The quiet kind of madness

The quiet kind of madness
Dante’s POV

I hated it.

The moment she mentioned another man, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t loud or violent, just quiet and sharp, like glass breaking under a cloth. I walked out before I said something I couldn’t take back. The door slammed behind me, the sound echoing through the hallway, and for a long moment I stood there, staring at nothing.

I hated myself for caring.

I hated how her voice could still follow me even when she wasn’t there.

When she didn’t come home last night, I thought I’d lose my mind. I’d paced from one end of the living room to the other, my hand brushing against the back of the couch each time like I needed to hold on to something. The clock on the wall ticked louder with every passing minute, and the silence pressed against me until it became unbearable.

I told myself she was fine. That she’d walk through the door any moment and throw one of her careless excuses at me. But as the hours dragged on, the walls started closing in. Every shadow looked like bad news. Every sound from the gate made my heart jump.

And when I finally saw her again, standing there, alive but distant, I didn’t feel relief. I felt anger surging through my veins. Because she didn’t seem sorry. Because she didn’t understand what it did to me.

I poured myself a drink last night to quiet it. The liquor burned down my throat, left a trail of heat behind. It didn’t help. I poured another, watched the amber swirl in the glass, and thought about my best friend;her father.

He’d trusted me to protect her. To raise her right.And I couldn’t even protect myself from her.

The thought disgusted me.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. I didn't go to work because I was supposed to prepare a speech for the meeting tomorrow.

The next day,I took my bath early in the morning, letting the cold water hit my back until my skin went numb. My reflection in the mirror looked older, harder. The kind of man who’d built walls so high even his own conscience couldn’t climb them.

By the time I dressed, the house was awake, quiet footsteps, the distant hum of the generator, voices I didn’t want to hear. I chose my black suit. I didn’t know why — maybe because it made me feel like I still had control over something.

I left before she could come downstairs. The car keys clinked in my hand as I walked out, every step heavy. I told myself it was just another morning. Another drive to work. But it wasn’t.

It never was.

The company sat in the middle of the city like a mirror catching the sun, glass walls, chrome lines, everything clean and commanding. The guard at the gate saluted when I pulled in. I barely nodded.

Inside, the air smelled like coffee, new furniture, an…. stress. Employees hurried across the hallway, their shoes clicking in rhythm against the tiled floor. Everyone was busy pretending not to be afraid of me.

Good. Fear kept things tidy.

Maria was standing near my office door when I walked in. She looked up the moment she heard my footsteps.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, voice soft, almost rehearsed. She held a file to her chest like a shield, but her eyes, her eyes told a different story.

I nodded once. “Morning, Maria.”

She smiled a little, the corner of her mouth curving up. “You have a meeting with the investors in fifteen minutes,” she said, her tone professional but warm. “They’re waiting in the conference room.”

Her hand brushed against her skirt as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She stepped closer, pretending to straighten the papers on the side table. The movement wasn’t necessary — she just wanted to be near.

Her perfume filled the air, something floral. It clung to her every movement.

When she turned, the neckline of her blouse dipped slightly. She knew it did. Her fingers lingered on a pen too long before placing it on my desk. Every small gesture was deliberate.

She smiled again. “You look tired, sir.”

“I am,” I said.

“Rough night?”

Her voice lowered just enough to make the question sound like an invitation.

I looked at her — the faint lipstick stain on her cup, the way she stood a little too close, her breath held as if waiting for something to happen.

Maria was beautiful. Smart. Loyal. And she wanted me.But I didn’t want her.
I never did.

I gave a tight smile. “The report?”

Her expression faltered, just for a second. She handed me the file quickly and stepped back, the click of her heels marking her retreat. “Of course, sir.”

I walked past her into the conference room. The air was thick with cologne and ambition. The investors greeted me like I was their ticket to a brighter tomorrow. I gave them my best smile — the one that hid everything I didn’t want them to see.

We went through the numbers, the projections, the new partnership. The meeting was a success, as expected. Applause, handshakes, fake laughter.

By the time they left, I felt nothing.

Back in my office, I loosened my tie and sat down. Papers lay scattered on the desk, but I didn’t touch them. The city outside the window looked bright, busy, alive — everything I wasn’t.

I thought of her again.

Catherina.

The night she kissed me replayed like a movie in slow motion.

She’d been drunk — barely holding herself upright. I’d caught her before she fell. Her skin had been warm, her breath soft against my neck. She’d looked at me like she saw something she shouldn’t have.

Then she kissed me.

It wasn’t the kiss of a girl who didn’t know what she was doing. It was sure, hungry, desperate. For a moment, I froze. And then… I gave in.

It lasted only a second, maybe two. But it burned like fire.
I told myself she was drunk. That she didn’t mean it. That it wasn’t real.

But every night since then, I’ve wondered.
And every time I see her, my heart betrays me all over again.

So I do what I’m best at — I build walls. I drown in work. I wear my suits and keep my voice steady.

Maybe if I stay behind those walls long enough, the feeling will die on its own.

Maybe it already has.

But the way her name still echoes in my head tells me otherwise.