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“No,” I agree. “It’s a promise.”
We stare at each other. Silence, thick and heavy.
I expect her to rage. Threaten. Maybe beg since she’s become so damn perfect at it.
But all she does is nod, as if she’s just confirmed something.
She’s made a decision.
Fuck.
Dahlia
I lie on my stomach,cheek pressed to Dante’s chest, the air still thick with the ache of our last scene. My thighs burn in that delicious way only he can orchestrate. Every muscle is loose and my pulse a lazy thrum. His fingers move through my hair, patient and repetitive, as if we have all the time in the world.
We don’t.
The days are bleeding together too fast. My internal clock—so reliable in the outside world, when I was nothing but shadow and vengeance—is spinning. And somehow, it’s already day fifteen.
Halfway mark.
I should be panicking. Planning my next hack. Scouting my escape.   But I just let him touch me.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs.
I glance up. His eyes study me the way they always do after a scene. Like he’s trying to memorize the wreckage he’s caused.
“Just tired,” I lie.
He doesn't press. He kisses my forehead instead. Soft. Intimate.
And dangerous.
Because it feels real. Too real.
I feign sleep, wait until his breathing evens out, until his hand falls from my hair and his body slackens. Then I carefully, quietly, slip from the bed. My legs wobble, but I brace against the wall and breathe through it.
I don’t look back at him.
If I do, I might not leave the room.
I return to the study. And I begin.
Again.
Two DaysLater
I’min his study again, barefoot and wearing one of his shirts, when he storms in like a thunderclap—suit jacket half-off, tie loose around his neck, and fury burning behind his eyes.
I told myself all through my little escapade that I could withstand the fallout. But now he’s striding toward me, fury and intent and… a little panic? I can’t quite catch my breath. Can’t contain the torrent rushing in to fill the gaping spaces being out of his orbit created.
“You went home,” Dante snaps, slamming the door shut behind him. “You slipped through my system, accessed your apartment, and made a call. Who to?”
I blink, fingers still resting on the keyboard. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to go to my own damn home.”
“You knew the rules.”
“I agreed to thirty days in your bed,” I say, rising slowly, my voice calm even as my pulse drums. “I didn’t agree to abandon my life. I didn’t agree to be erased.”