Chapter 8: Valentina

My heart raced as I stormed up the stairs, my footsteps echoing through the quiet halls of the mansion. My face was hot, a mix of anger and something I couldn't quite name burning under my skin.

Dante.

Even thinking his name made my stomach twist. The smirk, the teasing tone, the way his eyes seemed to strip me bare with just a glance—it was infuriating.

And worse, it worked.

I didn't understand how a man like him could get under my skin so easily. One moment I wanted to claw that smug grin off his face, and the next…

I shook my head, slamming the door to my room behind me. The last thing I needed was to dwell on him. He was arrogant, reckless, and entirely too good-looking for his own good. The way his dark hair fell just so across his forehead, how his gray eyes pierced through every defense I tried to build, Especially when I see the very defined outline of his hard cock against his thigh—it sent an unwelcome heat coursing through my body.

"Stupid," I muttered under my breath, pacing the room. "He's just a man. A frustrating, infuriating man."

But he wasn't just anything.

He was my stepbrother, a tempting, forbidden fruit dangling just out of reach. And the more I tried to ignore him, the more he seemed to push into my thoughts, daring me to cross a line I couldn't come back from.

I caught my reflection in the mirror—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, my ash-blonde hair slightly disheveled from my hasty retreat. My pupils were dilated, my breathing still uneven. I looked... affected. And I hated it. I hated that he could do this to me with just a few words and that knowing smirk.

I pressed my hands to my cheeks, trying to will away the heat that had spread down my neck and across my chest. "This is ridiculous," I said aloud. "I don't want him. I don't even like him."

The sound of a low chuckle sent a shiver down my spine that settled low in my abdomen.

I spun around, my eyes widening as I found him leaning casually against the doorframe.

Dante.

He stood there with that infuriating confidence, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. The tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves traced patterns I found my eyes following, imagining how they might continue beneath his shirt, across his chest, down his—

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended, desperate to derail my own thoughts.

He didn't answer right away, his gray eyes raking over me with that same infuriating mix of amusement and intensity. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him without breaking eye contact. The soft click of the latch felt impossibly loud in the suddenly too-small room.

"You left so quickly," he said, his tone teasing. "I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

"I don't care," I snapped, crossing my arms. "Get out."

He ignored me, taking another step closer. I could feel the heat radiating from his body now, smell the intoxicating blend of cologne and something uniquely him. "You look flustered, kitten. Something on your mind?"

"Don't call me that," I hissed, my cheeks heating again. The nickname shouldn't affect me—it was condescending, patronizing—but the way it rolled off his tongue made something flutter in my stomach, a delicious tightening that spread lower.

He smirked, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Why not? It suits you."

"It doesn't," I said, backing up until my legs hit the edge of the bed. The soft mattress behind me was a stark reminder of how close he was, how intimate this space was becoming. My breathing quickened involuntarily.

Dante tilted his head, his expression shifting to something more serious. "You know, you're not very good at hiding how you feel."

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest so hard I was certain he could hear it. "What are you talking about?"

He took another step, his presence overwhelming in the small space. The faint scent of leather and something distinctly him filled my senses, making my head swim. "I can see it in your eyes. The way you react to me. You don't know if you want to kiss me or slap me."

My breath caught in my throat, his words cutting too close to the truth. I thought of all the reasons I shouldn't be feeling this way—our parents were married, we were supposed to be family, I had plans that didn't involve complicated entanglements. But none of those reasons seemed to matter when he was standing this close, when I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.

"You're insane," I managed, my voice trembling, betraying me.

"Maybe," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth, and I felt my lips part involuntarily. "But I'm not wrong."

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to shove him away—or pull him closer. The tension between us was suffocating, electric, and completely out of control. My skin felt too tight, too sensitive, every nerve ending hyper-aware of his proximity. This wasn't part of my plan. I had come to this house with a singular purpose: to reclaim what my uncle had stolen from my father. Dante Marino was a complication I hadn't anticipated.

"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, my voice softer now, almost pleading.

His smirk faded, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. "Because you're mine to torment, kitten."

Mine. The word echoed in my head, sending a pulse of heat through my core. There was a possessiveness in his tone that should have repulsed me but instead made my pulse quicken and my thighs press together. I was used to control—maintaining it, wielding it—but around him, it slipped through my fingers like sand.

I stared at him, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, desire, frustration—they all tangled together, leaving me breathless and unsteady. The calculated, resourceful woman I prided myself on being seemed to vanish whenever he was near, replaced by someone I barely recognized, someone who craved his touch despite knowing better.

And then, just as quickly as he'd appeared, he stepped back, his expression unreadable. The sudden absence of his heat felt like a physical loss.

"Sweet dreams, Valentina," he said, his voice low and smooth, the implication clear in his knowing smile.

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the chaos he'd stirred inside me.

I sank onto the bed, my heart racing and my body still humming with unresolved tension. My carefully constructed walls were crumbling, and I didn't know how to rebuild them. Every interaction with Dante seemed to pull me further into this dangerous attraction, this forbidden desire that threatened everything I had planned.

What the hell was I going to do about Dante?