The skyline glimmered like a field of molten gold, and Camille couldn't help but draw in a shaky breath as Dante guided her through the private entrance of the gala's after-party. The main event was over, but the night was far from done. Music throbbed softly in the background, muffled conversations floated around them, and yet Camille felt as if the room existed only for the two of them.
Dante's hand rested lightly at the small of her back, guiding her through clusters of socialites who were still lingering. His presence was magnetic, dominant, intoxicating everything Camille simultaneously wanted to fight against and surrender to.
"You're tense," he murmured, voice a low vibration against her ear.
"I'm not tense," she replied, letting a faint smirk curl her lips. "I'm aware."
"Of me?" His tone carried both accusation and amusement, dark eyes glinting.
