Chapter 18

• Clara sat still under Dante’s stare, feeling those hazel eyes digging into her like he was trying to crack her open. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched her across the long dining table, his gaze flickering with something—curiosity, maybe, or suspicion. She could tell he was picking her apart, trying to figure out what was different, why she wasn’t snapping at him like usual. That was good—just what she wanted. Let him wonder. Let him think she was starting to give in, softening up a little. Because the second he let down his walls, she’d grab the reins he thought he held so tight and turn this whole thing around.
• Dante’s fingers tapped slow on his wine glass, the soft *tap-tap* cutting through the quiet. He tilted his head, his smirk creeping back. “So, let me get this right,” he said, his voice smooth and low. “Yesterday, you looked ready to stab me in the neck, and today… what? You’ve had some big change of heart?”
• Clara smiled, slow and careful, keeping it small—just enough to tease him. “I wouldn’t say that,” she said, her tone light but steady. “But maybe fighting you every minute is wearing me out more than it’s worth.”