Chapter 24 Let’s Try Again
The imprint of her palm burned on his cheek.
But he didn’t react with rage.
Instead, his hands reached for her again, trembling as they landed on her shoulders. His voice came out hoarse, broken, the raw edge of his pain seeping through every word.
“Can’t you see how much I love you?” he roared. “How much I fucking want you in my life? But you keep pushing me away. You tell your secrets to everyone but me. Everyone else gets the truth. I get silence. Why am I always the one left out—while you don’t even explain a damn thing to me?!”
She was appalled.
“Do you even hear yourself?” she shot back, her voice tight with disbelief. “Do you even realize how ridiculous you sound right now?”
She took a shaky breath, chest rising and falling fast.
“Didn’t I try explaining to you over and over again? You were the one who was indifferent to me! You walked away! Then you dragged me back just to leave me again. And now that you’ve suddenly decided I’m good enough, you want me back and expect me to give in?”
Her voice cracked, just a little, but she didn’t let it show.
“Why is it always me who has to bleed first? Why do I have to fall apart before you realize you can’t live without me? I never left you, Dante. Not once. But you... you crushed me—over and over—and now you want me to talk to you because you want to fix us ?”
Dante took several deep breaths, his hands shaking. He reached up to her and stepped closer.
“Anya...” he whispered, voice barely holding together. He reached for her face again, slower this time, as if afraid she might disappear if he touched her too hard.
“It’s my fault. Alright, Anya?” he whispered, cupping her face gently. His voice was desperate, rough. “All my fault. I wasn’t good. I walked away when I should’ve stayed.”
He drew in a breath, steadying the crack in his voice, eyes locked on hers.
“From now on, I’ll never walk out on you, no matter what happens. We’ll talk. We’ll fix things. I’ll never shut you out again. It was my fault. I got so jealous, and lost my mind.”
His hands held her a little tighter, as if afraid she’d slip away.
“You love me too, right? You still feel it? Then let’s try again. Just once more. Let me in, Anya.” He leaned in. “I swear I’ll never walk away again. I’ll marry you—tonight, now, whatever it takes. Just… give me that one last chance. Please. Accept me one last time.”
She pushed him away, crying out coldly, “I don’t want to marry you. Not anymore. I won’t repeat the same mistake.”
His body went rigid.
He immediately reached out, desperate to hold her again, but she pulled away from his grasp without a second thought. His fingers lingered in the air where she’d been, trembling with frustration and longing.
His voice thundered, rough and urgent, as he tried to make her understand.
“I’m not the same. Our marriage wasn’t a mistake.” He swallowed hard, fighting the knot in his throat. “I was jealous because I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else. But I’ll fix it. I swear I will.”
His voice dropped lower, searching her eyes like looking for a flicker of hope. His voice softened, filled with raw vulnerability.
“I promise I’ll fix myself. I’ll make it up to you for all the pain I caused. I won’t do this again.”
Her chest heaved, breath ragged and uneven. She stepped back, voice sharp and fierce.
“You’ve done this twice already, Dante. I’m done giving chances.” Her hands trembled as she shoved him hard in the chest, the force carrying all her anger and exhaustion.
“I won’t trust you again. Do you hear me?” Her voice cracked. “I will not marry you!”
His shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him as his face fell. The light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a hollow ache.
“Is that really how you feel?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, fragile and broken. “Is this our end?”
She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. Her voice was a soft, painful whisper. “Yes.”
A searing pain like fire tore through Dante’s veins. The regret crashed down on him at once in that moment.
Finally, he gave in—dejected and crushed—and without another word, he turned and walked out of her apartment.
***
The next morning, the city was waking slowly beneath a pale, grey sky. Dante stood again at the entrance of the same house. The bouquet in his hands was fresh, the lilies blooming. His body was stiff, tense.
His gaze drifted to the door, and after a moment, his fingers pressed the doorbell. The chime rang out, hollow and sharp in the stillness of the morning.
Since last night, her words had replayed endlessly in his mind. He hadn’t even gone home—instead, he drove through empty streets, sleepless and haunted, his head pounding with every thought.
It wasn’t until the first light of dawn began to wash over the city that he finally returned home to shower, collect himself, and then stop at a flower shop on the way to her home again.
The apartment door opened. Dante lifted the flowers to greet Anya, but to his shock, a middle-aged couple stood before him, calm but wary, eyes flickering with surprise.
Confused, Dante stepped back, scanning the house number again. It was right.
His voice, tight with shock and disbelief, broke the silence. “Where’s the girl who was living here?”
The couple exchanged a glance. The man finally answered, “She emptied the place last night. We got a quick deal and moved in.”
Dante’s heart dropped like a crushing weight on his chest. The cold morning air suddenly feeling even sharper against his skin.
