Chapter 172

My ribcage expanded as if expecting a large dose of Dante's breath inside me.

It was wrong. Dangerously wrong.

I shoved his arm, making him release my throat.

My feet settled back on the ground, regaining balance.

"Congratulations. You did it. I’m already in hell."

His nostrils released a muffled laugh.

"I haven’t burned you enough yet, pulchra."

I hated hearing pulchra from his mouth, even though I never dared to look up its meaning. Especially now, four years later, it sounded cruel, stripped of the purity it once had.

"This conversation is giving me a headache. Take care, Dante."

He didn’t protest, which was hard to believe. Faulkner didn’t like me turning my back on him, but he didn’t seem upset when I did.

I descended back to the party, bumping into Kayleen and Penelope, who were laughing together. The moment they saw me, their eyes were questioning.

"Where are you going?" Kay asked.

"Home. I’m tired."

"Want a ride?"

I shook my head. They couldn’t even dream of where I was living.

"No need."

"What do you mean? You said you have to take the bus to get there. There aren’t any at this hour."

"I’ll call a cab. It’s no big deal."

"It’s dangerous, girl," Penelope warned. "I’ll drive you. Stop saying no."

They were so annoying.

"Okay. I’ll just use the restroom and be right back."

My friends nodded, and I made my way to the restroom. I didn’t stay there for more than five seconds, slipping out of the party in the blink of an eye.

They’d be upset with me, but I’d send a message explaining I found someone who lived nearby and got a ride.

As I stepped onto the street, the wind froze my skin. I wrapped myself in the light coat I’d brought, assuming I wouldn’t need anything heavier.

My teeth chattered, and I tried to think of pleasant things to distract myself from the glacial wind that chilled even my insides.

"Get in the car."

I turned my head, spotting Dante in a new car. It was the same brand as the one that had exploded, but this time, black.

"No."

"You’re not the boss of me."

"Emilia Gray. Get. In. The. Damn. Car."

The anger reflected on his face almost made my legs move, but I twisted my expression and stuck out my tongue.

"I won’t."

"You’re stubborn as hell."

"One of my best qualities," I mocked.

"And one of the reasons why, one day, my hand will leave a mark on your ass."

Oh.

I pretended to ignore it, though that promise sped up my heartbeat to near light speed.

Silence enveloped me. It felt strange, but I firmly continued my steps. Realizing I was more irritated than I wanted to admit, I glanced back at the road.

Dante was still there, driving so slowly it seemed the car was standing still.

"What are you doing?"

"You’re sorely mistaken if you think I’ll let you walk alone at night," he growled furiously. He hadn’t accepted my refusal as an answer.

I shrugged.

"Suit yourself. You’re just wasting your time."

"Wasting my time with you? It’s the best use of it."

I ignored the urge to laugh genuinely.

"Nothing is more dangerous than the Hollow Faces. In other words, nothing scares me."

"Careful with your words. In another context, I’d take them as a challenge."

I slowed down and sped up my pace on purpose, expecting him to complain, but Dante didn’t say another word. In fact, he let the wind be our only melody and followed me all the way home.

We arrived in absolute silence. I went to my room to grab my toiletries for a shower, but that’s when I froze.

Things were different.

In fact, the room was different.

It was decorated with frames. Clothes and shoes were neatly arranged in my closets. I had a desk, a computer, and a brand-new television occupying most of my wall.

I was no longer as poor as before, with the few belongings I had.

My heart stuttered at the sight of a violin hanging by the edge of the shelf.

God. I hadn’t played in years. Ever since my parents had passed away, it hurt too much to think about returning to music. That’s why I focused on medicine—exactly what they had wanted for me.

How?

Had Dante decided, out of sheer will, to shop for me? Something wasn’t right.

I decided to confront him. I didn’t want anything from him. I already wore his clothes just to avoid his bad temper. I didn’t want him throwing it in my face that now every inch of the only space I had was his.

However, I didn’t have the courage to argue.

Not when the sound of violin strings resonated pleasurably through my body. How the notes dictated things I didn’t need to hear to understand. There was something pure, human, delicate.

And, peeking through the crack of the door to the balcony of one of the house’s most remote rooms, I found Dante playing the violin as if it belonged to him. As if everything in him was reacting to those strings.

To that melody.

My hatred pulsed just as the blood in my veins did.

I hated him a little more for being able to live our memories without guilt. Without sorrow. Without regret.

His stoic expression didn’t let me see what was inside that barbaric man, but I knew. I felt it.

So I stayed until he finished and went back to my room, accepting every piece of him there.