Chapter 30 The love I never got
Dante’s POV.
I remember the first time I truly wanted someone.
It wasn’t for power or pride, or because she belonged to the world I could take. I just wanted her for no reason I could explain.
It was when I was still in collage, not in my world, not in the streets, or in the blood and debts I would inherit.
It was just in a normal world. And that made her dangerous.
Her name was Clara. She had small hands, steady eyes, and a stubborn mouth. She has always laughed at things I never thought were funny.
She always argued when she disagreed. She had always refused to let anyone step over her.
I didn’t really notice it at first. I noticed her. I noticed how she didn’t notice me until I entered her orbit.
And when she did, she became the center of it without meaning to.
I just wanted her.
I had asked questions about her friends, about her classes, and about her life. I listened more than I spoke.
I learned everything about her without her noticing I did. And that was my first lesson. Desire was a tool if you used it right.
I just didn’t want it to be, because I wanted her.
When we met at the library, she was reading a book I had loved as a boy. I commented, and she looked at me like I was insane.
We spent days together in corners of coffee shops, quiet libraries, and long walks through the city parks.
I remember one day, when there was a heavy downpour. She pulled my hood over her head and laughed as I cursed under my breath.
We ran, slipping on wet sidewalks, soaking and happy in ways I hadn’t imagined possible in my life.
And I had always thought that I’d live like that forever.
And then it ended.
I gave her everything I could give at nineteen. I gave her too much. I was reckless and certain.
But she couldn’t keep up. She wanted a normal and a safe life, but I gave her intensity, obsession and a man who was broken in ways she didn’t understand.
She just left quietly. She didn’t drop any words, or at least a tear for me to feel emotion, she just left.
And that was when I realized I had destroyed something beautiful because I didn’t know how to hold it without breaking it.
I hated myself for that. For years, I couldn’t get over it.
I hated the way I had pushed too hard. The way I had demanded, and the way I assumed she would stay because I wanted her to.
I never understood what love was, I only understood possession. And that had ruined us.
I didn’t let myself think of her again for a long time. I had buried the thoughts of her under work, under ambition, and under every calculation I could make about who I would become.
I decided that I would never let it repeat itself again, and would never fall hard for anyone. I would never see anyone see that I was broken.
Every step of my life afterward was calculated, precise, and ruthless. There was nothing personal and uncontrolled.
Until Isla came into my life.
I caught myself thinking of Clara often in the first weeks with Isla.
How I had loved blindly once and lost everything.
How I had destroyed her, thinking it was love, and that
I was in control of the whole situation.
I knew I swore never to do that again, I couldn’t risk it.
But I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop the pull.
Isla was sharper, wiser, and capable. But the way she moved, the way she met my eyes, and the quiet way
she demanded acknowledgment without words… she reminded me of the part of myself that had been reckless with Clara.
I could feel the same fire threatening to consume me and this time, I had a choice.
I had rules, I had boundaries, and I had experiences.
I also had the knowledge of what love had done before. And I promised myself not to repeat my mistakes.
I would let her choose. I would let her see my care without smothering. I would let her feel protected without fear, and I would give her freedom even if my chest aches for it.
But she didn’t know, not yet.
I remembered the first time I had truly held Clara’s hand.
We were walking along the river. The night air was cool, and the street lights flickered.
I had touched her hand causally, testing and seeing if she would let me.
She had smiled lightly, just at the corner of her lips, and something snapped inside of me.
I had wanted her, every part of her, and I had let her see it. I let her see too much and she pulled away.
And that has taught me a lot about restraint, desire, and loss.
I didn’t want to repeat it.
I’ve seen her fear, her uncertainty, and her caution.
Love could hurt more than anything. It could hurt more than a gun, and more than any threat.
Losing someone I always wanted to protect destroyed me entirely.
And now, I was here with Isla, feeling that same terror, and that same burning ache.
But this time, I had to hold it back. I had to let her choose, let her fight for herself, and let her decide if she wanted me.
Let her see the warmth and the resilience, the care and protection and that without fear it would trap her.
I recalled the first time I had kissed Clara. She had pulled away first, uncertain and unsure. I held my hands lightly on her arms and whispered apologies.
But then she kissed me back and everything shifted. I had overwhelmed her and loved without patience, without thought or respect for the person in front of me.
With Isla, I could see that.
And I would not do that.
I still recalled the night Clara had left. The silent sound of her shoes on the pavement, and the soft click of the door closing. The silence and emptiness that followed was baffling.
And yet, even now, the pull was there. I could still feel it in my chest.
In the tightness of my jaw, in the way my hands itched to reach her, to steady her, and to claim her.
The old obsession was still there, the old desire still remained the same, and the old fire was still threatening to consume every thought.
I could feel the old mistake still hovering around me like a storm.
I watched Isla today. The way she handled meetings, and the way she moved through people with quiet command.
The way she carried herself like she had always belonged, even when the roll doubted her.
I won’t lose her.
And that was the difference. This time, I would bend myself to her rhythm. To her choices and her strength.
I would love this time without breaking and caging and demanding.
I would be a better man. The man she needed, not the man I wanted. I would show her that care could be given without threats.
Show her that protection could be given without fear. And let her decide.
I clenched my fist for a second, resting them on the desk.
The rain outside had stopped. I kept imagining her in that light that was in the cloud.
That she was stepping forward, choosing and trusting me, and I felt heat in my chest. The heat had nothing to do with power, it was want.
I’ve been a ruthless person all my life. I’ve got blood on my hands, I’ve commanded and survived.
I’ve taken everything I could take and left nothing for weakness.
And yet, she still made me feel that one thing I had feared more than death, more than loss, and more than storms and thunder and betrayal.
She made me feel pure love. A dangerous love I couldn’t stop.
I closed my eyes briefly, recalled the feel of Clara’s hand once more, her laughter, her smile.
And then I opened them. I would not let history repeat itself and I would not let obsession ruin what I wanted.
The goal was to let her see my heart without fear.
And when she chose me, I would be ready.
Because I will not give her anything less.
Because she deserves more than what I’ve given before.
And she was worth the fire, worth the storm, and the life I had built around control.
I would not fail again, not this time.
And not with her.