Morning sunlight hit the glass walls of the penthouse long before Camille opened her eyes. For the first time in days, the air wasn't heavy with confrontation or unspoken wounds. It felt… calmer. Almost peaceful.
Almost.
Camille stepped out of her room after a long shower, wrapped in a soft robe, her hair damp and falling around her shoulders. She expected to find the penthouse quiet, but instead—
Voices. Low. Male. Unfamiliar.
She paused.
Dante didn't entertain guests in his home. Anyone who entered that space was someone he trusted completely—or someone he was willing to use.
Curiosity pulled her forward.
When she stepped into the lounge, the sharp scent of cologne and quiet laughter greeted her. Three men in tailored suits stood by the glass balcony, glasses of whiskey in hand. The city skyline stretched behind them like a painted backdrop.
They stopped talking the moment they saw her.
All except him.
