"Untie me."
Bella's voice was calm, even.
Dante smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed, eyes dark with amusement.
"No."
Bella exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay composed.
"You're not afraid I'll try to kill you?"
Dante chuckled.
"You've had plenty of chances to kill me, Bella."
He took a slow, calculated step forward, his presence suffocating.
"But you never do."
Bella's stomach twisted.
Because he was right.
She had spent years convincing herself that she hated him.
That she had moved on.
That the bond between them had died.
But if that was true—
Why was she still here?
Why hadn't she run when she had the chance?
Dante reached for her, his fingers curling around her jaw, tilting her face up, forcing her to look at him.
"You don't want to kill me, Bella."
His voice was low, rough, unrelenting.
"You want me to break you again."
Bella's breath hitched.
Because she did.
God help her—
She did.