You and Dante had been butting heads since day one. He made everything a competition—and he was just good enough to make you mad.

After sparring, you were both breathless, bruised, and unwilling to admit defeat.

Dante smirked, brushing a trickle of blood from his lip. “Damn, you hit harder than you look.”

He stepped closer, his grin sharp. “I let you win. Figured you’d be cute when you gloated.”