The morning after was soft. The kind of soft that blankets your chest and threatens to lure you back into the cocoon of someone's arms. And in that moment, that someone was Dante. His fingers were loosely tangled in my hair, his chest rising and falling against my back, and his breath warm against the curve of my neck.
For the first time in a long while, I felt safe.
But safety was a funny thing. One ring—just one—could shatter the illusion. And that ring came. Loud, Sharp, Repetitive. Three rings from the doorbell.
I jolted, my eyes snapping open. Dante stirred behind me, groaning softly. "Ignore it," he mumbled, pulling me tighter against him, but something in me said I couldn't.
That ring obviously wasn't a delivery guy, we weren't expecting any packages. It had a purpose. It had tension. It had... presence.
I gently peeled away from Dante, sniffing slowly on his shoulders, before slipping on my robe and walking barefoot to the front door.
When I opened it, the breath in my throat stopped cold.
Marcus.
It was Marcus, at my doorstep. Looking like a bad memory and a ticking time bomb all at once. A surge of dread sprouted through my veins and I couldn't hide the expression on my face.
"Sienna," he said, as if my name still belonged to his mouth.
I stared at him, barely blinking. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to see you." His voice was calmer than I expected, but the undercurrent of desperation was clear. "Can I come in?"
"No." I stood firm, fingers tightening around the robe's knot. "You don't just get to show up here. Not after everything."
From behind me, I suddenly heard Dante's voice—low, wary, already awake. "Who the hell is that?". My heart skipped a beat.
I turned slightly to see him standing shirtless by the staircase, jeans lazily pulled on, hair still tousled from sleep. His expression darkened instantly when he saw Marcus.
Marcus blinked. "So... you're him."
"And you must be the idiot who let such a good woman slip off your hands without even thinking twice," Dante said coolly, stepping closer.
"Dante, wait," I said, holding up a hand between them, but neither of them moved an inch.
Marcus's voice rose, laced with bitterness. "You really moved on that fast? Or were you already screwing him while we were married?"
Dante was in front of him in two long strides, eyes wild. "Say something like that again, and I won't hold back."
"Enough!" I stepped fully between them, voice trembling. "I'm not doing this. Not with you two."
Marcus reached out suddenly, gently brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You look different."
"Different?"
"Happier." His voice cracked a little. "More you."
I flinched at the unexpected softness. "That's because I am."
His hand dropped to his side. "Is he good to you?"
"That's none of your business."
"But it is," he said, stepping forward, eyes wide with something unstable. "You were my wife. I should've been the one—"
"Stop," I said sharply, holding up a hand. "You don't get to say that. You had your chance and you threw it all away like it meant nothing- like I meant nothing."
"I shouldn't have fallen for the conniving plot Camilla played on me," he whispered. "And I regret it every damn day."
And then he did the one thing I wasn't prepared for, he cried.
Marcus. The man who once barely flinched when I left. The man who belittled my dreams, let me carry our marriage on my back while he made excuses—was now crying on my porch.
I felt the heat rise in my chest. It wasn't pity, it was rage. Because those tears didn't undo the nights I cried alone. They didn't fix the years I spent feeling invisible.
I looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm not coming back to you. Not now, not ever."
"Marcus turned to me. "Is this what you want now, Sienna? A man who marks his territory like a damn wolf?"
Dante's eyes darkened. "Say that again."
"Enough!" I shouted, stepping back into the doorway. "Marcus, leave. Please. This is my home, my life. You don't belong in it anymore."
His face broke a little. And this time, the tears were real. "I still love you."
That was the final crack.
"You loved the version of me that stayed quiet. That didn't ask for more. That broke in silence. But that woman doesn't exist anymore."
He stood there for another heartbeat. Then turned. And walked away.
When the door finally closed, I leaned against it, shaking.
Dante was quiet, too quiet.
"Say it," I whispered without looking at him.
"Say what?"
"That I shouldn't have opened the door. That I was too soft. That I—"
"I'm not angry about that, Sienna," he said, his voice low. "I'm angry because the thought of you still dealing with that man hurts me in ways I don't know how to explain. What could possibly give him the audacity to just show up like that? Out of the blues."
I turned to face him, heart racing. "I didn't ask for this drama. I didn't want today to go this way."
He nodded. "I know. But if he ever comes back—"
"I'll shut the door," I said firmly.
"No, I'll have him dealt with." Dante's gaze softened. He walked toward me and cupped my face. "I don't want to be another man who makes you cry."
"You're not," I whispered, tears brimming now. "You're the first one who makes me feel... seen."
He kissed me gently. No fire. Just warmth. Just truth.
We didn't speak much the rest of the day. But he stayed close. Close enough that even silence felt like safety.
And later that night, as I curled into him, I realized something I hadn't been ready to admit until now.
I wasn't just healing, I was falling. Not because he saved me, but because, in a world full of people who hurt me... Dante stayed. Not letting whatever the terms of our agreement were get in the way.