My boyfriend lost a dare.

And the punishment was that I had to kiss his brother on the spot.

He did not ask whether I was willing. He did not look at me, did not care about my expression, and did not even bother to consider how humiliating it was for me.

Instead, he laughed as if it were all just harmless fun, then turned to his brother and said, "Dante, this is my fault. I've put you in a difficult position."

I stared coldly at Luca, the man I had been with for three years.

A chill spread through my chest.

The private room at the back of the social club was thick with cigar smoke and the clink of heavy tumblers. Half the men at that table carried guns they weren't supposed to have. The other half carried ones they were. And Luca sat at the center of it all, loose and grinning, like a prince who had never once been told no.

I had told him more than once that Dante looked at me strangely. I had told him that his brother's eyes made me uncomfortable, that Dante's attention toward me was not innocent.

But every time, Luca dismissed me with impatience.

"What are you thinking? Dante is the Underboss. Why would he be interested in someone like you?"

"Don't flatter yourself. What are you compared to him? Why would he ever look at you?"

At the time, those words had already hurt. But tonight, watching him push me toward Dante like I was nothing more than a prop in his game, I finally understood.

Luca was not unaware. He simply did not care.

All night, Dante's gaze had been fixed on me like a predator watching prey. That stare was greedy, direct, and impossible to ignore. He sat apart from the loudest of them, his signet ring catching the low light each time he turned his glass, and he watched me with the patience of a man who had learned to wait for what he wanted.

Yet Luca continued laughing and drinking with his associates, pretending not to see anything. Or perhaps he truly believed that I was not worth being desired.

I let out a soft, mocking click of my tongue.

Fine. If he wanted to treat me like a joke, then I would make sure this joke landed hard enough to hurt.

Under everyone's shocked gazes, I walked straight toward Dante.

Then, without hesitation, I sat on his lap.

The room exploded with cheers and whistles. Someone's hand slapped the table hard enough to rattle the glasses.

Dante's body stiffened beneath me. I looked into his eyes, seeing the dark hunger he had tried so hard to hide all night. Then I leaned down and kissed him.

The moment my lips touched his, the noise around me seemed to fade. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the vulgar cheering, all of it blurred into a distant hum. Somewhere behind the closed door a bodyguard shifted his weight, and even that sound dissolved.

I closed my eyes and deepened the kiss.

The instant our tongues touched, I felt Dante tremble. His hands clenched at his sides, as if he was barely restraining himself.

Five minutes. It was only five minutes, but it felt endless. Every second made my skin crawl. Every breath felt suffocating. But I forced myself to continue.

Since Luca had chosen to humiliate me, then he could watch the result of his own stupidity.

When the time was finally up, I pushed Dante away and stood.

The entire room had gone strangely quiet. The cigar smoke hung motionless, and not one of the men at that table moved. Everyone was staring at me in disbelief.

But when I turned my head, Luca was still casually chatting with his friends, as if nothing had happened. As if I had not just kissed another man. As if I was not his woman. As if none of this mattered.

A cold laugh escaped my throat.

I turned and walked out of that suffocating room without looking back.

Behind me, someone teased Luca loudly.

"Luca, aren't you mad that your girl just kissed someone else?"

Luca's answer came almost immediately, careless and dismissive.

"What's there to be mad about? It wasn't real."

My steps faltered for half a second.

Then I walked even faster.

My heart dropped like a stone, sinking into a place so cold I could barely breathe.

So that was what I was to him. Not his woman. Not someone to cherish. Not someone whose dignity mattered. Just a body that could be pushed into a dare, kissed by another man, and brushed off with the words, "It wasn't real."

When I got back to the apartment, I locked myself in my room. My thumb found the small pendant at my throat and pressed its edge until the chain bit into my skin.

Luca knocked on the door again and again, but I ignored him. I did not want to see him. I did not want to hear his voice. I did not want to listen to another excuse wrapped in carelessness.

Then my phone buzzed.

It was a message from a burner number.

I opened it.

The moment I saw the words on the screen, a chill ran down my spine.

That was my first kiss. You have to take responsibility.

Dante.

I stared at the message for a long time, my fingers tightening around the phone. The discomfort I had felt at the social club surged back all at once. His gaze. His trembling body. The way he had looked at me afterward, still and certain, like a man who had just decided something that could not be undone.

I did not reply. I simply turned off the screen and decided to handle everything coldly. If I ignored him, perhaps he would lose interest. If I refused to respond, perhaps this disgusting farce would end here.

But days passed. Dante did not contact me again.

And Luca still showed no sign of remorse. No apology. No explanation. No attempt to truly understand why I was angry. It was as if he believed that once a few days passed, I would naturally calm down and pretend nothing had happened.

My heart felt unbearably heavy, like a massive stone had been pressed against my chest. Every breath was difficult.

