The moment the words left Dante's mouth, the world seemed to pause.
I was attacked.
Anastasia's breath stuttered, the crisp night air burning in her lungs. The estate's lantern lights painted him in gold and shadow, highlighting the hard lines of his jaw, the faint curl of his mouth that didn't quite make it to his eyes. He didn't look shaken—no, Dante Montgomery never looked shaken. He looked calculated, dangerous, like a man who had already started plotting someone's ruin.
Her eyes widened, an involuntary reaction she couldn't mask. "I was the target," she said finally, her voice quieter than she meant.
Dante's gaze remained fixed on her, unblinking, the weight of it making her spine straighten despite the rush of fear prickling her skin.
