I hesitated. My fingers curled around the edge of my doorframe.

I shouldn't go in there. I knew that.

It was his personal space. He probably wouldn't like it if he found out I'd been snooping. But... he was out. And I was curious. No, more than curious. I wanted to know more about him. Understand why he was the way he was. Or maybe... maybe I just wanted to feel closer to him, even if I didn't want to admit that out loud.

I crept down the hall, my heart thumping louder with each step like I was doing something dangerous.

His door wasn't locked.

I turned the knob slowly, holding my breath, and gently pushed it open.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the streetlight sneaking through the blinds. It took my eyes a second to adjust, but when they did, I just stood there and took it all in.

It was exactly how I imagined Dante's room would be.

Dark. Clean. Organized.

The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray, almost black, and the bed was massive-king-sized with black sheets tucked in perfectly, no wrinkles in sight. The headboard was tall and made of dark wood. There was a shelf with books, not a lot, just a few that looked worn like he'd actually read them. A framed picture of him and his sister sat on the nightstand.

And it smelled like him.

That mix of sandalwood and spice. The scent I always caught when he walked by me in the hallway. It was stronger here, clinging to the air, the pillows, the clothes in the corner. I swallowed hard and stepped further inside.

Everything felt so... him.

I wandered slowly around the room, letting my fingers glide over the desk, the dresser, the smooth wood of the bedframe. My skin tingled with every little touch, like I was doing something I shouldn't but couldn't stop myself.

My feet carried me toward the closet before I even realized what I was doing.

I opened the door.

Inside, it was just as neat. His clothes were lined up on hangers by color-black, gray, dark blue. So many button-up shirts, jackets, and a few sweaters. His shoes were lined up on the floor, polished and placed just right.

I stepped in.

The closet was surprisingly spacious. I reached out and touched one of his black shirts. The fabric was smooth, and I pressed it between my fingers, curious. I held it up to my face and took in a breath.

God.

It smelled just like him. That warm, rich scent that made my stomach twist in the weirdest way. I stood there for a second too long, just breathing it in, wondering what it would be like to wear it. What it would feel like to have him hold me while smelling like this. My face got hot at the thought, and I shook my head quickly.

Snap out of it.

And then I saw something shiny.

A glint of silver caught my eye, and I turned my head slowly. Hanging from a small hook inside the closet was a pair of metal handcuffs.

Real ones.

I stared.

My first thought was: Why the hell does my step-uncle have handcuffs in his closet?

My second thought was: What kind of freaky things is he into?

My cheeks turned red, but I couldn't stop staring. My heart started to race. I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and touched them. They were cold and heavier than I expected. I lifted them off the hook and turned them over in my hands.

I should've put them right back. I knew I should have.

But my fingers were already sliding one of the cuffs around my wrist.

Just to see how it feels, I told myself.

Just for a second.

Then-click.

I froze.

The metal snapped shut around my wrist with a soft but terrifying click.

I tugged.

Nothing.

I pulled again. Harder.

Still nothing.

I had just locked myself into one of Dante's handcuffs.

Inside his closet.

Wearing nothing but a tiny tank top and my shortest pair of pink sleep shorts.

Panic shot through me like ice.

"Oh no," I whispered, eyes wide as I looked at the cuff around my wrist. "No, no, no..."

My breath picked up. My heart was pounding so fast it felt like it might burst out of my chest. I looked at the door.

What if he came home?

What if he walked in right now and found me like this-half-naked, in his closet, trapped in his freaking handcuffs like some crazy girl?

I tugged again, wincing as the metal pressed tighter against my skin. I was well and truly stuck.

I was screwed.

So, so screwed.

I tugged at the handcuff again, twisting my wrist as hard as I could, but it was no use. The cold metal pressed into my skin, leaving a faint red mark where it was rubbing. My fingers kept fumbling over the small lock, but of course I had no key. I gave the chain a sharp pull, hoping maybe it would just snap off the hanger, but it barely moved.

My breathing got faster. My heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear at first-just irritation-but then I heard it.

The sound of the front door closing.

My whole body went still.

A few seconds later, the heavy, steady sound of boots on the wooden hallway floor. My pulse kicked into overdrive. I didn't even have to guess who it was.

