Chapter 56: Sleep together
Dora had barely taken a step up the stairs—intending to climb instead of using the elevator—when she heard Dante’s voice behind her. His tone was calm, factual, and carried that steady authority she was slowly learning to recognize.
"Today is our wedding day."
The sound of his footsteps drew closer, steady, deliberate, until she could feel his presence right beside her. Slowly, she turned to look at him. His face was composed, his dark eyes holding that familiar calm detachment that somehow made her even more nervous.
Then, without the slightest hesitation, he added, "We should sleep together."
The words hit her like a physical blow. Dora’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. For a long moment, she could only stare at him, her mind struggling to catch up with what she had just heard.
Surely, she had misheard.
But the expression on his face told her otherwise—steady, serious, unreadable. The realization that he might have kept her from staying at the hospital for this exact reason made her chest tighten.
"You... you want us to sleep together?" she asked, her voice unsteady. She needed to be certain this wasn’t a misunderstanding.
Dante simply nodded once, unflinching. "Would you prefer your room or mine?"
His tone was so matter-of-fact, so unbothered, that it almost sounded like he was asking what she’d like for dinner. Dora felt her throat constrict as she looked at him, searching for a trace of emotion—anything. But his eyes remained blank, his face devoid of warmth.
It reminded her—painfully—that Dante didn’t care for her. Whatever this was, whatever he was, there was no affection behind his words. This was duty. Obligation. A transaction, just like everything else.
"Mine," she answered quietly, her voice firm but faint. It didn’t matter which room; she doubted she could sleep in either.
Truthfully, all she wanted was to be alone—to process everything that had happened, to breathe without feeling watched. But she knew arguing would be useless.
Neither of them spoke again as they climbed the rest of the stairs. The mansion was silent, the servants discreetly vanishing from sight, pretending not to notice the tension in the air. The only sounds were the soft echo of their footsteps and the quiet thud of Dora’s heartbeat in her ears.
When they reached her room, Dora entered first, the soft rustle of her gown breaking the silence. Dante followed close behind, closing the door with a quiet, final click.
She walked toward the bed and sat down at its edge, facing him. Her fingers brushed over the fabric of her dress, nerves buzzing beneath her skin. She raised her hands slightly, intending to start undoing the gown—just to get the entire ordeal over with—when his voice stopped her.
’If its sex you want then you can have it!’
"Do you want to take a shower?"
The question caught her off guard. Dora hesitated, blinking at him. Then, after a brief pause, she nodded silently and walked into the bathroom.
The sound of running water filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of her thoughts. When she stepped out, a towel wrapped around her body, she froze.
Dante was standing by the dresser—bare-chested, wearing only a pair of black shorts. His expression was unchanged, calm, detached, as he walked past her toward the bathroom.
For a moment, Dora’s lashes fluttered as she tried to process the surrealness of it all. The situation felt too intimate, too strange.
She sat on the edge of the bed again, towel still clutched tightly around her, staring at the door he’d just disappeared through.
When he came out, his hair slightly damp, she was still sitting there. Dante stopped, looking at her with a faint frown. "You’re not going to sleep? You must be tired."
The softness in his tone—barely there, but real enough—made her heart skip.
"I..." Dora hesitated, flustered by how normal his words sounded, by the way he seemed to genuinely care if she rested.
It was hard—so hard—to see him as cruel when he did things like this.
She nodded faintly, getting up and moving toward the closet. Inside, she changed into a thin nightgown, trying to steady her breathing. When she returned, Dante had already lowered the lights, the room dim and still.
Dora slipped under the sheets quietly, turning her face toward the window. She could feel him climb into bed beside her, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight.
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t even move close enough for their bodies to brush—but she could feel him there. The warmth radiating from his side of the bed, the faint rhythm of his breathing.
Her own breaths came unevenly, shallow and quick, as she tried to calm the sudden rush of nerves. The silence was thick, pressing against her ears, filled with the faint hum of her thoughts.
She felt him move slightly, heard the faint rustle of fabric, then the click of the bedside lamp as he dimmed the room even further.
’He really meant just sleep,’ she realized.
It should have been a relief—but somehow, it wasn’t.
’Why? What is this even supposed to mean?’
Her mind refused to rest. She turned her head slightly, staring into the darkness.
’Does he... like me?’
The thought came uninvited, and she immediately pushed it away, shaking her head slightly under the blanket. Her heart beat faster anyway. Dante wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t meant to. But the way he had spoken, the small things he did—it all made her question what she thought she knew.
The uncertainty gnawed at her until she finally heard it: the steady, deepening rhythm of his breathing. He was asleep.
Dora let out a slow, quiet sigh and forced herself to close her eyes. The day had drained her completely, and though her mind still whirled with confusion, exhaustion finally dragged her under.
When she woke the next morning, sunlight streamed faintly through the curtains. The first thing she noticed was the emptiness beside her. Dante was gone. Relief washed through her chest like a quiet wave. His absence made it easier to breathe, easier to think.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up, brushing her hair away from her face. For a few moments, she simply sat there, letting the silence of the morning settle over her.
But soon, her thoughts shifted back to reality. She needed to go to the hospital—to see her stepmother. Part of her wished the woman was still asleep, so she wouldn’t have to face whatever questions or accusations might come.
Dora dressed quickly, pulling on a short black gown. It was simple, understated, matching her mood perfectly. When she finally made her way to the dining room, she wasn’t surprised to see Dante already there.
He sat at the long table, as composed as ever, a stack of papers laid neatly in front of him. Dora moved closer, ready to greet him—only to pause when her eyes fell on the documents.
They were placed exactly where she usually sat.
She pulled out the chair and sat down carefully, her gaze flicking between him and the papers.
"In short," Dante began, his tone businesslike, "these documents ensure that you get paid for your part in the movie—and more, depending on how well the film performs."
Dora’s eyes moved over the pages, scanning the text quickly—until she saw the base amount. Her breath caught. It was far more than she had expected.
"I’m a fair man," Dante continued smoothly. "By the time our contract is over, I can assure you that money will never be a concern for you again."
His voice carried a quiet confidence, firm and assured.
For the first time since last night, Dora felt something inside her ease. Maybe it wasn’t affection. Maybe it wasn’t care. But in his own strange, unyielding way, Dante was making sure she would be fine.
And that was more comfort than she wanted to admit.
