You Scare Me
Valeria
Two years ago
The kitchen is empty when I follow Bianca inside.
She said she needed to talk to me about something urgent—something that apparently couldn’t wait.
The noise from the gala vanishes the moment the swinging doors close behind us. Everything here has already been cleaned. The catering staff left a long time ago.
Bianca is tense. Nervous. And something feels wrong.
I sense it immediately.
Her shoulders are rigid. She won’t look at me.
“Bianca?”
She doesn’t answer. A strange unease tightens in my chest.
“What’s going on?”
At last, she stops near the service exit at the back of the kitchen.
Her face is pale. Almost gray.
My stomach twists.
“You’re scaring me.”
Her lips press together like she’s stopping herself from speaking. Her fingers tighten around the handle. Then she opens the door.
Freezing night air rushes into the kitchen.
She steps back just as a tall man walks inside.
For one second, my brain refuses to understand.
Dark clothes. Black gloves. His face hidden behind a scarf. Hard eyes.
And Bianca shows no sign of surprise. It’s almost as if she’d been expecting him.
Then he charges at me.
Instinct takes over instantly.
I jerk backward, but his hand clamps around my arm so violently it knocks the breath out of me.
I immediately struggle.
“What are you doing?! Let go of me!”
He tries to pin me against him.
I catch sight of something in his hand.
A syringe.
Fear shoots through me like an electric shock.
Oh my God.
My fist slams into his groin. Hard.
He lets out a rough cry. His grip loosens. The syringe slips from his fingers and skids beneath a stainless-steel counter.
I wrench myself free and come face-to-face with Bianca.
She’s standing there. Frozen. Terrified.
“Bianca…?”
The guilt in her eyes shatters me.
She’s part of this.
The man slowly straightens, one hand clenched between his legs. His murderous stare locks onto mine.
I bolt for the door.
He catches me before I can reach it and violently throws me backward.
I lose my balance.
Then—
The world explodes.
Agonizing pain erupts along the side of my skull as my head slams into a metal edge.
Then I crash hard onto the floor.
For one second, I can still make out the kitchen lights above me.
Blurred. Warped.
Bianca’s heels.
The stranger’s black combat boots.
Behind Bianca, a third pair of shoes.
And everything goes dark.
An alarm screams somewhere nearby.
The sound tears through my skull.
I grimace before I even open my eyes.
Pain hits immediately. Brutal. Like a hammer smashing into the right side of my head.
I try to move.
Every muscle in my body protests.
The air feels thick. Suffocating. And hot.
Far too hot.
I open my eyes, coughing.
Black smoke hangs beneath the red emergency lights. Flames surround me.
For one second, nothing makes sense. Then memory crashes back all at once.
Bianca.
The man with the syringe.
The third man.
My heart starts racing. This wasn’t intimidation.
I force myself upright.
The movement sends a violent wave of nausea crashing through me.
Around me, flames are already climbing the walls.
I stagger to my feet.
“Help!”
My voice vanishes beneath the blaring alarms.
I run toward the main door. I can’t get close. The flames have already swallowed it whole.
Panic slams straight into my chest.
No.
“Help me!”
Smoke floods my lungs. I cough violently.
The heat becomes unbearable.
I stumble backward, choking.
Through blurred eyes, I spot the rear service exit.
The door he came through.
I run toward it, stumbling.
My fingers wrap around the handle.
Locked.
The door is locked.
A panicked sob escapes me.
Desperately, I scan the room and spot the sliding window leading outside.
I stagger toward it.
The window slides open easily.
Freezing air from the Seine immediately slams into my face.
Behind me, the flames roar louder.
Ahead of me: black night. Wind. Rain. Dark water crashing against the hull of the boat.
I clumsily climb onto the counter.
Screams echo in the distance. The gala has descended into chaos. But nobody knows I’m here.
Except the people who tried to kill me.
I stare at the black water several meters below.
I’m terrified.
Part of the ceiling suddenly collapses behind me, crashing less than a meter away.
I flinch.
Then I jump.
The freezing water hits me like a wall and immediately drags me under.
The shock steals my breath.
Every sense of direction disappears.
I choke.
My legs kick wildly without knowing whether they’re pulling me deeper or back toward the surface.
When my head finally breaks above the water, the current has already carried me far from the boat.
I can still see the glow of the flames in the darkness.
Several times, the water tries to drag me under again.
My arms grow heavy.
My legs burn.
The cold devours me from the inside out.
