Santi
He Didn’t Know Why He Was Still Watching.
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The first time Santi laid eyes on Honey, she was laughing.
Not loudly — no, it was softer than that. Like the sound a flame makes just before it catches.
The grand room was full of whispers and forced smiles. Everyone knew what tonight was: a celebration of peace between two families who had spent years bathing the streets in blood. And at the center of that fragile truce stood him, the coldest man in the room, and her, the woman he was supposed to marry.
He watched her from the shadows, untouched by the gold light and crystal chatter. She was speaking to someone older — a cousin, maybe. There was fire in her eyes, and mischief just beneath it.
She didn’t look like someone forced into a marriage with the most dangerous man in the city.
She looked like she was planning something.
When their eyes finally met, it was brief — but enough.
Something in his chest pulled tight.
He didn’t believe in fate. He believed in control. And yet…
He couldn’t stop looking.
—————————————————
Hours later, the mansion had quieted
The champagne was gone. The laughter—hers—was a ghost in the hallway. The only sound now was the soft tick of the antique clock behind his desk and the slow inhale of his breath
Santi sat in his office, the door shut, lights low. The air smelled faintly of old leather and stronger whiskey. Paperwork was spread across the desk, but he hadn’t turned a single page in twenty minutes
There was a large window to his left, tall and slightly cracked open to the night
And that was when he saw her
Outside In the yard Running
Barefoot
She moved through the grass like the rules didn’t apply to her — in a silk slip, of all things — laughing under her breath as the Doberman sprinted after her with delighted fury.
It should’ve annoyed him. The dog wasn’t trained for games. And she — she wasn’t supposed to be out there alone, not this late, not in this city, not under his roof.
But all he could do was stare