Dangerous Melodies - Chapter 50: Chapter 50

DANTE
The silence in my office hung thick, broken only by the soft ticking of the wall clock.
For two weeks, I’d avoided Marisol, too much of a coward to face the turmoil her presence stirred in me.
I stared at the legal document on my desk, my eyes narrowing.
The lines of text blurred together: cold, precise, final.
A step I kept insisting I had to take, one I couldn’t seem to follow through on.
I glanced at the suitcase by the door, already packed for the London trip.
My exit strategy.
If I left now, maybe I could outrun the storm inside me.
Running had always been easier.
Only, this time, it didn’t feel easy at all.
The office door burst open.
Maria stormed in, her face twisted with fury.
Without a word, she slammed a breakfast plate onto my desk.
The ceramic clattered against the wood, sharp and jarring.
I looked up, startled.
My gaze narrowed on her.
She stood with her arms crossed, glaring at me with a fire I hadn’t seen in years.
“How long are you going to keep treating her this way?” she snapped. “Avoiding her, shutting her out? You’re a fool, Dante.”
My jaw clenched.
Irritation flared, but it didn’t quite reach the surface.
“Watch your tone, Maria,” I said.
The warning fell flat, even to my own ears.
Because deep down, I knew she was right.
I just couldn’t admit it, not to her, and sure as hell not to myself.
Maria didn’t flinch.
“Don’t you dare tell me to watch my tone. I’ve seen how broken she is because of you. You might think you’re doing her a favor, but you’re only hurting her more. That girl loves you, Dante. And you... you’re too blind and stubborn to see it.”
I stared at her, gaze hardening, but the guilt her words stirred refused to be ignored.
They cut clean through my defenses, right into the part of me I didn’t let anyone touch.
“This is none of your concern,” I said, cold and clipped.
“It is my concern,” she shot back. “I care about Marisol, and I care about you, even if you’re too proud to admit when you’re wrong. You’re making a mistake. A big one.”
My fists clenched as the air around us thickened, tension winding tight across my shoulders.
“Enough, Maria,” I said, voice sharp. “What’s done is done.”
She shook her head, frustration etched across her face, though something in her gaze softened.
“You think you’re protecting her by pushing her away, but you’re breaking both your hearts. You’ll regret this, Dante. Mark my words.”
She turned and walked out, the echo of her departure leaving the room colder somehow.
I stared at the breakfast plate, untouched.
The clatter it had made still rang in my ears like the echo of her words bouncing off the walls.
The silence settled again.
Heavier now.
Pressing down on me.
My body sagged under the weight of it. Shoulders knotted.
Guilt twisted inside me, sharp and relentless.
I’d failed her.
When she needed me, I vanished.
Her confession of love had knocked me sideways, unearthing feelings I’d trained myself to ignore.
Lock it down, that’s the rule.
I’d learned the hard way what happened when I didn’t.
But I hadn’t tried to stop her when she pushed me away.
Didn’t fight for her.
Because it was easier that way.
Safer.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
I dragged in a breath and pressed the intercom on my desk. “Marisol, can you please come to my office?”
MARISOL
I sat alone in the music room, the silence surrounding me like fog.
It had been two weeks since I learned my father was dead.
Two long, quiet weeks filled with reflection, grief, and, eventually, acceptance.
Guilt still lingered, no longer suffocating, but always close. Always waiting.
It wasn’t my fault.
He’d made his own choices.
I hadn’t pulled the trigger.
And even though the guilt still lingered, time had brought enough clarity for me to see the truth.
But I couldn’t say the same for Dante.
Since that night, the rift between us had only grown deeper.
We moved around each other like strangers in the mansion, avoiding confrontation, avoiding everything.
The pain he’d caused clung to me and wouldn’t fade.
I tried to hold on to the anger, tried to twist the hurt into something colder.
But it was harder than I’d imagined.
I couldn’t hate him, as much as I wanted to.
Beneath the ache, love still pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Some part of me still longed for what we had: the warmth of his arms, the steadiness of his presence.
I loved him, still.
But I couldn’t pretend the damage he’d done didn’t matter.
If I didn’t face it now, I knew I’d never heal.
I can’t keep living like this.
Felix had seen it too.
Over the past two weeks, he’d checked on me without pushing, his calm presence a quiet anchor.
Earlier this week, he’d found me in the garden, silent tears tracking down my face.
He hadn’t said anything at first. Just sat beside me.
“I don’t know what happened between you and Dante,” he said eventually, his voice low, gentle. “But I know he’s hurting too. Maybe... maybe you should talk to him.”
I wiped my face with trembling fingers, letting his words settle.
I hadn’t spoken to Dante about what happened, about what he’d done.
And Felix was right.
The distance between us had grown wider, not safer.
Still, the thought of confronting him sent a chill through me.
I leaned my head against Felix’s shoulder, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can, Felix. He hurt me so much. I don’t know if talking would fix it.”
He let out a soft sigh and placed a hand on my back. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other. If there’s a chance to fix this, you owe it to yourselves to try. You deserve to be happy.”
I’d nodded, even though my chest felt like it might cave in.
I’d needed that comfort, that one warm moment in an otherwise cold season.
Now, days later, Felix’s words still lingered.
I knew I had to face Dante. Had to talk to him.
But preparing myself for the conversation hadn’t made it any less terrifying.
The intercom on the wall buzzed, cutting through the quiet.
I froze, tension rippling through my body as my heart stuttered.
Slowly, I crossed the room and hovered over the button, hesitating for a breath before pressing it.
“Yes?” I managed, my voice steady, though my pulse raced.
Dante’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Can you come to my office? We need to talk.”
I closed my eyes, bracing.
This is it.
I’d told myself I was ready, but hearing his voice brought it all crashing back.
There was something in his tone, calm but strained, that sent a shiver down my spine.
This wasn’t just small talk.
And if we didn’t deal with it now, we never would.
“I’ll be right there,” I said.
As I let go of the button, I took a deep breath, trying to settle the flutter in my chest.
The finality of it landed like stone.
I stood still for a moment, staring at the intercom like it might offer answers to the questions still spinning in my mind.
These two weeks of silence had carved out space, painful but necessary.
Enough for me to see that avoidance wasn’t healing.
I’m not ready to give up on him.
But I couldn’t ignore the pain either.
It ran too deep to pretend everything was fine.
If we wanted a future, we had to go back to the beginning.
Face the hurt.
As I made my way through the quiet halls of the mansion, my thoughts tangled in tight, anxious circles.
How do I start?
Do I tell him how much he hurt me? Ask why he did it?
The questions came fast, piling on top of each other.
But underneath all of it, one truth held steady: I wanted peace. Not just silence.
A truce.
A path forward, if we still had one left.
I stopped outside his office door, my heart pounding against my ribs.
I didn’t want to be afraid anymore.
I love him. Despite everything.
And if there was even a sliver of a chance to mend what we’d broken, I had to try.
I knocked softly, then opened the door.