I think about Dante.
The warmth of his hand against the small of my back. The sound of his laughter against my mouth just hours earlier.
I have to fight.
For him.
For us.
But my movements slow anyway. The darkness thickens around me. The last thing I see is the distant glow of the flames reflecting on the surface of the Seine.
Then everything disappears.
*
The silence afterward is deafening.
I watch Dante absorb the truth.
Horror twists his features.
He looks destroyed.
A trembling hand drags through his hair.
For long minutes, he says nothing, incapable of making a sound. The pain radiating from him is almost tangible. And when he finally manages to speak again, it isn’t a question that leaves his mouth.
“That’s why you didn’t come back to me after you woke up… Because I let Bianca into my life. Because you thought I could’ve been part of it.”
I don’t answer.
His hands cover his face.
“Fuck…”
One single word. And an entire part of his life collapses with it.
He stays motionless. Not frozen. Just incapable of processing what he’s just heard.
When he finally speaks again, his voice sounds altered. Almost fragile.
“She cried while saying your name. I thought she understood my grief… and all that time…”
His voice breaks.
He doesn’t need to finish.
I want to comfort him, but I no longer have the strength.
“I’m sorry.”
Slowly, he lowers his hands and looks at me with confusion.
As though he’s no longer sure what exactly I’m apologizing for.
“Why are you sorry?”
“For you and Bianca.”
A hollow laugh escapes him.
“You really think I’m worried about Bianca right now?”
At last, his anger breaks through.
“I’m furious that I let myself be manipulated. Right now, all I want is to drag her to the police myself for what she did to you.”
He believes me.
The pressure crushing my chest finally loosens. I can breathe again.
Slowly, he rises, walks around the desk, and crouches in front of me.
His hand lifts toward my face. Hesitates. Then gently wipes away a tear from my cheek.
Only then do I realize I’m crying.
But what truly destroys me is his skin against mine. Because he’s touching me gently. And my entire body responds to that touch.
His fingers linger a second too long.
His eyes stay locked on mine, as though he’s also realizing everything this touch means.
He swallows hard.
And I see regret, desire... and longing flash through his gaze.
Then his hand falls away.
And it feels like someone just tore a piece out of me.
He stares at the dampness on his fingertips as though surprised by it.
Then his attention returns to me. His gaze searches mine, looking for a confession I still refuse to give him. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. His eyes drift toward the window, as though searching for an answer there.
Then something inside him gives way. His shoulders relax slightly.
He stops fighting.
And when he looks at me again, all of his attention is focused on me.
“I’m sorry. For Bianca, for the wedding that almost happened, for all the things I said to you and didn’t mean.”
What am I supposed to say to that?
No apology can erase reality.
While I was fighting to reclaim my life, he was with her.
He lowers his eyes.
“She and I... it was never what you think.”
“You were going to marry her.”
“Not for the reasons you imagine.”
He looks back at me.
“I never managed to forget you.”
My breath catches.
No. That’s impossible.
Yesterday, he was still with Bianca.
What game is he playing?
“I don’t believe you.”
I pause before letting the words fall like a blade.
“I regret ever loving you. I regret ever knowing you.”
He flinches as though I slapped him.
Then I see understanding pass through his eyes.
He recognizes his own words. The ones he threw at me in the laboratory to hurt me. Because he knew exactly where to strike.
His face falls apart. He closes his eyes.
The silence between us feels endless.
When he finally opens them again, he offers neither excuses nor justifications.
He simply lets me see what lies behind all his walls.
His regret. His pain. His love.
“I’m sorry. I’ll regret those words for the rest of my life. But you have to believe me. There has only ever been you.”
He means it. I can feel it. His love is still there. Buried beneath anger and resentment. But still there.
And that’s exactly the problem.
He doesn’t get to do this. Not after what he said to me. Not after nearly marrying someone else. Not after looking at me like I was the enemy.
I rise abruptly. I need air. Distance.
I need to stop feeling his warmth so close to me.
But his hand closes around my wrist. Gently. Not restraining. Pleading.
“Please... don’t go.”
His voice is low, almost vulnerable.
And that’s precisely what roots me in place.
Because Dante is never vulnerable.
“If you still feel something for me...”
His voice wavers.
“Then let me try to repair what I’ve destroyed. Let me show you that I can be better than the man I’ve been these past few weeks.”
He swallows hard.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m not even asking you to trust me right away.”
A brief silence.
“I’m only asking for a chance to earn your trust again.”