Ophelia's breath caught in her throat as she stared at him. For a moment, everything else blurred, the candles, the polished tables, the faint hum of the city outside. There was just him: tall, imposing, calm, impossibly composed. His dark eyes studied her with a quiet intensity that made her heart skip.
She stepped forward, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "I… I wanted to thank you," she said.
He inclined his head slightly, lips curving into the faintest smile. "You don't need to thank me," he said. "Seeing you safe is enough."
Her fingers clutched her purse, and a daring idea struck her. I can't leave without knowing who he is. I can't let this end here.
"I should at least know your name," she said boldly.
His dark gaze lingered on her, assessing, before he finally said, "Dante Moretti."
"Ophelia," she replied, offering her name in return, confident, daring. "Ophelia Ravenwood."
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face, but he didn't comment. Instead, he handed her his phone. "Then give me yours," he said.
She hesitated a fraction of a second, then typed her number in. Her pulse raced as she hit send.
"Good," he said quietly. "Now I know how to find you. And you'll know how to find me."
She smiled faintly, her daring heart leaping. "Maybe… we should meet again. Properly. I want to thank you, properly."
Dante's lips quirked into the faintest smirk. "Then a date it is," he said simply, though there was no warmth in the word. It was controlled, deliberate, yet it made her stomach flutter.
For a moment, they stood there, tension and curiosity mingling in the space between them. The city outside hummed, indifferent to the quiet drama inside the restaurant. And yet, for both of them, something had shifted.
Ophelia turned to leave, her pulse racing and her mind already spinning with possibilities. She had his name, his number, and… a promise of seeing him again.
As she stepped outside, the night air hit her like a wave of exhilaration and fear. She had taken a step toward him, toward something dangerous, something thrilling, and she couldn't wait to see where it would lead.
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Ophelia sat on the steps leading to the main hall of the estate, phone in hand, her heart racing. The night outside was quiet, the city lights distant beyond the walls, and the estate itself felt like a world apart, safe, but still charged with the adrenaline from earlier. The faint scent of night-blooming jasmine drifted from the gardens, mingling with the faint warmth of the house. She pressed the phone to her ear and dialed Dante's number before she even realized she wanted to hear his voice again.
"Hello?" His voice was low, controlled, the kind that made her pulse quicken instantly.
"It's me… Ophelia," she said, trying to sound casual, though her fingers trembled slightly. "I… I wanted to say thank you again. For everything."
There was a pause, just long enough to make her stomach twist. "You're welcome," he said finally. Calm. Measured. Intense. "Are you home now?"
"Yes… I just got in," she admitted. Her pulse thumped in her chest. "I… I wanted to talk. If that's okay."
"You sound fearless," he remarked lightly, though there was a subtle undertone that made her sit up straighter. "Or perhaps reckless."
She smiled faintly, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a fraction. "Maybe a little of both," she said. "But I… I needed to understand. At least a little."
Dante's voice softened slightly, though it retained its quiet authority. "You don't have to say anything. Not yet. Not until you're ready."
She pressed her forehead to the cool marble railing beside her, looking out at the gardens. "I don't think I'll ever feel ready for something like this," she murmured. "Not after… everything."
"Perhaps that's why you survived," he said. "Fear has a way of sharpening instincts."
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "I suppose it does. Even if it makes me feel like I'm trembling half the time."
He chuckled softly, a sound she wanted to hear again and again. "You're stronger than you know. And I'll make sure you don't face danger alone again."
The words sent a shiver down her spine. Not fear, not exactly, but something else. A mix of awe, relief, and… something she couldn't name.
They talked for almost an hour, first about mundane things, the estate, the quiet night, the city lights beyond the walls, then carefully, about the danger she had faced. She didn't reveal how she had been saved, only that she had narrowly escaped. He listened, his tone calm, careful, but she could hear the wheels turning behind his words. Planning. Protecting. Calculating.
"You're not like anyone I've met," she said softly when the conversation lulled. "You're… controlled, confident, even dangerous, but somehow safe."
He paused, then spoke slowly. "Being dangerous doesn't mean being reckless. And being safe doesn't mean being weak."
Her chest tightened, caught somewhere between awe and something daringly new: attraction. "I suppose that explains why I feel… drawn to you," she admitted, letting the words hang in the quiet night.
"And you're right to feel it," he said, almost casually, though the undertone hinted at deeper truths she couldn't yet see. "But it's also dangerous."
She swallowed, her mind racing. Dangerous was part of him, she could feel it. Yet… she wanted it. Not recklessly, but carefully, knowingly. She wanted to know him. To understand him. And to see if, maybe, she could step closer without losing herself.
Her fingers brushed nervously over the necklace at her throat, a reminder of strength, of her mother, of the home she had returned to safely. She thought about the night she'd run, the panic that had driven her through the streets, the men who had followed her. He had been there then, moving faster, watching, protecting her without her knowing. And now, here he was, calm, composed, commanding. A dangerous man , yet somehow, she felt… safe.
Finally, she leaned back against the marble railing and let herself speak freely. "I wanted to… I wanted to meet properly," she said, her daring shining through despite the nerves. "Not just the quick… rescue. I want to thank you, really."
Dante's lips quirked into the faintest smirk. "Then a date it is," he said, no warmth in the word, just control and precision. And yet, it made her stomach flutter.
For a long moment, they simply spoke in quiet exchanges, neither rushing, each word measured yet filled with meaning. They discussed nothing and everything at once, the city, the night, fleeting thoughts of danger, the small victories of surviving. Their voices wove together in the dark, a fragile thread connecting two very different worlds.
By the time they ended the call, her heart was still racing, a smile lingering on her lips. She had his number. She had his voice. And for the first time since that night, she felt something she hadn't dared feel in days: hope.
And she knew, she would see him again.
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She had his name, his number… and a date waiting. But neither of them knew just how dangerous this connection could become.