All Chapters of He Is Mine: Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Asher’s POVThe moment it was over, I knew something had gone wrong.The air felt heavier and thicker in my lungs, every breath dragged as though I had just swallowed fire. My hands would not stop shaking, from the way the blood still burned across my tongue, sharp and intoxicating. For years, I had kept that hunger buried beneath discipline, hid it behind walls I believed were unbreakable and in a single moment, it was as if Dante had torn them apart with nothing but the taste of his skin.He lay on the ground in front of me, his body limp because of the pain, his breathing was shallow but it was there at least. Which meant he was alive. His eyes were half-open, but still he looked at me. There was no accusation in that gaze, only a strange, fragile trust that made me feel sick.“Enough,” he whispered, voice so faint I almost thought I imagined it. His fingers twitched against the dirt, reaching, and when I caught his hand mine was trembling so violently I barely managed to hold h

Asher’s POVI found it incredibly difficult to sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw red, heavy, juicy, and behind it were the memories of things I wished had never happened. Dante lay a few feet away from me on the bed. He had this cute little snore whenever he was exhausted, it was the kind of sound that should have calmed me, but instead it made my chest feel tighter. Not because of him, but because I knew I was carrying something I had never spoken out loud, something that sat between my ribs like a blade.I turned to face him, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest in the dark. My throat felt dry. Maybe if I said it, if I finally pushed the words out, it would not crush me anymore. Or maybe it could destroy whatever this was between us. “Dante,” I said, voice low.He shifted, not quite awake but not fully asleep either. His eyes opened slowly, hazy. “What is it?”For a moment, I could not answer. My tongue felt heavy. I wanted to back out, to say never m

Dante’s POVIt has been two years since the morning I woke up to an empty bed and a letter that tore me apart. Two years since the sound of his name made me want to both scream and cry at the same time. Two years since I promised myself I would bury him and walk forward.And strangely, I had done it. Not perfectly, but I’ve managed. The weight of him has become something I can carry without breaking. There are still days I remember the good times we shared and the sound of his laugh, but those memories no longer drag me under. They had dulled, like photographs that were left in the sun too long.I focused on my books. On my future. Every exam, every late night in the library, every essay I pushed myself through felt like proof that I could be more than the boy who had been left behind. I rose steadily, climbing the ranks of my year, until professors began to recognize me for my dedication. My name started to mean something again, not as someone’s shadow but as my own person.Now,

Dante’s POVA text came in the middle of the afternoon.I had been sprawled lazily across the couch, half-reading a book I was not really paying attention to, when my phone buzzed.Come meet me.The name above the message angered me. Asher.For a long minute, I just stared at the words. No “hey,” no explanation, no attempt at making the demand more polite. Just three words, like he had the right to summon me after everything he has made me suffer. I turned the phone over, face down, and left it that way. I was not going to jump just because he snapped his fingers. He lost that right. The hours passed. I tried to lose myself in the rhythm of helping my mother prepare dinner, but my mind kept going back to that message. The audacity he had. Lowkey, I wanted to go. But, I refused.Later, when she sent me out to grab a few groceries, I initially refused, but she persuaded and I had to.I pulled on my jacket and welcomed the excuse to breathe different air. The street was quiet, and it

Mrs. Kamen’s POVI knocked gently on the dorm door, balancing the covered food tray in my other hand.“Who’s that?” Dante’s voice floated from inside, muffled.“It’s your mother, hiii…” I said, pitching my tone light as though this was nothing more than a casual visit. “Can I come in?”There was a pause, then his reply: “Chill, I’m coming.”I waited, listening to the shuffle of feet. After a couple of seconds, the door creaked open, and there he stood, my son, shoulders slumped, he looked tired. He blinked at me like I was the last person he expected.“Surprise,” I said, lifting the tray a little. “Homemade food. I figured you haven’t had that in a while.”He let out something between a sigh and a laugh, stepping back to let me in. “Oh mom, you did not have to.”“Of course I did,” I answered, brushing past him and into the room. It smelled faintly of detergent and something sharp, maybe disinfectant from the clinic. I ignored it and set the tray down on his desk.Dante closed the doo