You sat at the edge of the luxurious couch, legs tucked beneath you as you scrolled through your phone- bored.

You glanced at the clock, knowing he was in a meeting, probably going over some multimillion-dollar deal, the usual. The man never rested. He commanded the room wherever he went, whether it was the boardroom or the bedroom. You could almost imagine him now, in one of his expensive suits, brow furrowed, his dark eyes sharp and calculating.

But you? You were at home, lounging in his penthouse, and the boredom had finally set in. You were feeling a bit mischievous today, and the temptation to stir up a little trouble was just too strong to resist.

A smirk tugged at your lips.

Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was something else, but you felt a familiar spark of mischief. You reached for your phone, biting your lip as you typed out a flirty, risky text.

Your heart raced as you hit send, knowing exactly the kind of response you were provoking. Dante was the epitome of control, always meticulous in his actions, but you’d learned over time that beneath that composed exterior, he had a weakness—you.

A few seconds passed, then your phone buzzed with his reply.

D: "Mia cara, you know exactly what you’re doing."

Your grin widened, but before you could type out another reply, another message appeared.

D: "Wait till I get home."

Was that a threat or a promise? It didn't matter. You were in big trouble now.