Into the lion's den

Into the lion's den
Catherina’s POV

For a long moment, I just stood there.

The quiet stretched between me and the empty hallway, heavy and awkward. My thoughts didn’t know where to go, and my chest felt too small to hold everything I wasn’t saying. To shake it off, I dragged my feet toward the kitchen. The floor felt cold under my soles, grounding in a way I needed.

I opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water. The chill of it hit my throat as I gulped, the sound echoing in the stillness. My mind was blank—nothing but static and a faint ache behind my eyes. I hated how easily my emotions crawled back, how quickly they turned soft when I needed them to be steel.

“Stupid,” I whispered under my breath, cursing the part of me that still trembled at the thought of him.

I left the kitchen and walked straight to my room. The door clicked shut behind me, and I let out a long breath before collapsing on the mattress. The ceiling stared back in silence, and I stared right back.

My head was a mess. A chaotic swirl of anger, confusion, and something else I didn’t want to name.

I reached for my phone, desperate for distraction. The blue light filled the dark room, and I scrolled through movies until I found one I didn’t have to think about.

Halfway through, my eyes grew heavy. The phone slipped from my hand, and the screen dimmed on its own.

Sleep came quietly.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, thin and gold. I blinked against it, the dull ache of last night still lingering somewhere deep inside.

Today, I had a plan.

I sat up, combed a hand through my tangled hair, and looked at the papers on the nightstand. The divorce papers stared back at me. For a moment, my fingers hesitated above them.

“You deserve better,” I whispered to myself.

The pen felt heavy as I signed, the sound of the paper scratching faintly beneath it.

When it was done, I set it aside and headed for the bathroom. The water was quick and cold against my skin, clearing the fog in my head.

Back in the room, I opened the wardrobe and pulled out the black gown. It wasn’t modest, and that was the point. The neckline dipped low enough to tease, and the fabric clung to my skin as though it remembered me. It stopped just above my knees, the slit at the side revealing a generous stretch of thigh when I moved.

If William saw me, maybe he’d remember what he lost. Maybe he’d want me back, even if I didn’t want him. Maybe I just wanted to see if I could still make someone want me.

I told myself it didn’t matter. I told myself I looked strong.

When I walked downstairs, the smell of breakfast filled the house — toast, butter, something warm and sweet. My mother sat at the table, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea.

Her eyes brightened when she saw me. “You look beautiful,” she said, her voice light, almost teasing.

I smiled, trying not to overthink it. “Thank you.”

But my gaze wandered to the empty chair at the head of the table.

“Where’s Dante?” I asked.

“In his study,” she replied, as though it were obvious. “Busy, as always.”

Of course. Always work. Always something that kept him locked away from the rest of us.

I took a seat beside her, the chair creaking softly.

Between bites, I said, “I’m going to William’s place today. I want to get the rest of my things.”

Her cup paused midair. “That man should be arrested for what he did. Don't you think we should call the cops on him? Nobody dumps my daughter and goes scout free. ”

I chuckled, a small sound meant to ease her frown. “I’m not going there for him. Just my things.”

She didn’t look convinced. “You should at least tell Dante. Get his consent before you go.”

I rolled my eyes a little. “He doesn’t need to know everything I do.”

Her tone softened. “Catherina, he worries about you. And I think he’d want to know.”

She meant well, but her words pressed down on me. “I’ll think about it,” I said, which was easier than saying no.

After breakfast, she stood, brushing crumbs off her hands. “You should tell him now. He’s in his study. Go on, before you leave.”

I froze. “Mum,no. You know I don’t like that place.”

Her brows lifted. “It’s just a room.”

“Exactly,” I muttered. “A room that feels like a dungeon.”

I could already picture it: the dim lighting, the dark shelves lined with books and things that didn’t belong in this century. The room always smelled faintly of old paper and leather, like something ancient was sleeping inside.

Still, my mother’s insistence left me no choice. I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked toward the corridor that led to his study.

The closer I got, the heavier the air felt.

When I reached the door, I stopped. My hand hovered for a second before I finally knocked. The sound was soft, uncertain.

A few heartbeats later, his voice came from within,low, calm, and unmistakable.

“Come in.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling on the doorknob.

I wasn’t sure I could. Not after last night.

I took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. The sound of it creaking made my pulse quicken. The air inside was colder, heavier, almost still.

His study was just as I remembered. The scent of cedar and old paper lingered everywhere, mixing with the faint bitterness of coffee gone cold. Books filled every corner, stacked neatly on dark shelves that climbed to the ceiling. Old maps hung on the walls, their edges curled like they had stories he never cared to tell.

It looked less like a study and more like a place where secrets slept.

The desk stood at the center, wide and spotless, covered in papers arranged too perfectly to touch. A single ray of sunlight broke through the curtains, cutting across the floor and stopping just short of his chair.

And there he was.

Dante.

He sat behind the desk, head bent slightly, eyes moving across a page as if the world outside it didn’t exist. His shirt was white, a little unbuttoned at the top, enough to reveal the lines of his chest and the faint outline of his abs. The fabric stretched slightly when he turned a page.

I froze.

My voice caught in my throat. For a second, I just stood there, staring at the way his jaw tightened when he concentrated, the light brushing against his cheekbones. I told myself to look away, but I couldn’t.

He didn’t even glance up.

“What are
you doing here?” His voice was low, calm, and sharp enough to make me flinch. “Speak fast before you leave.”