The balcony was beautiful in the way only obscene wealth could manage.
From where I sat, the beach stretched out in the distance, pale sand kissed by a dark, endless sea. The waves were too far away to hear clearly, but close enough that I could feel them—like a heartbeat I wasn't meant to forget. The island air was warm, heavy with salt and something floral I couldn't name.
I was strapped to a chair.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Leather bands wrapped my wrists and ankles, firm enough that struggling would be useless. And yes, I had tried. Anyone who knew me even slightly would know that expecting me to sit still was laughably optimistic at best.
I wore a green dress—sparkling, expensive, and unapologetically dramatic. The fabric clung to me like it knew my body better than I did. Around my neck sat an emerald necklace, cool against my skin, the stones catching the red glow of the balcony lights. Someone—Dante—had clearly decided green was my color.
I hated that he was right.
The red lights woven along the balcony railings flickered softly, casting shadows that made the place feel less like a vacation home and more like a stage set for a confession. Or an execution. Hard to tell with him.
Then he appeared.
Dante walked onto the balcony like he owned the night itself. Calm. Controlled. Infuriatingly beautiful. His gaze landed on me instantly, dark eyes lingering in a way that made my breath hitch despite my better judgment.
Green, he'd said before. It matches your eyes.
I hated that I remembered that.
He smiled—the kind of smile that knew exactly what it was doing to people. To me. Then he took the chair opposite mine and sat, perfectly relaxed, as if I weren't restrained like an unruly guest.
"Enjoying the view?" he asked.
I glared. "Why did you tie me up?"
He tilted his head slightly, amused. "Because you wouldn't sit still."
"When are you going to tell me everything?" I demanded. "And while you're at it—who are you, really?"
His expression shifted. Not much. Just enough to tell me something important was coming.
"I will," he said calmly. "Tonight."
I inhaled sharply. "Before you start, I demand to be untied."
The word demand hung between us.
Something dark and unreadable flickered in his eyes. His jaw tightened—not in anger, but in something far more dangerous. I had the sudden, unsettling realization that commanding Dante was not something people usually survived.
And yet.
A slow smile curved his lips. "You have no idea," he murmured, "how tempting it is when you talk like that."
Heat curled low in my stomach, unwanted and inconvenient.
He stood. "I'll release you," he said. "But only if you promise not to escape. No walking away. No tantrums."
I didn't hesitate. "Deal."
He studied my face for a long moment, as if memorizing it, then reached down and loosened the straps. One by one, they fell away. The sudden freedom felt strange, like my body had forgotten what it meant to move without resistance.
I stayed seated. On purpose.
Dante returned to his chair, watching me closely. "Your name," he began, "is Aurielle."
I flinched. The name landed heavy in my chest.
"You and I," he continued, "were in a serious relationship. Before the accident. Before you lost your memory."
I shook my head, even as something inside me twisted painfully. "No. That's not—"
"—not what you remember," he finished quietly. "I know."
Earlier that day, I'd been sitting alone in the room when it happened.
Flashes. Disjointed. Blinding.
A small voice echoed in my mind—Mommy. Mommy. Mommy.
A child. Or maybe two. I couldn't see clearly. The images slipped through my fingers like smoke, leaving behind a crushing ache. I'd grabbed my head, breath ragged, until the vision vanished as abruptly as it came.
I looked at Dante now, my heart pounding. "Do I… did I have a child?"
He froze.
The wine glass in his hand stopped inches from his lips.
For a split second, something raw crossed his face—shock, annoyance. Then it was gone, replaced by that controlled calm he wore like armor.
He smiled. "No," he said smoothly. "We never had a child."
Relief and disappointment crashed into me at the same time.
"But," he added gently, "we were planning on one. Before the accident."
My breath caught.
"And we were planning on getting married."
The words settled between us, heavy and unresolved, as the red lights flickered and the sea continued breathing in the distance.
And Dante hadn't even begun to tell me everything yet.
Pain bloomed behind my eyes without warning.
I lifted a hand to my head as flashes slammed into me again—blurred images, voices overlapping, heat and fear tangled together. My vision swam.
"Ugh—" I hissed.
Dante looked worried. "Aurielle. Are you okay?"
I looked up at him, really looked at him, and something cold settled in my chest.
"No," I said slowly. "I'm not."
He stilled.
"Why do I feel like you're lying to me?" My voice shook despite my effort to keep it steady. "Why does everything you say feel… wrong? Fake?"
His jaw tightened.
"I don't think we were ever together," I continued, the words tumbling out faster now. "I have this feeling—this deep, sick feeling—that you're making this up."
Dante rolled his eyes, irritation flashing openly across his face. Gone was the charming calm.
"You can't remember because you have amnesia, Aurielle," he snapped. "You lost your memories. That's kind of the point. Duh."
The condescension hit harder than the headache.
I pushed back my chair and stood. "This is over. Dinner, this conversation—whatever this is. I'm done."
His eyes darkened. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Inside."
He stood too, slower, controlled—but I could feel the shift in the air. We had made a deal. I wasn't supposed to leave.
I took one step.
That was all I got.
His hand closed around my wrist, firm and unyielding. In one swift motion, he turned me and pressed me back against the table. Glass rattled. Plates scraped and crashed to the floor.
He caged me in, hands braced on either side of me, his face inches from mine.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he said quietly, dangerously. "Every time you defy me. Every time you try to walk away."
My heart pounded so hard I could barely breathe.
"You drive me insane."
"You make me lose control, Aurielle," he continued, voice low, dangerous. "And I swear—if you don't stop running from me…"
His gaze dragged over me slowly, deliberately.
"I will pin you right here and remind your body of everything your mind forgot."
A pause. Thick. Charged.
"So don't test me," he whispered. "Because I don't know how much longer I can hold back."
His other hand slid down my arm, fingers firm as he guided my palm lower—slow, deliberate—until my hand pressed against him.
Hard.
Unmistakably hard.
My breath stuttered.
"Do you feel that?" Dante murmured near my ear, his voice calm in a way that felt wrong. Too calm. "That's you."
My mind screamed that this wasn't right—that this wasn't how love was supposed to feel.
But my body… my body betrayed me.
And then—without thinking, without planning, without even understanding why—
I kissed him.
It was desperate.
My lips pressed against his like I was searching for something buried beneath skin and bone. Like if I kissed him hard enough, long enough, something would click. Memories. Feelings. Proof.
For half a second, Dante froze.
Then his hand tightened at my waist.
And suddenly I felt it—the way he kissed back. Possessive. Like he knew my mouth too well.
That's when fear hit.
I pulled away sharply, heart hammering.
No rush of memories.
No warmth.
Just a sharp, sick twist in my chest.
Wrong.
It felt wrong in a way I couldn't explain. Like I'd crossed a line that wasn't his. Like I'd just cheated on someone I couldn't even see clearly in my mind—but felt somewhere deep inside my bones.
"I—" my voice shook. "I don't know why I did that. I just… you said we were together and I thought maybe if I kissed you—maybe I'd remember something."
I shook my head, backing up slightly. "But I don't. I don't feel anything. This isn't—this isn't right."
Dante's expression shifted.
Not anger.
Something darker.
"Oh no," he said quietly, stepping into my space again. "You don't get to do that."
His fingers slid under my chin, lifting my face until I was forced to meet his eyes.
"You don't get to kiss me like that and pretend it meant nothing."
His thumb brushed my lower lip—slow, taunting.
"Look at what you've done, baby girl," he whispered. "You woke something up."