Page 83

“Put me down!” she shouted, struggling in his hold.
He didn’t stop.
He carried her straight into Max Mall, cutting through the polished marble entrance like he owned the place. Past the luxury boutiques and velvet-roped lounges, he headed straight for the private elevators. Up they went, all the way to the top floor, and through the towering glass doors of Skyline Dining.
Skyline Dining, perched on the top floor of Max Mall, was a very luxurious restaurant. Max Mall itself was a playground for the world’s richest—a glittering, exclusive hub where wealth oozed from every corner. And the restaurant? It was reserved for those who could afford more than just a meal; it was a status symbol. The kind of place where reservations were coveted, and entry was a privilege few could claim.
The restaurant, usually impossible to get into without months of planning and an elite name, was completely empty.
He had booked the entire space.
That only made her panic grow.
"Let me go!" she gritted, but he didn't stop. He carried her inside, walking straight to a seat.
With no one around, there was no way to escape, no one to distract him. Nothing to stop whatever he planned next.
He settled her into the chair with a strange, fierce tenderness that made her heart skip. Before she could even catch her breath, his hand shot up, cupping her jaw with iron strength, tilting her face toward him.
His lips crashed onto hers. His tongue flicked out, tracing her lower lip again and again, demanding entrance, and when she finally parted for him, he slipped inside, swirling and tasting, pulling a gasp from deep within her chest.
His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he crushed her closer, his breath hot and ragged against her cheek.
He only let her go when he’d had enough.
Anya finally gasped for air, panting as she pushed him away completely.
“Animal,” she snapped, wiping her lips furiously as he pulled back and casually walked to sit opposite her.
Dante didn’t even blink. He gave her a cold, unreadable look, loosened his tie, exposing the base of his throat slightly, then sank into the chair like nothing had happened.
Anya’s gaze darted around the restaurant. It was empty. But something about it tugged at her memory. She’d definitely been here before.
Then it hit her.
This was the restaurant she had come to with Luca just a few days ago—the same night her picture had been taken with him and sent to every damn news channel, reigniting scandal, headlines, and twisted lies about her relationship with Luca.
She stiffened but said nothing. Pretending like it didn’t bother her.
But what did catch her attention was their table. It had been decorated differently—scented candles, a few flowers in an elegant vase, some glittery little details that gave the table a more romantic look. Not overwhelming, but intentional.
She turned her eyes to Dante. "Did you arrange all this?"
Dante didn’t even glance up. “What?”
“The flowers. The decorations. Why does this table look like it’s set up for a proposal?” she asked dryly. “It wasn’t like this when I came here last time. There was none of this.”
He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re lying,” she muttered.
Dante didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his head to the side, looking out the window before his gaze snapped back to hers.A small frown appeared on his face as he asked, voice low but serious, “Anya, I need you to answer me properly. Truthfully.”
She tensed.
“Do you really have nothing going on with Luca?”
Anya took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before exhaling sharply, then answered in a deadly calm voice, repeating herself for what felt like the hundredth time. “He and I don’t have what you’re imagining. He’s a friend. Nothing more. I have never hidden anything from you.”