Dante POV
I drove with a recklessness that should have killed me.
My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned under the pressure. The city lights blurred into streaks of neon madness outside the glass.
*It wasn't Sofia.*
The words echoed in my head. A broken record skipping on the same damning truth.
If Elena saved me... if she dragged me out of that fire... why did she let Sofia take the credit? Why did she let me believe she was a coward who abandoned me to burn?
And the scars.
God, the scars.
I slammed the brakes in front of the penthouse building, tires screeching against the asphalt. I left the car running in the loading zone. I didn't care if they towed it. I didn't care about anything.
I stormed into the elevator, jamming the button for the top floor. My mind was racing, forcing pieces of a jagged puzzle together—connections I had refused to see for five years.
The fire. The ring in the lake. The way she took my abuse without screaming, with that haunting, silent dignity.
I burst into the penthouse. It was empty, the silence deafening. Sofia was still at the reunion, probably spinning a sob story to her friends about my sudden exit.
Good. I needed the silence.
I went straight to my study. I unlocked the safe with trembling fingers.
Inside, tucked between stacks of cash and emergency passports, was another envelope.
Elena's letter.
I had stolen it from the basket before Sofia could see it. I hadn't planned to read it. I had told myself I wanted to burn it.
But I hadn't. Some part of me—the part that still bled for her—couldn't let it go.
I sat heavily in the leather chair. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely hold the paper. I ripped the envelope open.
Her handwriting was elegant, looped and precise.
*To Future Elena,*
*I hope you are happy. I hope you are safe. I hope you are with Dante.*
*I know his world is dark. I know his father is cruel. But when he looks at me, I see the light. I see the boy who brings me wildflowers hidden in his jacket. I see the man who will protect me.*
*Don't let the darkness win, Elena. Fight for him. Even if it hurts. Even if it costs you everything. He is worth it.*
*Love him until the end.*
I dropped the letter.
It fluttered to the desk, landing next to the crumpled ball of my own venomous note.
*Fight for him. Even if it hurts.*
She fought. She walked into a fire for me. She took the blame for a crime she didn't commit?
No. That was impossible. My mother... I saw the body. I heard Elena confess.
But why would a woman who wrote this letter kill the mother of the man she loved?
It didn't fit. The narrative I had built my hatred on was cracking, splintering under the weight of the truth. The foundation was rotting away.
I thought about the scars on her back. The angry, red welts I had mocked with such cruelty.
*Prison fight,* she had said.
*She was on fire,* Luca had said.
The pieces clicked into place with a sickening finality.
I put my head in my hands. A sound tore from my throat, a guttural, animal noise of pure, agonizing pain.
What have I done?
