All Chapters of His Dirty Little Secret : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Cassidy’s POV “Cheater,” I mumbled around my toothbrush, but I leaned into him, our hips bumping in the confined space, the tile floor cool under my bare feet contrasting with the warmth radiating from his body. The steam from the hot water he'd turned on earlier began to curl around us, turning the room into a hazy sanctuary, the mirror already starting to blur our images like a soft-focus dream. Drops of condensation traced lazy paths down the glass, and I could feel the heat building, making my skin flush even before the shower.He rinsed his mouth with a dramatic swish, spitting into the sink before turning to me with that mischievous glint in his eyes, the one that always promised trouble of the best kind. “Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? You're irresistible first thing in the morning—bedhead and all.” His hand lingered on my waist, fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt again, tracing lazy circles on my lower back that made it hard to focus on finishing up. The tou

Cassidy's POV He leaned back, coffee in hand, eyes lighting up with that strategic gleam I loved, the one that showed the sharp mind behind the charm. “Tech startup with killer AI for logistics. Synergies with our supply chain—could cut delivery times by 30%. But the founder's stubborn—wants equity guarantees up front, no strings. I'll counter with performance milestones: hit targets, get the shares. High stakes, but if it lands, we're golden. Expands us into new markets, maybe even international. Nervous? A bit. But excited too—feels like the early days, building something big.”“Sounds intense,” I replied, reaching over to squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against mine, our fingers lacing naturally. “But you've got this. You're the guy who turned a garage idea into an empire, remember? The one who outmaneuvered competitors twice your size. This is just another chapter. And if it gets rocky, call me—I'll be your hype woman. 'Go Dante, crush those milestones!'”He inte

Cassidy’s POV Dinner came together quickly, but Dante made it feel like an event, his movements in the kitchen a blend of efficiency and flair that always reminded me of how he tackled boardrooms—focused, deliberate, with that undercurrent of passion simmering beneath. The pasta boiled in a large pot on the stove, bubbles rising furiously as the water churned, releasing steam that carried the faint salty tang into the air. He stirred the sauce in a separate pan, the rich tomato base bubbling gently, infused with garlic he'd minced with expert chops, the sharp, pungent aroma mingling with fresh basil he'd torn by hand, leaves bruising under his fingers to release their herbal brightness. Parmesan waited on a grater nearby, a wedge of aged cheese ready to be shredded into snowy flakes over the top. I watched from my perch on the stool, wine glass in hand, the deep red liquid swirling as I tilted it, catching the candlelight I'd lit on the table—tapers in simple holders, their flames

Cassidy’s POV Sleep held me in its gentle grasp, deep and dreamless, the kind that comes after emotional storms and physical release, leaving me floating in a haze of contentment. The rom-com's end credits must have looped into silence sometime in the night, the TV screen now a dim blue glow in the darkened living room, casting faint shadows across the couch where we lay entwined. Dante's arm was still draped over my waist, heavy and protective, his breath steady and warm against the back of my neck, our bodies molded together under the blanket like puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside—cars whispering on the street, a far-off siren fading into nothing. For a moment, I didn't move, savoring the peace, the way his heartbeat synced with mine through his chest pressed to my back, a rhythmic reminder that I wasn't alone in this.But morning light crept in gradually, sneaking through the curtains in pale golden shafts t

Dante’s POV I waited until Cassidy was halfway up the steps before pulling away, the engine idling with a low, impatient growl that mirrored the reluctance tightening in my chest. Not because I needed to—but because some instinct in me, honed from years of reading boardrooms and battlefields of negotiation, wanted to make sure she didn’t turn back, didn’t hesitate, didn’t suddenly look small and fragile in the middle of her own life. She didn’t. She squared her shoulders, adjusted the strap of her bag with that determined flick of her wrist I’d come to adore, and disappeared into the current of students moving across campus like a river of backpacks and hurried conversations. Her hair caught the afternoon sun, a flash of gold amid the autumn leaves scattering on the lawn, and for a split second, I envied the simplicity of her world—lectures, debates, the pursuit of ideas without the cutthroat edges of mine.Strong. Resilient. Mine.Even when she didn’t feel like it, she pushed forwa