‘I hate you.’ Anya’s voice rang again in his ears.
His legs trembled beneath him, and he staggered, reaching out to clutch the wall for support as a wave of dizziness threatened to pull him under.
“Hey, man, are you alright?” A concerned voice broke through his haze. The older man stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
Dante barely managed a shallow breath, nodding weakly, and pushing the hand away as if it burned. “I’m fine. Thanks.” His voice was hoarse, barely audible.
He swiftly turned, and walked away, every step heavy as if his heart was sinking deeper with each one.
The bouquet slipped silently from his grasp. Petals scattered across the cold pavement like fallen dreams, swirling in the morning breeze until nothing was left but an empty wrapper drifting softly to the ground as he reached his car.
His fingers curled tightly around the car’s window, trembling with a restless ache. His eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold back the storm inside.
‘Does she really want nothing to do with me anymore?’
***
Inside a dimly lit room, the loud hum of music barely covered the pounding in Luca’s chest. He watched Anya, seated across from him, her delicate frame slumped as she took another sip from a nearly empty vodka glass—her fifth one tonight.
“You really don’t plan on forgiving Dante?” Luca asked.
“Never.” Anya’s lips pressed tightly together, her voice barely a murmur. “I don’t want to go through that pain again.” She glanced away, eyes glassy and distant. “I told him—if he walked out, that was the end. He made his choice.”
Luca nodded, sipping his scotch. The loud music drowned out his racing heartbeat as he looked at her. He loved her.
He’d loved her for years. When Anya was born, he was there. Even though back then he was too young to understand, he always held a special place for Anya in his heart.
And now, she sat right in front of him—broken, but not for him.
A sharp ache twisted inside him. Part of him wanted to burn it all down, to somehow make her to give up on Dante and have her for himself.
The other part just wanted to see her happy—even if that meant without him.
“Anya,” gently, he set down his glass and reached out, resting a tentative hand on the back of her head. Her eyes fluttered open, soft, a little glazed from the vodka.
“It’s clear Dante likes you,” he muttered, catching her attention. “He doesn’t treat anyone the way he treats you. You’re the only one he’s ever loved. And yeah, he hasn’t had other relationships, so his jealousy... it’s messy. He probably just doesn’t know how to handle it.”
She frowned, her soft expression quickly hardening into stubbornness as she snapped, “I don’t care! What’s gone is gone. I’m the kind of person who never goes back on her word. I won’t have anything to do with Dante Kingsley ever again!”
Luca exhaled slowly, steadying his breath. “Alright then. Dante will never come back into your life.”
“What? Why?” she cried, grabbing another glass of vodka and drinking it down before he could stop her.
“Hey. Enough. You’ve had enough,” he warned gently.
“I want him back,” she whispered, a little crack in her voice. “Why did you say no Dante ever again?”
He dropped his hand from her head, turning fully to face her. “ You said it, Anya.”
“I didn’t.” Her voice was barely audible, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.
Panic surged through Luca. “Alright, you didn’t. I was saying nonsense. Don’t cry!”
Her lips trembled. “I want him.”
She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “He’s so nice. He lets me have whatever I want. He even proposed to me so sweetly..."
Her hand reached for another glass out, but Luca had already pushed the liquor glasses to the far end of the table, just out of her reach. That didn’t stop her—she swiped again with unsteady hands, this time snatching his half-full scotch and swallowing it in one go before he could stop her.
His hand met only empty air as she downed the liquor and slammed the glass down on the table.
Tears fell from her eyes.
“Ahhh—empty! This also left me!” she cried, voice rising in wounded disbelief. “Why is everything leaving me? I’m not even that bad!”
She turned to Luca, gripping his shoulders, leaning in as she nodded to herself.
"He betrayed me so badly. He left. But I love him so much. How am I supposed to keep watching him walk away and cry every time? I can’t do that again and again."
Luca let out a long, slow breath, rubbing his temples. “You broke up with him, Anya.”
Her expression twisted in confusion. “What?! When?!” Her hands fell limply into her lap, brows furrowed. “He left me… again? Why?”
The tears spilled again.
His jaw clenched.
He couldn’t watch this anymore.
With a resigned sigh, he reached for his phone. He unlocked the screen and tapped a contact he’d never called before.
The call was picked up a few rings later.
“If you want Anya back,” Luca said coldly, staring ahead as her head drooped against his shoulder, “this is your last chance. Want it?”
There was a beat of silence.
"Send the address. I’ll be there in five." Dante’s voice growled, already striding out. Luca could almost hear his footsteps over the line before it cut.
