The morning sunlight spilled through the towering windows of Dante's mansion, painting golden streaks across the polished marble floor. The house was still, but for the faint hum of distant city sounds leaking through the thick walls. Avery moved quietly through the kitchen, her thoughts tangled and restless.
She had barely slept, the heavy weight of last night's tension still pressing on her chest like a physical force. The memory of Dante's intense gaze—the way he had looked at her, the sharp restraint behind his controlled exterior—lingered like smoke she couldn't shake.
Wanting to lose herself in something mundane, Avery reached for a glass on the counter to pour water. Her fingers trembled slightly, betraying her attempt at calm. As she lifted the glass, a sudden jolt from the motion caught her off guard. The glass slipped, tipping over and crashing against the granite countertop, shards scattering like shards of her scattered thoughts.
Avery's hand jerked backward, but not before the jagged edge of a broken shard grazed the palm. A sharp sting flared immediately, hot and biting.
She hissed softly, pulling her hand back and staring at the thin line of blood that was already seeping from the cut. It wasn't deep, but enough to make her wince.
Dante's voice cut through the quiet hallway just then, smooth and low.
"Careless."
Avery turned to see him standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his silhouette framed by the morning light. His expression was unreadable, but his piercing eyes were fixed on her injury. The cold dominance in his gaze felt like a physical weight.
She swallowed the urge to apologize or explain. "It's nothing."
"You're reckless," he said, stepping forward, voice measured but edged with something sharper. "Let me see."
Before she could protest, Dante reached out and took her wounded hand gently but firmly in his own. His fingers were cool against her warm skin as he examined the cut with an expert eye.
Avery's breath hitched. The intimate contact sent a surprising current through her, unexpected and electric.
He disappeared briefly and returned with a damp cloth, pressing it carefully against the cut. His touch was steady, practiced, and something about the quiet care unsettled her more than any harsh word ever had.
"You shouldn't get hurt," he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes locked with hers, dark and fathomless.
Avery bit her lip, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks. "I'm fine," she said, but the words felt hollow.
Dante tore a strip from a clean cloth nearby and wrapped it around her palm, binding the wound with gentle precision.
As he tied the cloth, their fingers brushed, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Avery's heart pounded loudly in her chest, filling the heavy silence that had fallen between them.
His voice dropped, quieter now, almost a whisper. "Don't let your guard down."
The warning was layered—both caution and something more unspoken, a reminder of the dangerous game they were playing.
Avery nodded, swallowing the strange mixture of defiance and vulnerability that welled inside her. The cut was small, but the mark it left on their fragile connection was far deeper.
Later, as she prepared to leave for her shift at the coffee shop, Avery caught Dante's gaze from across the room. His eyes were steady, unwavering, tracking her movements with that same intense scrutiny. She felt as if she were walking a tightrope, balanced precariously between obedience and her own will.
The cool morning air bit at her skin as she stepped outside, the city bustling with indifferent energy. At the coffee shop, the familiar clatter of cups and murmured conversations grounded her in a reality that seemed distant from the dark world she had stepped into with Dante.
Her coworker noticed the bandaged hand immediately. "What happened?" she asked, concern softening her voice.
"Just a kitchen accident," Avery replied with a small, forced smile. She wasn't ready to explain the wound's true weight—the way it symbolized the fragile, dangerous closeness with a man who both protected and controlled her.
Throughout her shift, Avery's thoughts kept drifting back to Dante—the way he had cared for her wound, the tension simmering beneath his cold exterior. It was as if beneath the surface, something was burning quietly, waiting for the right moment to ignite.
Meanwhile, back in the mansion, Dante sat behind his massive desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The image of Avery's injured hand and the heat of her gaze haunted him, distracting him from the endless flow of business matters. The quiet embers of that moment lingered, feeding a fire he refused to let burn out.
Later that evening, he would begin teaching her a new lesson—not about obedience, but about control: how to wield power through silence, presence, and subtle influence. But for now, the wound he'd treated silently marked the shift in their fragile balance—an ember glowing in the shadows, waiting to flare.
Avery pushed open the heavy front door well past twilight, the muffled sounds of the city settling into the quiet night outside. Her body hummed with a tired kind of satisfaction. The coffee shop had been packed all day — customers lined up from morning till closing, and she'd sold more than she ever remembered. Each cheerful "thank you," each small smile from a satisfied customer had fueled her spirits, sparking a lightness she hadn't felt in days.
She slipped off her coat, careful not to disturb the wrapped bandage on her palm, and made her way to the living room where Dante was already waiting. His figure was unmistakable — tall, composed, a dark storm contained behind the sharp lines of his tailored suit. He was seated in his usual chair, glass of whiskey in hand, the amber liquid catching the soft light as he swirled it slowly.
His gaze lifted when she entered. There was a faint crease of disapproval knitting his brows, subtle but unmistakable.
"You're late," he said flatly, his voice low and cold.
Avery smiled, trying to push away the sting beneath his words. "I had a good day," she said brightly, warmth still sparkling in her eyes. "More customers than usual. I even sold out of the new blend."
Dante's eyes narrowed as he set his glass down with deliberate care. The sharp click echoed in the room, filling the silence like a verdict.
"You don't get to be happy about that," he said, voice like gravel. "Not here. Not while you're under my roof."
Her smile faltered. The thrill of the day drained away under his heavy gaze. "I'm just trying to keep things normal," she murmured.
"Normal?" He scoffed softly. "You don't get to decide what normal is anymore. You live in my world now — a world that demands control, restraint, obedience."
His words hung between them, heavy as chains.
Avery met his stare, defiance sparking despite the weight of his presence. "I'm not yours to control," she said quietly, but the tremor in her voice betrayed the truth she didn't dare admit.
Dante's expression softened for a fraction of a second — a glimpse of something almost human — before the cold mask returned.
"You're mine to watch," he said darkly. "Every step, every breath."
The words sent a shiver down her spine, thrilling and terrifying all at once.
For a moment, the room held its breath, two souls locked in a silent battle — hers burning with fragile hope, his with an unyielding need to dominate.
Avery turned away, heading toward her room with the quiet weight of his gaze trailing after her like a shadow.
But even as she closed the door behind her, the embers of the day — the fleeting happiness, the sting of control, the unspoken tension — smoldered beneath the surface, waiting for the next spark