18. Chapter Eighteen Jade
Chapter Eighteen: Jade
I flipped open the freshly printed stack of papers on the mahogany desk, my fingers quivering slightly as I traced the margins for Ellie’s annotations. She had revised the document on her tablet and sent it back to me for me to peruse, but she had said nothing in her email about it.
Bless her.
It was as if she knew.
Scrawled between the lines of complex scientific jargon, her handwriting was a beacon of hidden distress. “Inconsistent results” read one note, “recheck data” begged another. It was all carefully crafted nonsense, a charade of research designed to signal my predicament to Ellie without alerting Dante to my silent screams for help.
“Everything alright with the paper?” Dante’s voice cut through the stillness of the morning, casual yet laced with an undercurrent of suspicion that made my skin crawl. His tall frame loomed in the doorway of his penthouse lab, dressed down in sweats that did nothing to diminish his intimidating aura.
He was so handsome. I had to pry my gaze away from him; from the curve of his muscle, the cut of his abs.
He was only wearing a white sleeveless shirt that clung to his body and I knew he was doing it to tease me. It wasn’t cold enough for that. I forced myself to look into his eyes again.
“Ellie’s just thorough,” I managed, keeping my tone even despite the knot forming in my stomach. “She’s my lab partner; it makes sense she’d want to review everything.” I met his gaze briefly, hoping he couldn’t hear the frantic beating of my heart or see the panic I was desperately trying to quell.
Dante nodded, the slightest furrow in his brow betraying his thoughts before he masked them again with practiced ease. “That’s good. Thorough is good.” He stepped closer, and I fought the urge to step back.
“Of course, I sent it to her,” I added quickly, almost stumbling over the words. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken words and the weight of Dante’s ever-present scrutiny. I knew he would pour over Ellie’s notes, analyzing them for any hint of betrayal. But there was no betrayal, not in the way he suspected. There was only the truth, encoded in the guise of scientific critique, a desperate plea for Ellie to see the real message hidden within the gibberish.
“Good,” Dante replied, fixing me with a look that seemed to pierce right through to my soul. “Very good. I don’t like that you sent the paper to her, but I get why you did. You said she’s brilliant, right?”
“The smartest person I know,” I said.
“She must be really smart, then,” he said.
“She has a degree in molecular science from Stanford,” I supplied, trying to keep the conversation on Ellie’s credentials and away from the hidden message. “And she’s been my right hand in our work since we joined the lab together. We understand each other.”
“Where did you get your degree from?” he asked. I can’t believe we had never talked about this.
“My undergrad from Iowa State University, doctorate from MIT,” I shared, a faint hint of pride seeping into my voice. “Not as impressive as Cornell business school…”
Dante chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that held a hint of surprise. “Didn’t take you for the humble type,” he said, his eyes holding a glint of amusement. “You’re damn right impressive.” He moved around the desk to stand in front of me, his presence tangible and magnetic.
“Thank you,” I murmured, having no idea how to respond to his unexpected praise. It felt strange, talking about my past, my achievements with Dante. The Dante who held me captive in a world where my intellect was used for nefarious purposes. The Dante who could joke and laugh while I was living a nightmare.
But…it wasn’t a nightmare, really. Dante was kind, and sweet, and he did get a bit possessive but fuck I had never had sex as good as I did with him. And after I’d been to the hospital, I hated to admit it, but I missed it.
But, I don’t know, we could have talked about it.
We would, once I managed to leave.
If Ellie understood—if she could decipher the urgency behind the fabricated errors—then maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of hope for escape.
“Can I read it?” Dante asked, nodding towards the documents under my touch.
“Yes,” I said, even as confusion clouded his features. He reached for the paper, scanning the contents briefly before placing it back down with care.
“You shouldn’t work anymore.” His voice was gentle, but insistent. “Come have breakfast with me. You look so tired.”
I did feel exhausted, the weight of sleepless nights heavy on my shoulders. “That’s rude.”
He laughed. “I’m just saying, you work too hard. You deserve a break too.”
I sighed. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll take a break. Let’s go.”