***
Dante stormed into the hotel suite with Anya in his arms, the door slamming behind him as his boots struck the floor in heavy, urgent strides. He held her close—closer than necessary—pressing her sleeping form tightly to his chest like she might vanish if he let go.
She had already passed out at the bar by the time he had arrived. The sight of Luca standing near her had only made him more eager to take her away—despite the very real urge to snap Luca in two, Dante hadn’t spared him more than a searing glare. The rage that had simmered beneath his skin had been barely leashed. He had been relieved to take her off Luca’s hands—grateful, even—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t wanted to rip him apart.
He couldn’t understand how Anya found that man so harmless . That grinning snake always made Dante’s skin crawl.
The way Luca looked at her… it made his blood run hot. If he ever caught him alone again—
He forced the thought down.
She was all that mattered now.
She was already asleep. Completely out cold, her body limp in his arms. But as he reached the bed and tried to lower her down, her arm curled around his neck in a surprisingly strong grip, holding him there.
“Anya,” he murmured near her ear, soft and coaxing. “My love, let go. You can sleep in the bed now.”
But she only buried her face deeper into the crook of his neck, her warm breath brushing against his skin.
“Mhmm… Dante…”
His entire world stilled.
The sound of his name from her lips—soft, slurred, trusting—sent a pulse of raw emotion surging through his chest. His heart stumbled, then raced. It didn’t matter that her eyes were closed. She knew it was him. She recognized him even in her sleep.
"Anya..." he whispered, cupping her face and lifting it gently. He kissed her ear. "Do you want to change clothes?"
No answer. Just soft, uneven breaths.
Gently, he cradled her in his lap. He removed her earrings one by one, then lifted her dress, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. He unhooked her bra to make her more comfortable, then laid her down carefully on the bed, drawing the blanket up to cover her bare skin.
Then he undressed in silence. He kicked off his shoes and socks, then pulled off his shirt, stripping down to his boxers before slipping under the covers beside her.
As soon as he settled in, Anya turned in her sleep, her body instinctively seeking his. Without waking, she climbed over him, curling herself across his chest.
His body trembled. He turned at once, engulfing her in his arms, pulling her close—skin against skin, her warm breath on his chest.
His fingers brushed gently through her hair as she slept, drinking in the feeling of having her close after so long. His face nestled into her hair as his breathing slowed, and for the first time in weeks, he could breathe again.
When her eyes fluttered open in the morning, she blinked in confusion, her vision adjusting to the bare chest in front of her.
Her entire body was sprawled on something both soft and hard at the same time. Warm and muscular.
She lifted her head slightly, her hair falling to one side of her face, messy and loose. Sleepy eyes slowly trailed down—and froze.
Dante was laying beneath her, fast asleep.
‘Damn it, Luca?!’ The thought hit her faster than any other. ‘Did he seriously call Dante to pick me up?’
She shifted immediately, trying to slip out from under him and make a dash out of the room. But she had only reached the edge of the bed when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her back. She was snatched like a doll and pinned down on the bed in a heartbeat.
Dante hovered over her, voice husky and accusing, "You’re making a run right after sleeping with a man?"
Her gaze dropped to his bare chest. Then slowly, her eyes trailed down to her own body.
Completely naked.
Her lips pressed into a thin, horrified line.
"Scumbag! How dare you take advantage of me?!"
His hand gripped her face, and he leaned in, his lips almost brushing hers.
"I didn’t do anything last night," he said calmly. "It was you who was begging me to sleep with you."
“Liar,” she hissed, glaring.
He leaned in to kiss her.
She turned her head sharply, refusing to look at him, but his hand cupped her cheek again, guiding her face back to his.
“Missed me?”
“Get off me.”
But Dante didn’t move. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin, his lips brushing her neck in slow, deliberate passes. His voice dropped, low and teasing. “You’re not going to confess?” he murmured. “Not even a little bit?”
Anya tensed, her hands pushing at his shoulders, but her strength had long since left her. “Dante, I told you already—”
Her protest barely left her lips before his mouth crashed into hers—fierce, hungry, and laced with desperation. His lips were rough, almost punishing, as though trying to claim back every second she had pulled away.
She twisted her face away with a sharp breath, trying to break free from the overwhelming onslaught. But he followed the curve of her jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin. His stubble scraped her as he trailed downward, biting and sucking at the delicate line of her throat.
Her skin burned under the assault—each kiss a searing mark, each lick a brand of possession.
Her hands flew up to push him away, but he caught them midair—his grip iron-strong. Before she could twist out of his grasp, he forced her wrists above her head. Her back arched instinctively, shocked by the sudden shift.
In one swift motion, he grabbed the knit throw draped at the edge of the bed and looped it around her wrists, knotting it securely to the headboard. The fabric was soft, but the intent was anything but.