chapter 30
A/n: Any mistakes and suggestions, please correct.
Ferial didn’t sleep much that night. She dozed only in pieces, drifting in and out as the cold wind scraped against the window and the distant patrol shouts echoed through the northern district.
Every time she stirred, she felt Dante’s presence somewhere in the house—quiet, still, watchful. When dawn came, she barely felt the difference. The sky outside was a dull silver, the sun hidden behind the border wall’s looming shadow.
A soft knock tapped on the doorframe.
“Ferial?” Dante’s voice was low, warm, unexpectedly gentle. “Are you awake?”
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. “I… think so.”
He leaned his shoulder against the frame, arms crossed lightly.
He’d changed again—now wearing a loose black t-shirt and track pants, hair tied back at the nape of his neck.
He looked far less like the Alpha heir who tore apart half a factory yard…
and more like a normal twenty-something boy who had stumbled out of bed.
“Well,” he said with a small smile, “that’s enough for us to start the day.”
She blinked. “Start… what?”
“Breakfast,” he said simply. “I took the morning off my duties.”
Her mouth parted. “You took the morning off? You? The Alpha heir?”
He shrugged. “The world won’t collapse if I’m gone for a few hours. And I want to know you. Properly.” His voice softened. “You deserve that.”
Her breath hitched.
He extended his hand. “Come on. Before the food gets cold.”
She hesitated, then took it. His palm was warm, large, careful as always—like he was terrified of breaking her.
He led her to the small kitchen downstairs. He must have woken up early. Eggs, toast, and fruit were set on the counter, steam rising. Two mugs of something warm sat waiting.
She stared. “You cooked this?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
He lifted a brow. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“You’re… a prince.”
He snorted. “Please never call me that again.” Then, playfully, “The only royalty in this kitchen right now is my mother’s cooking techniques.”
She sat slowly, still trying to understand the version of him that existed today—soft, teasing, strangely relaxed.
He passed her a plate. “Eat. You haven’t had a proper meal since yesterday, and thats just an assumption.”
She took a tentative bite. Her eyes widened. “This is good.”
Dante’s chest puffed slightly with pride. “My mom is Latina. If her children don’t know how to cook, she goes into mourning.”
Ferial almost choked laughing. “She mourns?”
“Six days. Public. Dramatic.” He rolled his eyes fondly. “She once threw herself across the kitchen counter wailing because one of my sisters burnt rice. Rice, Ferial. The woman acted like we committed a crime.”
Ferial covered her mouth with her hand, stifling giggles. “And your father?”
“Stoic. Silent. Terrified of her.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s tiny but deadly.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re making this up.”
“I’m really not.” Dante picked up his phone and unlocked it. “Here.”
He opened a messenger app titled: Halecrest Chaos – Family Group.
The most recent message was from a contact labeled Mama:
MAMA: Dante, mijo, if you forget to eat again I will personally fly there and beat you with my shoe.
Ferial snorted.
Dante scrolled. “And this is from Lucia, my second-oldest sister. She’s the calm one.”
LUCIA: Bring back souvenirs. If you die, I’m taking your room.
Then a spam of emojis from the youngest sister, Sofia:
SOFIA: ??????????? AM I STILL YOUR FAVORITE YES OR YES?
Ferial laughed so hard her stomach hurt. “You’re… you’re all insane.”
“Yes,” he said proudly. “We are.”
She looked up at him. “You seem… different with them.”
He tilted his head. “Different how?”
“You smile. You joke. You look… normal.”
He chuckled. “Ah. Well, I come from a house of five sisters. You either learn humor or you die.”
She smiled softly, and his gaze lingered on her longer than it should have.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, here.” He swiped to another folder—photos. Endless photos. Dante cliff diving off a massive rock. Dante strapped to a glider, soaring over a canyon. Dante standing at the edge of a waterfall, shirt off, arms raised in victory.
She blinked. “You’re insane.”
“I prefer ‘adventurous.’”
“That’s not adventurous. That’s suicidal.”
“I’ve only broken two bones,” he said, entirely too casually. "And they healed instantly."
She stared. “Only?!”
He laughed. “My mother also cried then. Threatened to wrap me in bubble wrap for a year.”
He kept scrolling—mountains, forests, rivers. His expression softened. “I like the wild. It helps me feel… free.”
She lowered her eyes. “Wolves always have freedom.”
“No,” he said, voice suddenly quiet. “We have responsibility. Duty. Pressure. And tempers that can end lives.” He glanced at her, guilt flickering. “I lose control too easily around you. That terrifies me.”
The tone shift was slow, fragile.
She gazed at her hands. “You haven’t hurt me.”
“Not physically. But emotionally?” He exhaled. “I’ve cornered you. Scared you. Taken choices from you. That isn’t who I want to be to you.”
She swallowed. “Who do you want to be?”
His eyes met hers.
“Someone you can breathe with.”
The room went very still.
She looked away, overwhelmed. “Why… why are you being so open with me?”
“Because I’ve lived twenty odd years surrounded by formality, politics, strength, strategy. And none of it ever felt like something real.” His voice softened. “Until you.”
Her heart thudded painfully. “But you barely know me.”
“I want to,” he said simply. “More than I’ve wanted anything.”
She looked at him, scared to hope, scared to trust, but unable to ignore the sincerity burning in his eyes.
She asked softly, “What do you want to know?”
He smiled—warm, small, breathtaking. “Everything. Start anywhere.”
And just like that, something shifted between them. Something delicate, fragile, and frighteningly real.
They ate slowly. Talked gently. Laughed quietly. And every time she stumbled, every time her voice cracked or her anxiety flickered across her face, Dante softened—even more than she knew an Alpha heir could.
Hours passed in what felt like minutes.
By the time they finished eating, he leaned back, studying her with an expression that looked almost reverent.
“Ferial,” he murmured, “I know you’re scared. I know this is unfair. But today… being with you like this…” He shook his head, voice roughening. “It feels right. Like something in me finally stopped fighting.”
She swallowed. “And… me?”
He held her gaze.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he whispered. “And I don’t want you to feel forced.” His chest rose and fell slowly. “But if you ever choose me… even a little… I will protect that choice with everything I have.”
Her breath trembled.
Her hands trembled.
Her heart trembled.
She whispered the only truth she could manage. “I like this version of you.”
He smiled—small, hopeful, almost boyish.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because this version only exists for you.”
And for the first time since meeting Dante…
Ferial wondered if fate wasn’t a punishment—
but a possibility.