The Ghost of the Red Likies

The dining hall was an cavernous space of cold marble and flickering candlelight. A long, dark oak table sat in the center, looking like a stage set for a play Leo didn't know the lines to. Dante sat at the head, his presence filling the room, while Leo was seated to his right. The distance between them felt like a canyon, yet the tension stretched thin like a wire ready to snap.

"You aren't eating," Dante observed, his eyes tracking the way Leo moved the silver fork across his plate without taking a bite.

"It’s hard to have an appetite when you're being watched by cameras and bodyguards," Leo replied, glancing toward the corners of the room.

Dante set his wine glass down with a soft click. "The security is for your safety, not your imprisonment. The world is a dangerous place for someone associated with me. My enemies would love to use you as leverage."

"And what am I to you, then? Leverage? Or a trophy?" Leo asked, his voice gaining a spark of defiance.

Dante’s gaze intensified, his eyes reflecting the candlelight like polished onyx. "You are neither. You are a necessity." He stood up, walking slowly around the table until he stood behind Leo’s chair. He placed his hands on the back of the seat, leaning down so his lips were near Leo’s ear. "Tell me, Leo... do you ever dream of water? Deep, cold water that tastes of salt and copper?"

Leo froze. The air in the room suddenly felt freezing. He did dream of water. He dreamt of falling into a dark abyss while a hand reached out for him—a hand he could never quite catch.

"I don't... I don't know what you mean," Leo lied, his voice trembling.

"Liar," Dante whispered. He reached forward, his fingers brushing against the pulse point on Leo’s neck. "Your heart is racing. It remembers, even if your mind is stubborn."

Suddenly, the lights in the dining hall flickered and dimmed. A sharp, piercing cold swept through the room, smelling faintly of incense and dried flowers. Leo’s vision blurred. The modern dining room began to dissolve, replaced by the flickering orange glow of a thousand lanterns.

The Past: The Great Dynasty of the North

The palace gardens were silent, save for the rustle of the wind through the red lilies. Leo—dressed in the white and blue silks of a high scholar—stood by the koi pond, his heart heavy. Behind him, a shadow detached itself from the trees. It was Dante, but not the man in the charcoal suit. This Dante wore black leather armor, a heavy sword strapped to his hip, his face smeared with the soot of a distant battle.

"They’ve signed the decree," Leo whispered, not turning around. "The Emperor has promised me to the Southern Prince to seal the treaty."

"The Emperor can promise the stars to the moon, but he cannot give away what belongs to the General of the North," Dante’s voice was a low growl, filled with a dangerous possessiveness. He stepped forward, spinning Leo around and crushing him against his chest. "I will burn the Southern Kingdom to ashes before I let another man touch you."

"We cannot fight fate, Dante," Leo sobbed, clutching the soldier’s armor. "In this life, we were never meant to be."

"Then I will find you in the next," Dante vowed, his eyes burning with a terrifying resolve. "And the one after that. I will build empires just to buy your freedom. I will hunt your soul through the cycles of time until you are mine again."

The vision shattered as abruptly as it had begun. Leo gasped, nearly falling out of his chair. He was back in the dining hall in Mexico City. His breath was coming in short, jagged bursts, and tears were streaming down his face.

Dante was still standing over him, but his expression had shifted. The cold, calculating businessman was gone, replaced by a man looking at him with an agonized mixture of hunger and recognition. Dante’s hand was still on Leo’s neck, and his grip had tightened instinctively.

"You saw it, didn't you?" Dante asked, his voice raw.

Leo looked up at him, his eyes wide with terror and a strange, soul-deep longing. "What... what was that? Who were those people?"

Dante knelt down beside Leo’s chair, bringing them eye-to-eye. For the first time, the mask of the powerful businessman dropped completely. "That was us, Leo. That was the last time I lost you. I spent fifteen years of this life wondering why I felt like half a person, why I was obsessed with a history that didn't exist in books. Then I saw your face in a file two years ago, and the world finally made sense."

Leo shook his head, trying to pull away. "This is crazy. Reincarnation? Past lives? You're telling me you bought my family's company and forced me into marriage because of a... a dream?"

"It’s not a dream when the scars still itch," Dante said, standing up and pulling Leo up with him. He didn't let go, his hands moving to Leo’s waist. "I didn't just save your father's company, Leo. I ensured that no one else could ever claim you. This time, there is no Emperor, no treaty, and no Southern Prince. There is only me, and I have more power than any General ever dreamt of."

Leo looked at the man before him—a man who had spent a lifetime, perhaps several, hunting him down. He should have run. He should have been disgusted. But as Dante pulled him closer, the familiar scent of cedarwood and the heat of his skin felt like coming home after a long, cold journey.

"I don't remember everything," Leo whispered, his hand tentatively rising to touch the lapel of Dante’s shirt.

"You will," Dante promised, his voice dropping to a low, possessive hum. "And until you do, I will spend every second of this life making sure you never want to leave."

Dante leaned in, his lips brushing against Leo’s forehead in a gesture that was surprisingly tender, yet felt like a brand. The contract was signed, the ring was on his finger, and the past was no longer behind them—it was bleeding into the present, demanding to be finished.

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