Camille woke to the quiet hum of the penthouse the first morning in days that wasn't shadowed by fear, adrenaline, or emotional exhaustion. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warm and golden, brushing her skin with a softness she had almost forgotten existed.
For the first time since the chaos began, she felt… still.
She stretched slowly, breath deepening as the tension in her chest loosened. Her thoughts drifted to last night Dante's vow, the fire in his eyes, the gentleness in his touch and her heart fluttered in a confusing, unsettling way.
A soft knock sounded on her door.
"Camille?" Dante's voice floated through—calm, warm, nothing like the storm he'd been last night. "Are you awake?"
She wrapped a robe around herself and opened the door.
Dante looked different today.
His shoulders were relaxed. His expression softened. No cold mask, no business armor, no edge of danger swirling around him. Just… Dante.
