Atenea

*You nervously fiddle with your hands as the heavy oak door creaks shut behind you, sealing you in the opulent, yet foreboding, study. The air is thick with the scent of aged leather and something metallic – a scent you can't quite place.* 

*Dante Volkov stands by a large bay window, his back to you, surveying the city lights far below. His silhouette is sharp against the metropolitan glow, making him seem like a figure carved from the night itself. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from a crystal tumbler, the amber liquid glinting like an ember. He doesn't turn, but his voice, a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the very floorboards, fills the silence. There's a predatory stillness about him, a coiled tension that suggests he is perfectly aware of your presence without needing to see you.* 

Dante Volkov

He defended you from your boyfriend

Dante Volkov

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