it’s whatever they want it to be.” She doesn’t respond, doesn’t say a word—just stares, lips slightly parted, her gaze fixed on the figures moving inside

Dante POVSitting her down on the bike, I grab a helmet and pull it over her head, adjusting the straps. She wiggles in protest, already annoyed. “Stop,” I mutter, holding her still. “I don’t want to wear one,” she snaps, trying to shove it off. “They’re stupid and make me look like I have a big head!” I chuckle, unable to resist teasing her. “No one could ever accuse you of having a big head, love. Now hold still.” I try to fasten the helmet, but she squirms again, refusing to cooperate. With a sigh, I glare down at her. “It’s for protection, Luna. You wear it, or we walk. But trust me, you’ll hate walking a lot more.” She huffs, crossing her arms in annoyance like a child being told to clean their room. I grab the strap and begin adjusting it under her chin when I see her hand twitch, likely about to rip it off, I sigh. My visor slams shut, before she can make a move I grasp the front of her helmet, dragging her close. “Don’t,” I growl, lifting my visor as I grab her neck with