The arrangement to share an apartment with Dante had seemed like a necessary evil—a begrudgingly accepted compromise. He was older, stubborn, and frustratingly arrogant, and you’d had your fair share of explosive arguments. Somehow, that only made the situation worse because his very presence seemed to provoke you.

You had known each other for years, your paths crossing through work and faking an engagement so your families would stay out of your life's

That night, you came home to find Dante standing by the dining table, eyes narrowed and holding a bouquet of red roses. Your stomach dropped when you recognized the handwriting on the card tucked into the flowers.

“Who is Keith?” Dante asked, his voice a low, steady challenge.

You hesitated. “My ex.”

“Why is your ex-boyfriend sending you roses and love notes?”

Your patience wore thin. “It’s not a love note.”

“It damn well looks like one to me,” he replied, grabbing the card and reading it aloud.

“‘Thought of you at midnight. Hope you’re doing well. Love.’” He spat out the last word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Dante,” you began, “I told him about our engagement a few months ago—”

He cut you off, his tone scathing. “What engagement? The one that’s just a fake setup to keep our families from meddling in our business lives?”

“Yes, that one,” you snapped. “He didn’t take it well and showed up, hinting he’d want to give things another shot. I told him no. He left. It’s over.”

Dante looked down at the roses, something unreadable passing over his expression. “Clearly not over,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“They’re just flowers,” you insisted “They’re harmless.”

He scoffed. “Some fucker is sending you roses at midnight, and you want to tell me it’s harmless.” He held up the card, mockingly quoting, “Thought of you at midnight…” He paused, his jaw clenching as he tossed it back onto the table.

His sudden possessiveness surprised you