Chapter 86
They say that when someone is truly shocked, so speechless they can’t even think, no words come out at all.
Now, Riena finally understood what that meant.
Henry had stepped closer behind her—so close she could feel the warmth of him. His figure appeared in Dante’s line of sight, and the two men’s eyes locked instantly.
With a sharp glare, Henry gently placed his hand on Riena’s shoulder.
“Reina, are you al—”
“Take your hand off her.”
The cutting voice sliced through Henry’s words like a blade.
Tension flared again.
Riena’s mind spun as she glanced up at Henry standing behind her, then at Dante, who stood a few steps away, glaring daggers at them both.
Dante’s gaze was fixed squarely on the hand resting on her shoulder.
“I said, take it off.”
“I’m not sure why His Grace feels the need to involve himself in this.”
“What?”
The curve of Dante’s lips hardened instantly.
“Then what about you? A soldier flirting with a civilian woman—what do you call that?”
“…What did you just say?”
The voice that came from above her trembled with barely restrained anger and humiliation.
Riena bit her lip hard, feeling her pulse hammer painfully in her head.
Why—why did it always come to this whenever the two of them met?
Whatever the reason, fighting was not an option.
Absolutely not.
She hurried up the hill, forcing herself between them, and looked at Henry.
“Thank you for walking me home, Henry,” she said quickly.
Then she threw him a desperate look that clearly said, Please, just go.
Henry, who had been looking between Dante and Riena, finally spoke. His voice was low, deliberate.
“Riena.”
Leaning in slightly, he whispered close to her ear, his breath brushing her skin.
“I might have been wrong earlier… but I meant what I said. Don’t let him fool you. Be careful.”
“…Henry.”
Glancing once at Dante—whose clenched fists told him everything—Henry stepped back.
“I’ll see you next time, Reina. We’ll have that picnic by the beach then.”
Picnic?
Ah. So that’s what he meant earlier about buying her something delicious.
Puzzled, Riena nodded, pretending to understand.
Whatever it meant, the important thing was to send him away now. Dante’s patience was clearly hanging by a thread.
Henry gave a reluctant bow before turning away. Watching his bandaged arm and the limp in his step as he walked off, Riena felt a pang of guilt.
Was it really okay to let him go like this? To drive him away so coldly?
“…Riena.”
The sound of her name drew her back sharply.
She turned—and saw Dante leaning casually against his white car, watching her with unreadable eyes.
Then, in that same position, he said quietly,
“What are you waiting for? Come here.”
Oh, she didn’t want to blame anyone, but really.
Right now, every ounce of her irritation boiled down to one person—him.
Suppressing the urge to scowl, Riena walked toward him.
“What’s your problem?” she snapped.
“What problem?”
Dante brushed a hand over her left shoulder—right where Henry’s hand had just been.
She flinched, then retorted, “You honked on purpose. Not because Henry looked suspicious, but just to interrupt.”
The way she said his name—Henry—softly, familiarly—made Dante’s jaw tighten.
“Are you two close?”
“Does that matter right now?”
His brow twitched.
“Then what does matter? Or should I stop asking you anything altogether?”
His voice came out cold, edged with a twist of restrained fury.
“Why are you so angry?” Riena shot back, her voice rising. “What exactly bothers you so much?”
“Everything.”
“…Do I look happy to you? Is that it?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t stand the thought that I might be happy?”
He froze for half a second, then lifted his head sharply, his gaze like a drawn blade.
“Maybe I’ve been too kind to you lately,” he said in a low growl. “But I don’t recall ever telling you it was fine to talk to me like that.”
His voice vibrated against her ears, dangerous and deep.
But Riena didn’t flinch.
“Whether Your Grace loses your temper or not—it’s none of my concern. But—”
She paused, catching her breath. Anger burned in her chest, trembling just beneath the surface.
“I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me.”
A short, humorless laugh escaped Dante’s throat. He tilted his head, eyes glinting.
So she had angered him after all.
Sensing it, Riena straightened her spine and forced herself to meet his eyes head-on.
“I’m not the only one being fickle here,” he said flatly. “If anything, I’ve been the one keeping up with your moods.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful for that now?” she shot back. “Because Your Grace has been so patient with me?”
It was a sharp, mocking tone—and she knew it would only make things worse. But around him, reason always slipped away.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stay calm.
Especially not now.
“Riena.”
Her name came out in a low, cutting voice.
“Be quiet. I’m barely holding it together.”
The way he bit out each word made her heart tremble.
“…I really don’t understand you,” she whispered. “Why you’re angry with me right now—none of it makes sense.”
And it didn’t. Every time, it was like this.
He’d show warmth, almost tenderness—then suddenly lash out in anger for reasons she could never grasp.
And it always felt like something only lovers would fight about.
Which made it all the more incomprehensible.
He’d said he didn’t love her when she asked.
And when she asked if he hated her, then he finally said yes.
Riena remembered those words vividly.
So what am I supposed to do with that?
She looked away, sighing quietly.
“What do you want me to do?”
What should I do for you, Riena?
What can I possibly do right now?
She had heard those same words from him many times before.
And now she understood—he hadn’t said them because he wanted to help her.
He’d said them because he simply didn’t understand her—because he didn’t know what else to do.
Dante said nothing for a long time. He only looked down at her, silently.
Riena exhaled slowly, then lifted her head.
“…If you tell me what it is you want,” she said, her voice trembling, “then maybe—maybe I can at least try.”
Dante’s lips curved, not in amusement but something darker.
“If I tell you,” he said softly, “will you listen?”
“If it means we won’t keep fighting like this, then… yes.”
“Hmm.”
A quiet laugh slipped from him as he took a step closer.
He slid one hand from his pocket and set it casually on the frame of the car door beside her.
Just that small motion sent a wave of pressure rolling through the air between them.
“How can you say things like that,” he murmured, “when you don’t even know what it is I want?”
It wasn’t just his tone—it was the look in his eyes.
A dangerous premonition crawled down her spine.
Riena instinctively flinched and tried to step back.
But the moment she moved, Dante’s eyes flashed—and his hand shot out, gripping her shoulder tightly.
He pushed her back until she hit the car door.
“…Ah!”
It wasn’t a hard impact, but the suddenness of it forced a small gasp from her lips.
Dante stood closer than before—too close.
Behind her was cold metal. In front of her was him. There was nowhere to go.
His hand burned hot against her shoulder, and all she could do was stare up into his unrelenting eyes.
“When you act like this,” Dante said, his voice rough and trembling with restraint, “it makes me angry, Riena.”
The muscle in his jaw tightened, a vein pulsing visibly.
His chest heaved. Every emotion in him was a tangled storm—dark, twisted, and consuming.
He wanted to cage her away somewhere no one else could see her.
Dante’s lips parted slowly.
“You asked what I wanted.”
“…Yes.”
“I’ll tell you,” he whispered.
“Right now.”
