Dante's POV
"Play the big bad wolf every time someone looks at me," she clarified, her voice tight. "Pretend you're… protecting me."
"Oh, sweetheart," I said, stepping just a little closer to her, my voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur that was utterly devoid of sweetness. The proximity was deliberate, a silent claim. "That's not about you. That's about reminding them who I am. And who they aren't. It's about marking my territory. And right now, you're standing in it."
Her breath hitched faintly, a small, almost imperceptible sound she tried to swallow, but I heard it. Her grip on her bag tightened, her knuckles straining against the fabric. We reached the imposing, carved oak doors of the main entrance, and she shot me a sideways glare, a flash of pure hatred, before pushing through ahead of me, as if desperate to escape my presence.
And that was her first mistake. Her attempt to escape only led her deeper into my domain.
Because the moment we stepped into the grand, vaulted hallway of Blackridge – polished marble floors gleaming like ice, sunlight cutting through the vibrant stained-glass windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air – she was mine to play with. This was my stage, my kingdom, and she had just walked right into the center of it.
The whispers grew louder, bolder, emboldened by the perceived privacy of the interior. Eyes darted, no longer even attempting to be subtle. Brielle and her sycophantic pack, their humiliation quickly morphing into renewed curiosity, trailed behind us now, murmuring too loudly to be truly subtle.
"Is he really with her?" The question hung in the air, incredulous, laced with a desperate hope it wasn't true.
"He wouldn't. She's… nothing. Look at those clothes." The disdain was palpable.
"Maybe it's a bet. He does that sometimes." The most plausible, and most painful, theory.
Cassidy stopped halfway down the hall, directly under the central chandelier, and spun around so fast I almost crashed into her. Her eyes were blazing, incandescent with a fury that threatened to consume her. She was a match striking flint, dangerous and volatile.
"What?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the buzzing whispers, attracting even more attention. Her chest heaved with suppressed emotion.
I raised a brow, feigning mild amusement, leaning back slightly to study her, enjoying the spectacle. "What what, Hart?" My voice was calm, infuriatingly composed.
"You're staring at me again," she hissed, her voice barely a whisper, yet vibrating with pure rage. Her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides, her knuckles white.
"So?" I drawled, letting my gaze drop deliberately, slowly, tracing the delicate curve of her jaw, the faint flush creeping up her elegant neck, before finally, deliberately, meeting her eyes again. It was a calculated act of intimacy, a blatant challenge.
"So stop," she commanded, her voice trembling now with the effort of control.
I chuckled low, a dark, dangerous sound that vibrated in my chest. "Make me," I murmured, the challenge explicit, daring her to cross the line.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second, and then she stepped closer. Brave little thing. Her voice dropped low, dangerous, matching my own.
"You really think you scare me, don't you?" she whispered, her gaze locked on mine, unwavering. There was a raw, captivating defiance in her eyes that made my blood sing.
"No," I said, a faint, almost predatory grin playing on my lips. "I think I should." The implication was clear: I had the power to make her fear me, and I was not afraid to use it.
Her hands curled into tighter fists at her sides, but she didn't back down. Not an inch. The tension between us was a living thing, thick and suffocating, buzzing with unspoken currents. I leaned closer, my breath brushing her ear, the sudden intimacy a shock to both of us.
"Let me give you some advice, Hart," I whispered, my voice a silken menace. "These people? These vultures swirling around you, picking apart every detail? They eat girls like you alive. They'll tear you apart just to see if you bleed gold. And me?" – I let the smile turn cruel, a chilling baring of teeth – "I'm worse than all of them put together. I enjoy the hunt. So if you're smart, you'll keep your pretty little head down, stay in your lane, and stay the hell out of my way. Because if you don't, I promise you, you'll regret it."
She stiffened, every muscle in her body rigid, but her chin didn't drop. Her eyes, still locked on mine, were blazing, daring me to push further.
"Here's the thing about you, Ashford," she whispered back, her lips barely moving, her voice a low, furious rasp against my ear. "You like to think you're the wolf… but you're just another spoiled boy hiding behind his daddy's money and a legacy you didn't earn. A paper tiger roaring in a gilded cage."
That actually made me laugh – quiet, dark, a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. The audacity of her, the chilling accuracy of her assessment, was almost exhilarating.
"Careful," I murmured, my voice a dangerous purr, leaning in even closer, so close I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. "Keep talking to me like that, with such fire, with such… intimacy, and people might start thinking you're mine." The possessive declaration was a deliberate taunt, a way to reclaim the upper hand, to remind her of the perceived connection, however unwanted.
Her eyes flashed, a sudden, fierce blaze, and her lips parted, as if to deliver another searing retort. But before she could answer, a teacher's booming voice, sharp and authoritative, barked from down the hall, cutting through the charged air.
"Ashford! Hart! Inside. Now!"
She tore her gaze away from mine, the spell broken, and stormed toward the classroom, her shoulders stiff with defiance, her hair swaying like a furious flame behind her. She moved with a desperate, almost frantic energy, as if she could outrun the tension that now bound us.
And I followed, a slow, predatory smirk playing on my lips, the whispers still swirling around us, the silent witnesses to our dangerous dance.
Because even though she thought she hated me…
Even though she thought she was winning this petty little battle…
I could already see the cracks forming. The façade was beginning to crumble.
And this game? This intricate, dangerous game we were playing?
It was just getting started. And I was already anticipating her next move.