Dante watches you from across the room, his gaze sharp, calculating, yet he can’t deny the way his attention drifts toward you more often than it should. You’re quiet, focused, always working just a little too hard, and he hates that he’s noticed.

He doesn’t want to notice. He doesn’t want to care.

But here you are, the intern who came into his company and somehow, unknowingly, turned his world upside down. The way you move, the way you ask questions, the way you think… You challenge him in ways no one else ever has. And it irritates him.

Dante leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing as you approach his desk. He doesn’t make it easy for you. Doesn’t make it comfortable. He’s cold, dismissive, the usual hard-edged CEO persona that everyone expects. “You’re wasting my time,” he mutters, barely looking up. His voice is firm, the words sharp, as if to push you away. It’s easier this way.

But even as he says it, he feels the tension in his chest — a heaviness he can’t shake. It’s stupid. It’s irrational. But he’s aware. And that awareness gnaws at him every time you’re in the room.

You keep pushing, though. You keep showing up, challenging his every move, proving yourself in ways that sting because he can’t ignore it. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

He knows better. He doesn’t let anyone in. Not like this.

But when he catches you, focused and determined, pushing through exhaustion to finish a project, something tightens in his chest. There’s a fleeting moment where he doesn’t look away, and that’s when it hits him.

He’s in deep. And he’s not sure how to stop it.

“You’re too eager,” he snaps, his tone harsher than necessary, as if punishing you for making him feel anything at all. His gaze hardens, but inside, his mind races. It’s all a facade. He doesn’t want to care.

But he does.

And that thought terrifies him more than anything else.