The Weight of Crimson

University was no longer the sanctuary it used to be for Leo. He could feel the eyes of his peers on him—the whispers about the "scholarship boy" who had suddenly married the nation’s most dangerous billionaire. He sat in the back of his history lecture, trying to focus on the professor's voice, but his mind kept drifting back to the crescent moon mark on his neck.

He had checked it in the mirror that morning. It was redder than usual, almost pulsing.

After class, as he walked toward the gates where a black sedan was waiting, a group of men blocked his path. They didn't look like students. They had the rugged, scarred look of the underworld.

"So, you're the little prize Volkov bought," one of them sneered, stepping into Leo’s personal space. "Tell us, does he sleep with his eyes open, or is he as vulnerable as they say?"

Leo’s heart hammered, but a strange, ancient anger flared up inside him. He didn't feel like a victim. He felt a surge of power that didn't belong to him. "Move," Leo said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding eerily like someone who had commanded armies.

The men laughed, but before they could grab him, a hand landed on the leader’s shoulder. It was Dante. He had come to pick Leo up himself, a move that was entirely uncharacteristic of a man who valued his time in billions.

Dante’s face was a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. He didn't say a word. He simply gripped the man’s shoulder until the sound of a bone snapping echoed in the quiet air.

"If you touch him," Dante whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark promise, "I will ensure that death is the kindest thing you ever experience."

In that moment, Leo didn't see the businessman. He saw the protector he had lost in a past life.

The drive back was silent, but the air inside the car was thick with unspoken tension. Dante was staring out the window, his knuckles white. Leo watched him, wondering how a man could be so cruel to the world yet so instinctively protective of someone he claimed was just a "contract."

"You shouldn't have done that," Leo said softly. "You broke his arm."

"He was lucky I didn't take his head," Dante snapped, finally turning to look at Leo. "You have no idea how the world works, Leo. You think life is a textbook. It’s not. It’s a war."

"I know it's a war," Leo retorted, his voice trembling with emotion. "I feel it every time I look at you. I feel like I've been fighting this war for centuries, Dante. Don't you feel it? The way my heart reacts when you walk in? The way you look at me when you think I'm not watching?"

Dante leaned in, closing the distance between them until their breaths mingled. The car was moving, the city lights blurring outside, but inside, time had stopped.

"What do you want from me, Leo? Recognition? A confession?" Dante’s voice was a low growl.

"I want the truth," Leo whispered. "I want to know why you saved me in my dreams, only to treat me like a stranger in reality."

Dante’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second. He reached out, his thumb brushing against Leo’s jawline. For a moment, it looked like he was going to kiss him—not out of lust, but out of a desperate need to reclaim something that was stolen from him by fate.

"Because in reality," Dante said, pulling his hand away as if burnt, "I am the reason you died the first time. I won't let it happen again, even if it means keeping you at a distance."

Leo froze. Dante had admitted it. He remembered. The rebirth wasn't a coincidence; it was a second chance at a tragedy.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***