Page 44 of Ivory Legacy

I looked at him, sighing. “Hey, I don’t think we should go to my apartment,” I said. “I’m pretty sure the landlord leased it out to someone else at this point.”

“Yeah, about your lease,” Dante started, his voice cutting through the muted sounds of traffic seeping into the cabin. “I hope you’re not thinking someone else has moved into your place.”

My fingers paused mid-twirl in a lock of my dark hair. “I mean, it’s been months, Dante. My landlord’s not the type to let anapartment in NYC sit empty.” I glanced at him sideways, trying to read his expression.

He kept his eyes on the road, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “No need to worry about that. I’ve been taking care of the lease.”

“You’ve...what?” The words tumbled out before I could catch them.

“Paid it. All this time.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather rather than dropping a bombshell.

“Why would you do that?” The question came out sharper than I intended, laced with disbelief.

“Two reasons.” He merged into another lane, his movements precise and controlled. “First, I wanted you to have a place to return to, if you ever decided to come back.”

“And the second?”

“Selfish, really.” He finally turned to look at me, dark eyes locking onto mine. “There was always a chance I’d see you again. If you showed up there.”

His admission hovered in the air between us, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken threads tethering us together despite our tangled history. It was care masked as strategy, concern cloaked in self-interest, and it left my thoughts spinning like leaves caught in the relentless New York wind.

“I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable,” he said. “But you’re right. Your landlord wasn’t going to just let your apartment sit there.”

I bit back the instinct to argue and shifted in my seat, the leather creaking under me. “But you’re not that sorry for stalking me? That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Clearly,” Dante said, his gaze still fixed on the congested streets ahead, “it worked out.” His voice was a low rumble, the kind of sound that had a way of settling deep in my stomach.

“Stalking is a crime, you know.” Despite the severity of the topic, my words came out more amused than accusatory.

He laughed, his hand on my knee. “Are you going to turn me in, Jade?”

“No, I think you’ve got enough legal troubles as it is,” I retorted, the ghost of a smirk lingering on my lips. My eyes dropped to his hand on my knee, the warmth from his touch seeping through the fabric of my jeans.

“Speaking of which...” He started, reclaiming his hand and bringing both back onto the steering wheel. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

My heart hitched in my chest. The silence that followed his words hung heavy in the air like a premonition, a signal flare warning me of incoming danger.

“Your job at BioHQ,” Dante finally broke the silence, “is safe...as long as I have a stake in it.”

“Thanks?” I said, unsure of whether to feel grateful or not.

“Look,” Dante continued, his voice softening a notch, “I’m not about to stand in the way of your ambition. Not now, not ever.”

“Good.” I turned to face him fully, meeting his dark eyes with determination etched into every line of my face. “Because I’m not giving it up. Not for you, not for anyone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to.” He nodded once, sharply, as if sealing an unspoken pact between us.

The sudden rush of relief was quickly followed by confusion. “Wait, the RICO case… won’t it force BioHQ to shut down?”

His lips thinned into a line, an unmistakable sign that he was thinking. He turned back to the road, his gaze flitting between the buildings as he considered his response.

“No,” he said after a few beats of silence. “There are... legal loopholes.”

I crossed my arms. “Such as?”

He glanced at me, his eyes unreadable. “Does it matter?”

I sighed, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “You always do this, Dante. Twisting words, keeping things just vague enough—“

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