Mother Knows Best

"That little widow dares to hang up on me," muttered Dante, sprawled out on the couch in his white bathrobe, his eyes glued to his phone.

The sash around his waist was loosely tied, and water droplets from his tousled hair trickled down his forehead, rolling down to his exposed chest.

A scar across his forehead, a reminder of a mischievous encounter with Clara, added a wild charm to his otherwise