Page 31 of Bad Girl Dilemma

Something shifts. His posture stays relaxed, but the edges fray. His fingers twitch against the glass, like he’s remembering something he doesn’t want to.

I set my fork down. “What happened to you?” It’s bald and bold but fuck it.

That flicker. His jaw tightens. A vein pulses near his temple. “Don’t,” he warns.

“Don’t what?” I press, my voice barely a whisper. “Ask why a man who bathes in blood and money and happily exploits the weak suddenly wants justice over his comrade assholes? Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?” I probe.

The way he seems rabid about this thing succeeding has plagued me for days. Dante isn’t doing this just to get one over an enemy. This feels… personal.Intensely.

His jaw tightens. For a second, I think he’s going to snap at me—say something cruel, something cold, something to remind me exactly who the fuck he is. But he doesn’t.

He just stares.

The city lights flicker in his eyes, and I realize he’s not looking at me anymore.

He’s somewhere else.

“My reasons don’t concern you,” he says finally, but the edge in his voice is dulled, like he’s tired of lying—maybe even to himself.

I tilt my head, watching him. “Everything about me is on your screen. My name. My history. My limits. You even know what toys I’ve clicked on in that app. You’ve seen every mask I wear. But you… I thought I knew everything about you.” I take a breath. “But here you are, presenting me with a shiny black box of secrets.”

Dante shifts, gaze flicking to the skyline, then back to me. “And you should leave it alone. There are things you don’t want to know, Specter.”

He uses the name like armor. Like a shield.

I smile. But it’s not real. And that warmth? It’s receding. “You mean thingsyoudon’t want me to know.”

He doesn’t deny it. And that’s when I see it. Another flicker. A deeper shadow. A crack in the diamond-cut mask he wears like skin.

It passes through him like a storm cloud—quick, but enough to darken everything. His eyes go flat. Not emotionless. Worse.Haunted.

His mouth opens. “She—” he begins. Then stops. Swallows it.

“Who?” I ask, softer now, almost scared to breathe in case it disturbs the trickle-flow of his giving.

His fingers drum once on the edge of the table, restless. “Someone who thought she could make the world better.”

He looks at me—really looks—and for a second, I see it flash behind his eyes:Pain. Loss. Rage. A name, maybe. A memory. Something carved deep and ugly into him. “She died for it.” There’s a pause long enough to bleed. “You of all people should know how that feels.”

The reference to my mother is meant to distract, possibly wound. A digital vigilante who died for her cause.

I hate that it achieves both.

He stands abruptly and downs the whiskey in one practiced tilt. “And that’s all you get.” He straightens, voice smooth as ever. “Finish your wine, Specter. I’m not done with you yet.”

He turns to go.

But before he reaches the terrace door, I say, “If you want my cooperation, don’t treat me like I’m your enemy, Dante.”Even though you’re mine.

He stops, his shoulders tense. Then, over his shoulder, he says in a voice stripped raw, “Everyone’s my enemy eventually.”

And he leaves me there—still, burning, and full of questions.

Yes, the moment has vanished. But it was there. I saw it.

Whatever Dante’s hiding... it matters.

And I plan to find out.

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