We sat down in the living room, and I tried to ignore the sensation of warmth creeping up my thigh where Dante’s leg was pressed against mine. It was disconcerting how quickly I could switch from fear for my life to an awareness of his proximity. One look into his eyes - those dark pools of intrigue - and I was drowning, forgetting for a moment that he was my captor as well as my lover.
The breakfast spread was lavish, filled with all my favorites - fluffy pancakes crowned with fresh strawberries, smoked salmon on crisp artisan bread, and a pot of freshly brewed coffee emitting a heavenly aroma. The sight brought a small smile to my face; it was a stark contrast to the world of secrets and deception I had become accustomed to in the past weeks.
“Please,” Dante motioned towards the feast in front of us, “Eat as much as you want.”
I began to serve myself, trying not to let my mind wander back to the papers lying on his desk. To the coded message I had left for Ellie, praying she would pick up on it soon.
Conversation flowed easily between Dante and me throughout breakfast. Until he stopped halfway through his oatmeal—the man only seemed to eat fruit and chicken breast—and looked intently at me.
“How are you feeling?”
His words carried a subtext that echoed louder than any spoken concerns. They spoke of the unspoken bond growing between us, one that I couldn’t afford to acknowledge.
“Better,” I replied with practiced ease, not looking directly at him. “I’m recovering from the cyst that ruptured last week. I mean, I’m going stir crazy, but…”
Dante furrowed his brow. As he pulled me into his embrace, I was caught off guard by the warmth that flooded my chest. It was unexpected, this feeling of safety within his arms. For a second, I allowed myself to lean into his strength, closing my eyes against the conflicting emotions swirling inside me.
“Jade,” he murmured, his breath warm on my neck, “I need you to be okay.”
I let myself lean into him, smell his scent.
“I’m so sorry,” he breathed out, his voice a low rumble against the silence of the morning. “I love you, Jade. I was worried sick about you.”
His words wrapped around me like a shroud, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were another chain in my gilded cage. Dante’s love, so fierce and protective, could easily become just another tool to keep me bound to him, to his world. I wanted to believe him, to sink into the idea that maybe, just maybe, this was real love and not possession.
That he wasn’t just doing this because I was pregnant with his kid.
“Can I call my family?” I asked, the question slipping from my lips before I could weigh the consequences. My voice was hushed, barely carrying over the hum of the city drifting through the open window.
He stiffened at my request, and for a moment, I thought he would refuse. Twelve weeks along, and the fear of what might be lurking in my unborn child’s genes was a specter neither of us could ignore. The doctor was going to send results back any day now…and yeah, we’d know the sex, but I had no idea what else we would know.
I didn’t want to think about it.
Dante hesitated, his dark eyes searching mine as if trying to read the secrets I kept locked away. Finally, he nodded, but his condition came swift, non-negotiable. “I have to be there with you.”
It was a concession, a small crack in the fortress he built around us. I took it, nodding slowly, because each small victory edged me closer to something that felt like freedom. Each concession was a thread I could weave into the semblance of control over my life.
“Okay,” I agreed, steeling myself against the tremor that threatened to betray my outward calm.
He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “In fact, I have an idea,” he said. “Don’t tell them over the phone.”
“Dante, they live in Iowa.”
“Right,” he said. “I know that. What I’m saying is, invite your parents to New York City,” Dante said, his voice low and steady. “It’s time they meet the father of their grandchild.”
His words hit me like a physical blow, rooting me to the spot. This wasn’t just another meeting; it was a collision of worlds—my safe personal life crashing into the perilous reality of Dante’s empire. The implications made my heart race, and not entirely out of fear.
As I contemplated his proposal, I understood the gravity of my situation. Here stood Dante, a man who held my heart with the same hands that could easily sign a death warrant.
I did need to tell my parents. They were probably dying to know. My mom was probably worried sick thinking about me.
“Okay,” I whispered, surprising myself with the ease at which the word left my lips. Maybe this was my way out, a chance to weave a different future for the life growing inside me. But as I lifted my eyes to his, I caught a glimmer of something in those depths—a flicker of hope or perhaps uncertainty.
And then it struck me, the most frightening realization of all: maybe I didn’t want a way out.
Maybe the darkness that surrounded Dante, the very thing I should run from, was where I found the most solace.
It scared me more than the thought of facing my parents with the truth—the possibility that I had already crossed a line within myself from which there was no return.