Inside the office, Antonio gazed at the slightly worn pen resting on the desk, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
His usually gentle and handsome face seemed shadowed by something unreadable.
Fate, it seemed, was still on his side.
What was meant to be his would, in the end, remain his.
Finishing his cigarette, he picked up his coat and strode out.
Time ticked by, minute by minute, until at last, Camilla's plane touched down.
"Mrs. Luther, this way, please."
The middle-aged man didn't reach out to pull Camilla this time, merely watching her with a somber expression.
His demeanor was noticeably more courteous than before.
Camilla's eyes remained icy as she stepped off the plane without protest.
Several men flanking her followed suit, trailing closely behind.
A sleek silver Maybach waited outside.
An assistant strode forward, bowing slightly to Camilla with deference.
"Miss Camila—"
