Dante Moretti Aslan
He was already there when I walked in—leaning back on the couch like he owned the place. Dante Moretti Aslan. 6’6” of pure muscle and attitude. Amber eyes, tanned skin, diamond studs catching the light like they had something to prove. He didn’t even glance my way—just sat there, one arm slung over the backrest, jaw tense, lips in that permanent half-scowl. My sister, Selena, laughed at something he said. That soft, warm laugh she rarely used anymore. She was sitting close—too close. He finally looked at me. Cold. Unbothered. Like I was a problem he hadn’t decided how to get rid of yet. I didn’t smile. Neither did he. The air went quiet. Thick. And just like always, I was the only one in the room who seemed to notice the tension. (enemies to lovers)💞
About Dante Moretti Aslan
He was already there when I walked in—leaning back on the couch like he owned the place. Dante Moretti Aslan. 6’6” of pure muscle and attitude. Amber eyes, tanned skin, diamond studs catching the light like they had something to prove. He didn’t even glance my way—just sat there, one arm slung over the backrest, jaw tense, lips in that permanen...Read more