Dante was home.

I froze, every nerve in my body on high alert, listening as the footsteps came closer. The rhythm was slow and confident, like he knew exactly where he was going. I didn't dare move, even though my wrist was starting to ache from the awkward position. Maybe-just maybe-he'd go to the kitchen or bathroom and never come in here.

But then I heard it.

The bedroom door opening with a long creak.

I held my breath so tightly my chest hurt. For a moment, there was nothing-just silence, and then the faint sound of his breathing.

The next thing I knew, the closet door slid open.

And there he was.

Dante filled the doorway like some kind of dark shadow, tall and broad, his presence sucking all the air out of the tiny space. His black leather jacket caught the soft glow of the overhead light, and his hair was a little messy, like he'd been running his fingers through it. His dark eyes landed on me instantly, scanning me from my bare legs to my flushed face, and that slow, infuriating smirk curved his lips.

"Well, well," he said in that low, rich voice that always made my stomach flip, "looks like the princess is trapped."

Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I forced myself to frown. "Why do you even have handcuffs, you freak?"

The smirk on his face deepened, his eyes holding mine like he was enjoying every second of this. "That," he said lazily, "is none of your business."

I shifted uncomfortably, the hem of my tiny shirt brushing my thighs as I moved. "Just unlock it," I demanded, trying to sound in control even though my pulse was racing.

Instead of reaching for the cuffs, he leaned one shoulder against the closet frame, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that made my skin prickle. "Hmm... no. I don't think so."

My eyes widened. "What?!"

"You heard me," he said, his voice slow and deliberate, like he wanted each word to sink in. "You broke into my room. You snooped through my things. That's what bad girls do."

"I wasn't snooping-"

"Yes, you were," he cut me off smoothly. "And bad girls don't get rewarded. They get punished."

Something about the way he said punished made my breath hitch. My mind scrambled for a comeback, but all I could focus on was how close he was standing now. He'd moved without me noticing, and his scent-warm, woodsy, with that faint spice-wrapped around me.

I yanked my wrist again, the chain rattling loudly in the tiny space. The sound seemed to echo against the dark walls of the closet, making my heart beat even faster. "Dante, I'm not playing-" I said, trying to sound annoyed, but my voice didn't come out as strong as I wanted.

His smirk changed. It wasn't playful anymore. It was still a smirk, but there was something sharper in it, something that made my stomach twist in a way I couldn't explain. "Neither am I," he said slowly, his deep voice curling through the air like smoke.

He started walking toward me, one slow step at a time, and each step made the wooden floor creak just slightly. My eyes stayed glued to him without meaning to, my back pressing against the closet wall like maybe I could melt into it and disappear. But I couldn't move. Not really. My arm was still caught in the cuff, and now my legs felt heavy too.

When he finally stopped, he was so close that I could feel the faint heat coming from his body. His shadow fell over me completely, and the soft overhead light in the closet now framed his face in a way that made him look even more intense.

His eyes locked on mine, dark and steady, and I didn't dare look away. It was like my brain forgot how. My lips parted just slightly, my breath shallow, and for a moment I forgot why I was even mad.

Then I felt it-his fingers brushing against mine. It was a slow, deliberate touch, like he wanted me to feel every movement. My skin tingled where he touched me, and I couldn't stop the tiny shiver that ran through me.

His hand closed around my wrist, warm and firm, his thumb resting against the rapid beat of my pulse. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, there was a sharp metallic click.

I gasped softly and glanced up. My other wrist was now caught in the matching cuff. I was trapped-completely. Both hands were now pulled up above my head, secured to the cold metal rod that ran across the closet. The chain between the cuffs swayed slightly when I moved, making a faint clinking sound that somehow made my cheeks heat up even more.

"Dante-" I said again, but it came out quieter this time. My voice didn't sound firm or confident. It sounded small.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped back just enough to take me in, his gaze slow and deliberate. His eyes moved from my wrists down the length of my body, lingering far too long. It made me feel exposed, even though I was still in my tiny shorts and shirt.

Finally, his eyes came back to mine, and that dangerous little smile returned, curling slowly across his lips like it had all the time in the world.

"Now," he said, his voice low and smooth, but heavy with meaning, "you're not going anywhere."