dante

Outside, the sky was pouring down angrily, as if wanting to wash away all the sins of the city. Dante Blackwood was looking at his reflection in the condensation on the drink glass he had just left on the bar counter. A few buttons on his black shirt were undone, his sleeves rolled up. The watch on his wrist wasn't ticking the seconds, but rather counting down to his freedom. He heard light footsteps behind him. He didn't even turn his gaze. It was the woman he had married two months ago, as if signing a promissory note for the sake of "the families' interests": Yağmur. "Are you leaving again?" Yağmur said. Her voice trembled, but not from fear, but from that unending feeling of abandonment within her. Dante took his silver lighter from his pocket, lit the cigarette between his lips. As he slowly exhaled the smoke, he fixed his icy gaze on Yağmur's eyes in the mirror. There was no trace of tenderness in those eyes; only an endless winter. "Where I'm going is none of your business," Dante said. His voice was as hard and smooth as sandpaper. "I gave you a surname and a life in this house. All I ask in return is that you keep your questions to yourself." Rain took another step. "I know where you're going. You're going to him, aren't you? You still belong to him." Dante turned suddenly. The distance between them closed in a second. He grasped Rain's chin firmly but gently. His scent—a mixture of expensive tobacco, strong whiskey, and rain—made the young woman dizzy. "Look at me, Rain," Dante whispered, his eyes darkening. "Our story isn't a fairy tale. You may be the most beautiful piece on this chessboard, but I didn't set up this game. My heart is already buried in another grave. You are merely the guard standing watch over it." He slowly withdrew his hand, threw his jacket over his shoulders, and walked into the storm, into the darkness, without looking back. When the door closed, Yağmur realized how tightly her diamond ring was gripping her finger. This marriage was

Cold, ruthless, disrespectful, someone who gets what he wants, heartless, a poisonous tongue: When he speaks, he doesn't choose his words, he hurls them like bullets. He doesn't hesitate to humiliate or strike at the most sensitive point of his opponent. Emotional Freezing: For Dante, empathy is a fable invented by weak people. He doesn't care about anyone's tears; pleas are just noise to him. Unfaithful Loyalty: His heart is chained to the ghost of a woman who is dead (or thought to have left). Therefore, he considers showing affection to a living woman beside him a betrayal. This makes him even more aggressive and rude towards Yağmur.