The city lights painted the walls of Dante's office in gold and shadow as Camille stepped inside, heels clicking against the polished floor. She should have felt intimidated by the grandeur the sleek marble, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the shelves of awards but all she felt was a rush. A mixture of anticipation and frustration that always came with him.
Dante was already there, sitting behind his desk, fingers steepled, eyes sharp and unwavering. He didn't rise. He didn't need to. The way he looked at her made it impossible to ignore the tension between them.
"Late," he said, voice smooth but edged with irritation.
"I came when I wanted," she replied, letting her confidence mask the heat building in her chest.
He leaned back, assessing her, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "You walk into my world and act like you belong."
"I do belong," she shot back. "And I've learned how to survive in yours."
