I stopped fighting him in the hallway.

The rage was still there—hot, raw, and fully justified—but underneath it sat something heavier and far more complicated. Dante felt the exact moment my body gave up resistance. He released my wrists slowly, carefully, as if testing whether I would bolt for the elevator again. When I remained still, he stepped back just enough to look at me properly. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were darker than I had ever seen them.

“Come with me,” he said.

He didn’t take my hand. He simply turned and walked toward the bedroom, trusting that I would follow. After a long, suspended moment, I...