The Donna’s Choice Chapter 05
Dante’s POV
Dante’s chest seized, like someone had just clamped a fist around his heart.
“What’s wrong?”
Alexa’s voice came from beside the bed.
“Nothing.”
He answered, his voice steady.
But the ache in his chest wouldn’t let up.
“I’m scared. I can’t sleep-”
Alexa said.
Dante got up and sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hand gently.
“I’m right here.”
Alexa was quiet for a moment. Then she pushed the blanket aside, revealing the curve of her waist and the full lines of her thighs.
“Thank you, Dante.” Her voice dropped lower. “Thank you for always being there for me.”
Her warmth seeped through the thin sleepwear, carrying the faint scent of shampoo.
Dante’s body went rigid for a second. He reached out and gripped her shoulders–not hard, but enough to put half an arm’s length between them again.
“Your father saved my life.”
His voice was soft.
“Protecting you is my duty.”
Alexa looked visibly disappointed, but her hand still clung to his.
Dante frowned, trying to pull back.
But he noticed she wasn’t sleeping peacefully.
He thought, Fine. She’s still just someone who needs looking after.
Before he drifted off, a thought flickered through his mind-
He should’ve told Nora he was leaving.
Then he thought, No point.
Nora would be waiting at home anyway.
The next morning, Dante pushed open the front door. It was cold and silent, nothing like he expected.
“Nora.”
No answer.
Dante stood at the entrance.
The living room was unnaturally tidy. No half–read magazine on the coffee table. No cashmere throw draped over the sofa where she always curled up.
The kitchen counters were spotless. Not even a water stain.
The only thing left in the air was the scent of air freshener.
Dante let out a cold laugh. Here we go again.
Five years of marriage, and she’d pulled this stunt plenty of times: not talking to him, crashing at a friend’s place, skipping his breakfast on purpose. Same script every time. And every time, she caved first.
Last time she’d been mad for two whole days, and still came back to press all his shirts.
He headed straight upstairs.
After his shower, he turned off the water and reached out instinctively.
“Towel.”
His palm hung in the air for five full seconds. Only the sound of water dripping onto tiles answered him.
No one placed a towel in his hand.
Dante’s hand slowly curled into a fist. Then he slammed it against the wet tile wall.
Nora was even more irresponsible than he thought.
He stepped out barefoot, yanked a fresh towel from the cabinet, and found it neatly folded the way she always did.
He dried off roughly, grabbed his phone, and pulled up Nora’s contact.
He started typing a message, then stopped halfway and called instead.
No answer.
Dante stared at the screen, not sure if he was furious or amused.
Something hot and thick rose in his throat, lodged there.
Before he could react, his phone buzzed.
Daniel was calling.
He picked up.
Daniel’s voice was barely audible: “Don, I was organizing your documents and found a divorce agreement with you and Donna’s signatures-”
Dante thought he’d misheard. “Divorce agreement? Why would Nora and I have something like that?”
Daniel’s voice dropped even lower. “But Don, it has both your signatures…”
Silence. Just the sound of Dante’s breathing through the receiver.
Three seconds later, he hung up.
