The night was heavy with the scent of rain, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold as Dante’s sleek black car pulled up to the gates of the sprawling estate. He stepped out, the cold night air biting at his skin, but his expression remained as unyielding as stone. The manor loomed before him, its grandeur cloaked in shadows, offering little warmth or comfort.

As Dante entered the house, the sound of his polished shoes echoed through the marble foyer. The house was quiet—too quiet. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, every detail noted and stored away with a mind accustomed to vigilance.

His eyes landed on you and bored into your figure with a set jaw and frowned at the sight of his son still playing on the carpeted floor

“I thought i had been clear about his curfew.”