I trust you
"Do you ever regret saving me?" Aria's voice broke the silence in Dante's office, her words catching him mid-sip of his whiskey.
Dante's golden eyes lifted, narrowing slightly as he studied her from across the room. She stood near the window, the moonlight illuminating her delicate frame. Her question wasn't casual; it carried the weight of a thousand doubts she wouldn't say aloud.
"Regret?" he repeated, setting the glass down on his desk. "If you're asking whether I regret pulling you out of that hellhole, the answer is no."
"But—"
"Aria," he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind, "don't. You don't get to question your worth, not after everything you've been through."
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the windowsill, her reflection in the glass betraying the war inside her.