A week of walking past each other like strangers.
A week of separate meals, separate rooms, no messages, no glances, nothing.
Every morning, he left early.
Every night, he came home late.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them broke.
Until tonight.
For the first time in seven days, the front door opened early.
Aria was already sitting at the long dining table, eating quietly under the soft chandelier glow. A glass of water. A single plate. No second serving. Not anymore.
She didn’t even look up when he walked in.
His footsteps were slower than usual — tired. Heavy.
He looked exhausted. The sharp lines of his suit were slightly wrinkled. His tie loose. His eyes dim.
He approached the table, not even bothering to remove his blazer.
Dante Salvatore (ML)
(low, cold). "Where's my dinner?"
She chewed slowly, swallowed, and took a sip of water. Then answered without lifting her gaze:
Aria Valente (FL)
"I don't know."
His jaw clenched.
Dante Salvatore (ML)
"What do you mean you don't know?, didn't you make anything for me?"
This time, she did look at him — eyes cool, steady, and utterly unbothered.
Aria Valente (FL)
"No. I didn't."
Dante Salvatore (ML)
(angrily). "Why?"
Dante Salvatore (ML)
"Are you the only one living in this house?"
She stood slowly, picking up her empty plate with complete calm.
Aria Valente (FL)
"Funny. That’s exactly how you’ve been acting all week.”
She walked past him without another word, her heels clicking softly on the marble.
Not a scream. Not a fight.
Just silence, and the echo of pride.
He stared at her retreating figure — speechless for once.
He had ignored her, dismissed her, treated her like she didn’t matter…
But now, for some reason, the fact that she was the one ignoring him?
That stung.
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