C47 Irresistible Pull

Dante stood still, his gaze locked on Annabelle’s tear-streaked face as the sobs wracked her body.

Her emerald eyes shimmered with pain she was clearly trying to conceal, yet the tremor in her lips betrayed her.

Despite the grief wracking her body, she still held her body rigidly like she was getting prepared to bolt from him any minute.

Dante had no intention of letting her go.

“I…can’t…do…this,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

“Of course, you can,” he said firmly, his grip on her arm tightening just enough to keep her from slipping away.

Her head lowered and her shoulders shook violently.

He could feel her still trying to resist.

Seeing as she was desperately trying to fight the flood of emotions spilling out of her made something in Dante's chest twist painfully.

“Stop,” he said gently, his voice low but steady. “Don’t fight it, Annabelle. Let it out.”

She shook her head vigorously when words failed her.

“Let go,” he urged again, this time his tone softer, more coaxing. “You don’t have to hide it. Not from me.”

She finally collapsed against his chest, her hands clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she broke down completely.

The sound of her sobs hit him harder than he’d anticipated.

It wasn’t the sharp, heart-wrenching cries of someone seeking attention.

It was raw, guttural, and painfully quiet.

She buried her face in his chest, muffling the sound, but her shoulders shook violently as she poured her grief into him.

“I don’t know,” she whispered brokenly between sobs. “She won’t talk yet…and I… I... I don’t know if she was... alive. If she was…they could have done anything to her. They took her spark. They….”

“Shh,” Dante murmured, resting his chin lightly against the crown of her head.

Her hair smelled faintly of lavender, a soft contrast to the heaviness of the moment. “She’s safe now. Cathy’s safe.”

Her tears soaked through his shirt, but he didn’t care.

All that mattered was the woman trembling in his arms.

This fierce and stubborn force of nature was now crumbling like fragile glass.

He tightened his hold as if his presence alone could shield her from the memories clawing at her.

Her small hands fisted his shirt, and her body pressed against him, soft and warm despite the anguish wracking her frame.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to focus on her pain, her vulnerability, rather than the heat that stirred in his blood at her closeness.

“I tried,” she mumbled against his chest, her voice muffled and broken. “I tried to be strong for her. I thought if I could hold it together, I wouldn’t fall apart... but I can’t.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Dante said, his voice rougher than he intended. “Not here. Not with me.”

Her sobs deepened at his words, and something inside him shifted.

He was no stranger to protectiveness, but this was different.

It wasn’t just about keeping her safe physically. He wanted to take every ounce of her pain, her guilt, her sorrow, and bear it himself.

It took several minutes for her sobs to subside. Her breathing eventually evened out, though the occasional hitch betrayed her lingering turmoil.

She pulled back slightly.

Enough to tilt her head up and look at him, her cheeks flushed and her lashes damp with tears.

“I…” she began, her voice raspy.

Her eyes flicked to his chest, where a dark stain marked the evidence of her tears. Her hand fluttered at it, then she dropped it before she touched him.

Dante was damn sorry about that.

“I’m so sorry. I ruined your shirt.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a faint, wry smile. “It’s just a shirt, Annabelle.”

She didn’t look convinced as she tried to step out of his arms while saying; “I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t…”

Dante ignored her movement as he answered.

“Stop,” he said, his hands moving to her shoulders to still her. “You don’t need to apologise for anything.”

Her gaze darted to his face, and for the first time, he saw something other than grief in her expression.

There was a softness there, a shy vulnerability that made her seem almost... fragile.

Yet beneath it, he sensed a flicker of something else.

Something that called to the raw, primal part of him he’d been trying to suppress.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For... letting me fall apart.”

His chest tightened.

He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear. “You don’t have to thank me for that. Ever.”

Her eyes met his, and he thought he saw a glimmer of acceptance there, a tentative surrender that sent a surge of heat coursing through him.

Her lips parted slightly, her breath mingling with his as the space between them grew impossibly small.

Time seemed to slow.

Dante’s eyes fell on her mouth, the soft pink hue drawing him in like a magnet.

His hand slipped from her cheek to the small of her back, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush against one another.

“Annabelle,” he murmured, her name a husky whisper on his lips.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, her eyes searched his, her pupils dilated as if caught in the same irresistible pull. He could feel her breath hitch against him, her hands trembling where they rested against his chest.

“You’re... so infuriating,” she whispered, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

A low chuckle escaped him, his lips curving into a smirk. “Likewise.”

For a moment, nothing else existed…just the two of them as the charged air between them thick with unspoken longing.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locked on hers as he began to close the distance between them.

“Dante?”

The sharp voice shattered the moment like glass, and Dante’s jaw clenched as he reluctantly turned his head.

Antonia stood a few feet away, her perfectly manicured hands resting on her hips and an innocent look plastered across her face.

Her gaze flicked between him and Annabelle, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Dante felt Annabelle stiffen in his arms, the vulnerability in her gaze replaced by guarded defensiveness.

She pulled back quickly, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

Dante’s eyes darkened as he turned his full attention to Antonia. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone cold and clipped.

Antonia’s smirk widened, her gaze lingering on Annabelle with a touch of disdain. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. Privately.”

Dante’s hand twitched at his side, but he nodded curtly. “Wait for me in the study.”

"I see you are much better now, Annabelle," Antonia said as she cast one last glance at Annabelle before sauntering off, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

Dante turned back to Annabelle, whose eyes were fixed on the ground.

The moment between them was gone, but the tension lingered like a ghost.

“Annabelle,” he began, his voice softer now, but she shook her head.

“Go,” she said quietly. “My crying episode is over now. I’ll be fine.”

But Dante wasn’t so sure.

What the fuck did Antonia want?!