Finally, on the fifth night, Luca appeared at my door with a cup of bubble tea. His expression was awkward, but not guilty enough. He smoothed one hand down his lapel and gave a quick, unnecessary tug at his cuff before he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't expect things to turn out like that."

He handed me the drink. His tone was so casual that it almost made the apology meaningless.

I looked at the bubble tea in his hand and suddenly wanted to laugh. Did he think one drink could smooth over the humiliation he had forced on me? Did he think my anger was that cheap?

Still, I took it. Not because I had forgiven him. But because I wanted to see whether he had even understood what he had done wrong.

I pulled out my phone and showed him Dante's message.

"I told you before," I said coldly, "that he had ulterior motives toward me."

Luca glanced at the screen. Instead of shock or anger, he frowned. Then he said the words that shattered the last of my patience.

"You and Dante aren't on the same level. Stop flattering yourself."

My fingers tightened around the phone.

Luca continued, as if he were only stating a fact. "He probably just continued the dare after leaving. There's no way he'd actually be interested in you."

Those words cut through me like a blade. For a moment, I felt dizzy. Not because Dante might be interested in me. But because Luca had humiliated me again, so naturally, so effortlessly, as if belittling me had become instinct.

I looked at him and asked slowly, "So what you mean is, I'm not good enough for him?"

My voice was calm, but my chest was burning.

I was only a department head at one of the Family's legitimate front businesses, yes. But I had worked for every bit of what I owned. I had my own savings, my own career, my own dignity.

And Luca? He was a capo in name, entrusted with the Family's real-estate fronts and a few tribute streams, but he coasted on the Falcone bloodline more than on anything he had built himself. He drifted through his days collecting from properties other men maintained.

Yet he had the audacity to look down on me.

Luca seemed to realize he had said the wrong thing. His expression changed, and he hurried to explain. "That's not what I meant. I just thought…"

But I no longer wanted to hear it. I had heard enough. Enough excuses. Enough dismissal. Enough of him treating my discomfort as vanity and my anger as overreaction.

The argument broke out instantly. Our voices grew sharper and louder, each sentence tearing open cracks that had long existed between us. The sweetness we once had seemed to collapse in that moment. All the tenderness, all the memories, all the promises suddenly felt fragile and false.

In the middle of our argument, Dante's wolf-like gaze flashed through my mind again.

And for the first time, I wondered if Luca had ever truly failed to see it. Or if he had seen everything clearly from the beginning and simply believed I was not worth protecting.

I stood at the entrance of the boardwalk, staring at the crowd flowing past me.

Children were laughing.

Couples were taking photos.

The bright music from the carnival rides drifted through the air, cheerful and lively.

But my mood sank little by little.

Luca had stood me up again.

It was not the first time.

Every time, he had a reason. Every time, something "suddenly came up." Every time, I was the one left waiting like a fool.

I took a deep breath, forcing down the disappointment and anger burning in my chest.

Fine.

If he did not come, then I would go in alone.

I had already bought the tickets. I had already made time for this. I refused to let another one of his excuses ruin my day.

But the moment I walked through the entrance, I saw a familiar figure standing not far away.

Dante.

He was wearing a casual jacket, one hand in his pocket, the other raised as he waved at me with a bright smile.

For a second, I froze.

He walked toward me naturally, as if he had been waiting there for a long time.

"Luca asked me to come with you," Dante explained. "Something came up at the last minute, and he couldn't make it."

A bitter feeling rose in my throat.

So Luca could not even be bothered to explain it to me himself.

He had simply pushed me onto Dante again.

Just like that night at the party.

But Dante's smile was warm beneath the sunlight, clean and gentle, so different from the dangerous gaze I remembered from before.

For some reason, the heaviness in my chest loosened a little.

Since he was already here, I had no reason to turn around and leave.

We went on the roller coaster first.

As the ride shot forward, screams erupted all around us.

The wind rushed against my face, tearing away the frustration I had been holding in. My heart pounded wildly, not from fear, but from a long-lost thrill.

For the first time in a long while, I laughed without forcing myself.

Dante sat beside me, laughing too.

When the ride ended, my legs were a little weak. Dante noticed immediately and reached out to steady me.

"Careful," he said.

His voice was light, but his hand was steady. I caught the faintest edge of his signet ring pressing cool against my arm where his fingers closed.

Later, he bought me cotton candy.

The soft pink sugar melted on my tongue, sweet enough to make my mood brighten without warning.

We walked side by side through the boardwalk, talking about the legitimate fronts, daily life, and all sorts of small, ordinary things. Two of his men trailed thirty feet behind us, close enough to intervene, far enough to pretend they weren't there. I had learned not to look back at them.

To my surprise, the conversation was easy.

Dante was not as difficult to approach as I had imagined.

Without realizing it, I began stealing glances at him.

Under the sunlight, his profile looked unexpectedly handsome.