All Chapters of His Dirty Little Secret : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Cassidy’s POV The last bite of tiramisu melted on my tongue, creamy and sweet, with a hint of coffee that lingered like a promise of more indulgence. Dante watched me with that lazy, satisfied smile, his arm draped possessively over my shoulders, pulling me closer into the curve of his body. The robe—his robe—slipped a little off one shoulder, exposing the swell of my breast, but I didn’t bother fixing it. Let him look. Hell, let him touch. The city outside the windows had quieted to a soft hum, the lights twinkling like distant fireflies, and for the first time all day, the weight of our earlier fight felt truly lifted. No more shadows of Ethan’s confession or Dante’s jealousy hanging over us—just this cocoon of warmth, wine, and the lingering throb between my thighs from our marathon sessions.“You missed a spot,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble as he leaned in, his thumb swiping a stray bit of cream from the corner of my mouth. Before I could respond, he brought it to his lips

Cassidy’s POV The hallway felt colder than the penthouse ever had, a stark contrast to the cocoon of warmth I'd just left behind. The elevator doors slid shut with a soft, almost apologetic ding, sealing off the sanctuary where Dante and I had spent the night unraveling each other—not just physically, but emotionally, layer by vulnerable layer. As the car descended smoothly through the floors, each passing level felt like shedding a skin: the intimacy of his arms around me fading into the harsh fluorescence of the lobby lights, the silk sheets replaced by the unyielding marble under my feet. My body still hummed with the remnants of our connection—the faint ache between my thighs, the tender spots where his fingers had dug in during those heated moments of reconciliation—but my mind was already shifting gears, bracing for the real world.By the time the doors opened onto the lobby, my spine was straight, my face composed into the mask of normalcy I wore so well. The doorman nodded po

Cassidy’s POV The rest of the day unfolded with deceptive normalcy, a fragile veneer over the churning undercurrents of my life. After my tense but ultimately relieving conversation with Ethan in the quad, I threw myself into the rhythm of campus—lectures that blurred together in a haze of economic models scribbled on whiteboards, half-listened discussions about fiscal policies and market trends, the rhythmic scrape of pens against notebooks echoing like a metronome. My mind kept drifting elsewhere, pulled inexorably back to Dante. Every vibration of my phone in my pocket made my heart stutter, even when it turned out to be nothing more than a class reminder or a spam email. I caught myself smiling at nothing more than a fleeting memory: his hand at the small of my back as we’d said goodbye that morning, steady and reassuring; his voice low and certain when he’d texted about tonight, a single word that carried the weight of promises unspoken.By midday, the campus felt tighter, more

Cassidy’s POV “Okay,” he said calmly, though tension thrummed beneath his composure like a coiled spring. “Then we adapt. We don’t panic—we pivot. Tell me everything she said.” I pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, my face streaked with tears. His expression was a mask of controlled intensity, but the worry etched in his brow, the way his thumb gently wiped at my cheeks, betrayed the depth of his concern. “It was vague—but that’s what scares me. ‘Finalizing our return earlier than planned. We’ll be home in two weeks. Excited to see you—family dinner first night back? We need to talk when you have a moment.’ It’s not just catching up, Dante. Mom doesn’t say ‘we need to talk’ unless it’s serious. What if someone saw us? Or Victor’s noticed your absences? I can’t… I can’t lose you.” The last words broke on a sob, fresh tears spilling over. “Not after everything. Not when this feels like the only thing that’s real.” Dante’s eyes darkened with a fierce protectiveness,

Cassidy’s POV His words settled over me slowly, not like a sudden revelation, but like something warm poured into the cracks I’d been pretending didn’t exist. Safe harbor. The phrase echoed, expanding in my chest until it ached. No one had ever framed love that way for me before. With my mother, affection had always been transactional—bestowed when I complied, withdrawn when I strayed. Approval wrapped in silk but sharpened with conditions. With my stepfather, it had been quieter, colder. A nod across a dinner table. A check signed with expectations attached. Safety, to them, had never been something I could rest in. It was something I had to earn, again and again, by becoming smaller, quieter, more palatable. With Dante, it felt… chosen. Not because I behaved. Not because I fit a mold. But because he saw me—fractured edges and all—and stepped closer instead of away. I turned my head slightly, the city blurring past the rain-streaked window, but my focus was on him. On the way t