Ruin Me Softly

"You think walking away means freedom?" His voice was quiet, a velvet snare. "In this city, freedom is an illusion."

Elena's throat tightened, but she steadied herself. "And yet here you stand, playing king of illusions."

The faintest spark of amusement lit his eyes. "Bold. But you misunderstand." He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing her cheek. "I don't play king. I play predator."

Her pulse hammered. She wanted to laugh in his face, to spit out some sharp retort-but her body betrayed her. Every nerve screamed danger, yet beneath it, treacherously, was a pull. A heat she despised.

She stepped sideways, forcing space between them. "Predators eventually starve when prey stops running."

Dante followed with a single, measured step, reducing the gap again. "Ah, but you're not running, are you? You're standing. You're challenging. And that..." His eyes darkened, lingering on her face as though studying each flicker of resistance. "...that is what makes you dangerous. That is what makes you tempting."