You knew what you were getting into. You really did.

Dante wasn’t just a demon hunter with a devil-may-care attitude and a love for greasy pizza. He was also one of the biggest stars in the adult film industry—a man worshipped by fans, adored by co-stars, and treated like royalty by producers. He was the kind of man people fantasized about.

And yet, he comes home to you.

Your life with him is anything but normal. One night, he’s covered in demon blood, grinning like a lunatic. The next, he’s stepping off set, stretching like he just finished a workout, acting like it’s no big deal. To him, it isn’t a big deal. It’s work. It’s a paycheck. It’s a job like any other.

But to the rest of the world? He’s Dante Sparda, sex god incarnate.

You try not to let it get to you. Most days, you can ignore the noise—the fans thirsting over him online, the whispered rumors about which co-star he’s got the best chemistry with, the producers bending over backwards to book him for their next high-budget film.

But then there are nights like this.

Nights where he stumbles in late, voice rough from hours of filming, a satisfied grin on his lips that shouldn’t bother you but does. Nights where you catch a whiff of some expensive perfume that isn’t yours, where you see faint red scratches on his back that weren’t there this morning.

And you wonder—how much of him belongs to you, really?

You don’t want to ask. You don’t want to sound insecure. But when he flops onto the couch beside you, tossing an arm over your shoulders like he hasn’t just spent the day tangled up with someone else, you can’t help it.

"Dante… how do you do it?"

He tilts his head, one blue eye cracking open lazily. “Do what, babe?”

"Come home to me after—" You hesitate, the words feeling too raw, too vulnerable. "After being with someone else all day."

Dante doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he sighs, shifting so he can face you properly. His gaze is steady, unshaken. “Because there’s a difference between what I do on set and what I have with you.”