Chapter 23: Monster's life

The room I'd been given was far too beautiful for someone like me, too clean, too quiet, too untouched by the blood and chaos I had just crawled out of; the walls were smooth cream with gold accents that glimmered faintly beneath the soft yellow light, the bed looked like something out of a catalog—simple, luxurious, with crisp sheets I hadn't earned, and a cabinet that stared back at me like a hollow reminder that I had nothing, not even a toothbrush, not even a change of clothes.

My eyes fell on the bed again.

There it was.

A folded black t-shirt and a pair of loose pants—clearly his, unmistakably Dante's, the scent of something dark and warm clinging to the fabric like memory—and just the sight of them made my breath hitch and my chest ache with something raw and indescribable.

I bit my lower lip as I closed the door behind me, locking the world out, locking myself in.

I needed to change.

The dress was too heavy.The heels had already left blisters on my feet.

The lace was suffocating me with the ghost of a ceremony that never should've happened.

I slipped the heels off first, sighing in relief as I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sore arch of my foot, my toes red and raw from standing too long in a life that was never meant for me.

Mama and Baba were probably worried sick by now.

Xingqi was definitely crying, her voice shrill and frightened, and Gege, my dog, would be barking at the police officers like he always did when strangers came to the house, believing he could protect me, not knowing he already failed.

My eyes dropped to my hand—To the ring.

The wedding ring.

Thin, gold, delicate.Kai had placed it there with shaking fingers and a hopeful smile.

I stared at it for a long moment, my heart aching—not for him, but for the fact that I couldn't give him the love he deserved, that he had waited and waited for a girl whose heart had long belonged to someone else.

I slipped it off gently and placed it on the nightstand, like an apology, like a goodbye.

I must do it.I must marry Dante.

I could feel it in my bones.I had to fix him.No matter what it took, even if it meant stitching myself together with the shattered pieces of his soul.

Because he was still my first love.And first loves don't die—they just become scars we wear proudly.

I stood up and reached behind me to unzip the dress, but the zipper wouldn't budge.I twisted. Pulled. Tried again.Nothing.

The tears burned behind my eyes in frustration, the fabric suddenly suffocating me, like I was trapped in it, like it refused to let me move forward—

And then, a knock.

I froze.My heart leapt.

The door creaked open slowly, and it wasn't Dante—it was a woman, somewhere in her mid-thirties, elegant but soft, with a kind smile and a tray in her hand.

"Good evening, Miss Danna," she said, her voice calm, "I'm Lana."

I gave her a polite little bow, something automatic and small.

"Mr. Dante sent me," she added, holding up the bottle. "He said to use this."

I stepped forward quickly, relieved. "Thank you."

She smiled gently. "My pleasure."

There was something comforting in her presence. Calm. Like the eye of a storm.

"Do you need anything else, Miss?" she asked, her voice laced with the kind of grace that didn't feel fake.

I hesitated.

"Can… can you unzip my dress?" I asked softly, embarrassed, "I can't reach there."

She nodded without hesitation, stepping in and gently shutting the door behind her.Her fingers were light and practiced, and the moment the zipper slid down my spine, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Thank you so much…" I whispered, turning slightly.

"No need," she said with a small smile. "If you need me again, just call."

She placed the antiseptic on the nightstand and slipped out as quietly as she had come, her presence lingering like peace in the air.

I changed slowly.

The t-shirt was far too big, and the pants bunched at my ankles, but it was warm and safe and smelled like him, like the boy who had once stolen my heart and the man who now terrified and pulled me in all at once.

I sat down again, unscrewed the antiseptic, and gently dabbed it on the raw blister forming at the back of my heel.

It stung—but not as much as everything else.

Dante:

It was already morning when I finally opened my eyes, my head pounding like a war drum and my body aching from every goddamn corner like I'd been dragged through fire and dropped in ice; the room was a blur, the sunlight too bright, stabbing straight through the windows like knives meant to remind me I had survived a night I didn't deserve to.

I pushed myself up with a groan, every muscle protesting, especially the deep gnawing pain in my abdomen where the stab wound pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own, and my tongue felt like sandpaper from the amount of whiskey I must've drowned myself in last night, trying to forget the look in her eyes when I gave her the ultimatum—marry me or leave me.

I forced myself into the bathroom, leaning heavily against the wall, and turned the cold water on full blast, stepping under it like maybe it could freeze the thoughts clawing at my mind, maybe it would numb me, maybe it would make me forget the way her voice trembled when she said she didn't want to go back.

But nothing could stop the pain.Not the water.Not the cold.Not even me.

My hand pressed against the wall as the water poured over me, my breath shaky, and when I glanced down, red spiraled down my side again, fresh blood trickling in delicate threads along my hip and pooling near the drain like melted guilt.

"Ah, Fanculo," I groaned, gripping the edge of the shower wall, my fingers going white, my teeth gritting against the wave of agony that nearly dropped me to my knees.

I turned the water off with a sharp flick and stumbled out, grabbing a towel but barely managing to dry myself off as the wound throbbed, slow and deep. I somehow yanked my pants on, every motion like pulling nails through my skin, and clenched my jaw to stop myself from screaming out like some broken animal.

