C118 What's His

Annabelle sat at the small desk in her room, staring at the sleek new laptop glowing faintly in the dim light.

The room was quiet save for the faint hum of the machine, its pristine black surface reflecting her frown.

Anxiety and frustration churned in her chest like a storm.

Her emotions were as tangled as the strands of dark hair she had been nervously twisting around her fingers for the last hour.

The laptop mocked her with its expensive shine.

A reminder of the whirlwind day that had left her mind spinning.

Earlier, Angelo had brought it to her.

Setting it down, he told her that Dante said she could use it for research on the online school she might want to attend.

Annabelle had barely managed a polite smile as she thanked him.

Then she got overwhelmed by the weight of his words as he casually mentioned that Cathy’s school arrangements had been finalised.

She still couldn’t believe it.

Cathy could start the very next day if she wished.

No paperwork.

No awkward meetings.

No endless forms or probing questions about their circumstances.

Annabelle had dreaded navigating the maze of school admissions, especially given their complicated past.

But Dante had cut through it all effortlessly.

He had done in a day what could have taken her weeks.

That was if she had even managed it at all.

Cathy, for her part, had been ecstatic.

All evening, her little sister had chattered nonstop about her new school.

Her excitement bubbled over like champagne.

She’d run to every person who would listen, her joy infectious, even as Annabelle’s heart felt heavy with a different kind of weight.

Then came the card.

Angelo had placed it in her hand with a gruff nod.

The lightweight card suddenly felt heavy in Annabelle’s hand with its golden shimmer catching the light.

“Your birthday is the PIN,” he’d said casually, as if he hadn’t just handed her an unlimited gold card.

Annabelle hadn’t known what to say.

Her first instinct had been to refuse, but Angelo’s firm expression left no room for argument. “It’s from him,” he’d clarified. “He takes care of what’s his.”

What’s his?

The words echoed in her mind as she sat there, dressed in the soft lavender silk robe she’d chosen for the night.

Was that what she was?

His possession?

Another line item in his ledger of things to control and dominate?

She shook her head, refusing to go down that road again.

Instead, she focused on Cathy’s happiness, on the fact that her little sister would finally have a chance at normalcy.

She focused on how she was going to use her brand-new card to do shopping for Cathy in preparation for her new school.

But even that couldn’t quiet the uneasy stir in her chest.

The truth was, Dante unsettled her in ways no one else ever had.

The day’s events had only deepened her turmoil.

He’d given her so much, yet she had no idea how to repay him.

Or even if she should.

She didn’t want to bring up any talk about repayment again as that always seemed to set him off.

Every time she thought of his declaration that she was his woman, her stomach flipped.

It wasn’t just the words; it was the way he said them.

Like it was a fact etched in stone.

Her gaze drifted to the note she had written earlier, sitting neatly folded on the desk beside the laptop.

Instead of researching about her own school, she’d spent hours agonising over how to apologise.

How to find a way back to him after the cold distance she had placed between them?

She’d even searched online for advice, though most of the suggestions there had not been helpful.

Cook his favourite meal.

Wear his favourite colour.

Be seductive.

Some of it had been doable, but nothing felt quite right.

In the end, she’d decided to be straightforward.

The note was simple.

A thank-you for the gifts and a question: “Is your offer to move into your room still open?”

Her heart raced at the memory of sneaking into his room to leave it on the bed.

She’d stood there for a moment staring at the imposing king-sized bed,

The scent of him lingered seductively in the air.

The room was tidy, and minimalist in its design, much like Dante himself.

Her fingers had trembled as she placed the note on the dark grey duvet, where she was certain he would see it.

Back in her room, she’d left the connecting door unlocked as a silent invitation.

She had even picked out one of the sexiest lingerie sets in her wardrobe.

It was a delicate black lace ensemble that left little to the imagination.

The sheer fabric clung to her curves with the intricate patterns accentuating her silhouette.

She’d never felt more exposed in her life, and the vulnerability only heightened her anticipation.

The sound of his door opening and closing made her pulse leap.

She sat up straighter with her breath catching as she listened for his footsteps.

“Any second now,” she thought to herself.

She was sure he would walk through that door, his dark eyes blazing with an intensity that both terrified and thrilled her.

But the seconds stretched into minutes, and the minutes into an eternity.

He never came.

Annabelle’s heart sank as the silence grew heavier.

The faint hope she had clung to began to wither, replaced by a hollow ache. Had he seen the note?

Was he ignoring it?

Or worse, was he rejecting her?

She stood, pacing the room in her bare feet, the coolness of the floor grounding her as she tried to make sense of her emotions.

Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye, the delicate lace of her lingerie a stark contrast to the turmoil etched on her face.

Her dark hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“What did you expect?” she whispered to herself, her voice bitter. “This isn’t a fairy tale.”

Annabelle sank onto the edge of her bed.

Her hands clutched the silk robe she had draped over her lap.

She had tried to take a step toward him to bridge the chasm that had grown between them.

But now, it felt like she had only widened the gap.

Maybe she should have done according to the thought that came to her mind when she was in his room?

For a moment, the crazy thought that he should just wait for him in his bed with a seductive pose had crossed her mind.

But then she had dismissed it immediately with the thought that the note was better.

It would give him a chance to take a step towards her or away.

“Not doing that was for the best,” she thought to herself as her overripe imagination conjured up images of Dante coming up to meet her in his bed, then pulling her off it before pushing her out.

“I would have died," she muttered to herself with her hands over her face.

As the night wore on, her hope dwindled.

She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with questions she had no answers to.

Why hadn’t he come?

Was he still angry?

Still hurt?

Or was he simply indifferent?

Her chest tightened at the thought.

Indifference would be the worst of all.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted into a restless sleep.

But even in her dreams, his absence loomed like a shadow.

And she woke before dawn, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

Annabelle knew one thing for certain.

Whatever game they were playing, she was losing.

And she wasn’t sure if she could afford to keep playing at all.