Catherine’s POV
I stood at the massive wrought-iron gates of the estate, feeling small and suddenly very uncertain. I had co here because I had to, driven by a gnawing sense of guilt towards Dante. He deserved an apology, or at the very least, a proper explanation that didn’t involve crying into his expensive shirt.
"State your business," a voice crackled through the intercom.
"I’m here to see Kiera. And Dante. It’s Catherine Vaughn."
The security guard behind the reinforced glass of the gatehouse stared at for a long mont before picking up a phone. I waited, tapping my fingers on the gate. It took nearly three minutes of whispered confirmations before the gate finally groaned open. As I walked in, I couldn’t help but wonder—again—just how much money Kiera’s family actually had. Their mansion made the Vaughn estate look like a guest house.
I parked and walked up to the front entrance, where a man in a black suit was already waiting.
"Good morning, Miss Vaughn," he said, his posture rigid. "Our boss is not currently on the premises. She’s out for a eting, but she will be back ho shortly."
I nodded, adjusting the strap of my bag. "I see. Thank you. Is Dante inside?"
The guard’s brow furrowed. He looked at with a blank, confused stare, as if I had just spoken a language he didn’t recognize. "Dante?"
My lips pouted in confusion too. Seems like they used different nas in different circles. "I’m sorry. What I an is.... Is her brother inside?"
"Ah," the guard’s expression cleared instantly. "Yes, he is in his quarters. Please, co in."
He opened the heavy doors, and I stepped into the foyer. A few staff mbers in crisp uniforms moved through the halls, pausing to offer polite greetings. I greeted them back, feeling increasingly out of place.
"Excuse ," I stopped a woman carrying a tray of linens. "Could you tell which room is Dante’s? I an, the brother’s room?"
"Of course, Miss," she said with a small smile. "Go to the top floor. His suite is at the very end of the left corridor. You can’t miss it."
I thanked her and headed for the stairs. As I reached the top floor, the silence of the house was abruptly shattered. A heavy beat began to vibrate through the floorboards. It was "Calm Down" by Rema, the volu turned up high enough to shake the fras on the walls.
I followed the sound to the end of the left hallway. The door was slightly open, only by a finger’s width, allowing the music to spill out into the corridor. I reached out to knock, but my hand stopped mid-air. Curiosity got the better of , and I leaned in to peep through the gap.
Dante was in the center of the room, and he was dancing.
I felt the air leave my lungs when I saw his body. He was half-naked, wearing nothing but a pair of dark denim jeans. The jeans were hanging low on his hips, dangerously close to revealing more than they covered. I swallowed hard, my eyes involuntarily tracing the lines of his body.
He looked like a temptation designed specifically to ruin a woman’s common sense. His back was to , revealing an eye catching map of tattoos that climbed up his spine and spread across his shoulder blades like dark wings. When he turned with the music, I saw his chest and abs fully defined, hard, and glistening with a light sheen of sweat. He had the kind of raw, muscular build that made him look like a professional fighter. He looked exactly like a bad boy from a movie, a Massimo-type figure who walked with a dangerous grace that needed no efforts.
I quickly turned around and shut my eyes tight, my heart hamring against my ribs. Stop it, Catherine, I scolded myself. You are here to apologize, not to drool. I tried to shove the image out of my head, but it was burned into my mind. He was hot... unnervingly so.
I took a deep breath, composed my face into what I hoped was a neutral expression, and turned back to the door. I knocked loudly, trying to be heard over the music.
The music didn’t stop, but a hoarse, deep voice shouted over the beat. "Who is it?"
"It’s ! Catherine!" I yelled back.
In a flash, the door was pulled open. Dante stood there, taking up the entire doorway. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. He was breathing slightly hard from the dancing, and his gorgeous, dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
"Catherine?" he asked, his voice low and vibrating.
I stood there, paralyzed for a second by the sheer proximity of his bare chest. "Hi. I... I didn’t an to interrupt your dance session."
He leaned against the doorfra, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face as he realized I’d probably seen him through the gap. "Don’t apologize. I’m always happy to put on a show for a captive audience."
"I wasn’t—I wasn’t watching," I lied, though the heat in my cheeks told a different story. "Your security didn’t know who ’Dante’ was," I said, trying to shift the topic.
"Ohh. Yeah. They know by a different na here. In our family, we are a bit protective of our privacy."
"I noticed," I muttered.
"Besides, you know... I don’t really stay here. I only ca because of you... apparently."
Before I could start blushing again, I hurriedly went straight to the point.
"I ca to talk. To apologize for last night. For Julian and Gabriel."
Dante lowered his head to . "You don’t have to but if you’re here to apologize, who am I to stop you?"
He was teasing again, I knew it. "Shut up."
He paused for a while, his eyes darting around .
"What?"
"Nothing. Just looking for the flowers."
I didn’t understand what he ant. Flowers? From? "You are making my brain go wild with questions. What do you an by flowers?"
He let out a low laugh. "You ca to apologize right? With no flowers?"
I smacked his head, realizing what he was trying to do. "Stupid."
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