Dante’s visits to the café had become so regular that Pavani almost began to anticipate them. She tried not to notice the way her heart raced when she saw him walk in or the way his piercing gaze always seemed to seek her out. But today was different. Today, Pavani wasn’t there.

Dante entered the café, his dark presence filling the small space as usual. He scanned the counter, expecting to see her taking orders or moving around in her quiet, graceful way. Instead, the café owner, a kind but frail older woman, was bustling behind the counter.

Pavani was nowhere in sight.

He strode to the counter, his tone casual but firm. “Where’s the girl who usually works here?”

The owner looked up, her expression softening. “Pakhi? Poor thing called in sick this morning. Said she wasn’t feeling well. Hopefully, she’ll be better soon.”

Dante’s jaw tightened, his concern barely concealed. “Sick?” he repeated, more to himself than to the owner.

The café owner nodded. “Yes, but don’t worry. She’ll be fine. Young people bounce back quickly.”

Dante didn’t reply. Instead, he paid for his usual coffee but left it untouched on the table during his brief meeting. His mind was elsewhere, fixated on Pavani and the unexpected absence that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. As soon as the meeting ended, he left abruptly, his destination clear.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Dante arrived at the address he’d discreetly obtained—something he didn’t want to think too hard about. Her apartment building stood in stark contrast to the rest of the neighborhood, a dilapidated structure nestled in an area that screamed neglect and danger. The sight alone made his stomach churn.

He parked his sleek car a block away, drawing more than a few curious stares as he stepped out. His tailored suit and commanding aura didn’t belong here, and he knew it. Yet, he climbed the creaking stairs, his polished shoes echoing in the dingy, graffiti-covered hallway.

Each step filled him with a growing irritation—not at her, but at the idea that she was living in a place so beneath her.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Pavani, bundled in a thick blanket, sat curled on her worn-out couch. The heater in her apartment barely worked, and the draft from the windows only added to her misery. She hadn’t eaten much, her stomach too queasy to hold anything substantial.

Her phone buzzed on the table, a reminder of the outside world she was avoiding today. She was half-asleep when a sharp knock startled her.

Pavani frowned, her heart skipping a beat. No one ever knocked on her door. Who could it be? Wrapping the blanket tighter around herself, she shuffled to the door, hesitating before opening it slightly.

Her breath caught in her throat. Dante stood there, his towering frame nearly filling the doorway. He was out of place in every possible way, from his sharp suit to the subtle scent of expensive cologne that seemed to follow him. His dark eyes swept over her, taking in her pale face and disheveled appearance.

“Mr. De Luca?” she croaked, her voice hoarse with disbelief.

“You weren’t at the café,” he said simply, as if that explained his presence. His tone was calm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper—concern, perhaps? Annoyance? She couldn’t tell.

“I—uh, I wasn’t feeling well,” she stammered, gripping the edge of the door.

“I can see that.” His gaze shifted past her to the inside of the apartment. The peeling wallpaper, the mismatched furniture—it was a stark contrast to the polished and composed image she always tried to maintain.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I’m fine, really. You didn’t have to—”

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, cutting her off, his voice smooth but with a hint of challenge.

Pavani hesitated, her mind racing. This man, so enigmatic and intimidating, was standing on her doorstep, asking to come in. But why?

Her lips parted to respond, but no words came. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.