I staggered toward the edge of the bed and grabbed the headboard, my breath ragged, head heavy, and even though I tried to pull myself together, I knew I looked like hell—shirtless, pale, bleeding, hunched over like a dying dog, not a man.

Then I heard it.

A soft knock.Barely there.But I didn't respond.

I couldn't.Not like this.

And before I could even think of covering myself, the door creaked open slowly.

And there she was.

Danna.

She stood at the doorway in a soft white t-shirt and long pants—my clothes, her hair loose now, her feet bare, and her eyes wide with worry the second they landed on me, like seeing me like this tore through something she wasn't prepared for.

"Dante…" she said gently, her voice hesitant, fragile, like she was scared she'd break me if she spoke too loud.

I glanced up at her, feeling like a sinner caught bleeding beneath stained glass.

Her eyes dropped to my side—To the blood.To the soaked waistband of my pants.

"You… you're bleeding," she gasped, her voice rising.

"It's nothing," I muttered, jaw locked tight, trying to wave her off like it didn't feel like my entire gut was on fire.

But she didn't listen.She never listened when it came to me.

She crossed the room without hesitation and gently touched my arm, and her fingers were so soft, so goddamn gentle, it made me flinch—not from pain, but from everything I didn't deserve.

"Let's see a doctor," she said, her voice trembling now, her concern cutting deeper than any blade.

I tried to push her away, my hand weakly pressing against her wrist like I still had the strength to pretend I didn't need her—but the truth was gnawing at my bones, dragging me down inch by inch until my pride gave in and I grabbed her arm like it was the last rope keeping me from slipping into the dark.

"No doctor…" I hissed, the words barely forming as pain pulsed deep in my gut."It's too dangerous… I have too many foes… just get—get Jake… he'll do the wrap."

She opened her mouth to argue, already halfway to defying me again, but I cut in, voice trembling, low."You don't speak Italian…"

I didn't know why I said it.

Maybe I just needed to remind her how far away from this world she really was.

My fingers tightened on her forearm—not to hurt, but to hold on, because if she left the room right then, I wasn't sure I'd still be breathing when she came back.

"I'll get Jake, then," she whispered.

I nodded, eyes burning, breath sharp and ragged in my throat as she gently helped lower me onto the bed, her hands barely brushing my skin like I was something fragile, and the moment she turned and rushed out, I clutched my abdomen and bit down a growl that clawed up my throat.

Blood was still leaking slowly through the gauze.I was going to pass out if this didn't stop.

Moments later, Jake came in—his face tired, shirt wrinkled, hair a mess, first aid kit in one hand, a cold expression in the other.

"Man, are you okay?"

I shot him a glare that said don't ask that, but Danna bit her lip at the sight of me, her eyes full of quiet panic, and I looked away—because seeing her look at me like that made everything hurt more.

Jake sat next to me on the edge of the bed and started pulling out whatever he thought would help—alcohol, fresh gauze, those antiseptic pads I hated more than anything.

He dabbed the cotton against my abdomen and I flinched hard, groaning low in my chest as the pain stabbed straight through.

"It's deep," Jake muttered. "Danna, hold him."

"No need," I snapped, but my voice broke halfway, and before I could protest again, she was already sitting beside me, her hand slipping into mine, gentle but firm.

Her fingers curled around mine like they belonged there, and I didn't pull away.I pressed my lips together, refusing to show how much it soothed me.

"You don't—" I started to say, but then the fire flared through my side and I groaned, cutting myself off.

"Hold him tighter, Danna," Jake said, and she did—her arms wrapped around mine like she was shielding me from something I couldn't name.

"You can do it, Dante," she whispered.

I clenched my jaw, grinding my teeth to keep the sounds in, even as Jake made it worse with every goddamn swipe.

"You're doing it the wrong way," Danna murmured suddenly.

Jake looked up, confused. "What?"

"Let… let me do it," she said, hesitant but sure.

Jake blinked, then shrugged and handed her the supplies.She moved closer, slipping into the space between us like she had always been meant to be there, like this moment had been written years ago.

She cleaned the wound slowly, her touch featherlight, careful not to hurt me—but somehow it didn't hurt as much anymore, not with her hands on me, not with her this close.

But I wasn't going to say that.I couldn't.

Jake stood. "I'll get more bandages."

He left, closing the door behind him.

And we were alone.

Just the sound of her soft breath, her fingers working gently over my skin, her presence louder than anything.

"Tell me if it hurts," she said quietly.

I didn't say a word.Not because it didn't—but because it didn't matter.

Then she said it—"About last night…"

My jaw clenched instantly.

She kept going.

"I thought about it," she said. I met her eyes—those amber eyes I had memorized a lifetime ago.

"I'll marry you."

My heart—It stopped.

The air shifted, like the world outside had frozen just to hear her say it.

"You…" I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat.

She had promised she'd never leave me, and maybe this was her keeping that promise, even if it was against everything she ever wanted.

"…Fine," I said after a pause that nearly shattered me. "But don't expect affection from me. Or think you can fix me."

I watched her.Waited for her to flinch.To cry.To beg.

But she just looked down.Exactly what I thought.

"You can leave," I said, my voice lower now, almost too soft, "I'm not forc—"

"That's okay," she interrupted, her voice calm, quiet, but solid like a foundation.

She pressed the bandage down gently, finishing the wrap, sealing my wound like it was part of her.