The drive back from the gala should have been quiet.
It wasn't.
The moment Camille and Dante stepped outside the glittering hall, the cold night hit her like a slap sharp, waking, almost cleansing. But the storm inside her chest didn't settle. Not after Elena's attack. Not after Dante's reaction. Not after the look they exchanged before leaving.
The valet brought the black car around, sleek and predatory like everything in Dante's world. He opened the door for her, and she climbed in, her pulse still unsteady. Dante entered from the other side, shutting the door with a soft thud that felt too final.
The car began to move.
Silence stretched.
Camille stared out the window, the city lights streaking like blurred sparks against glass. She tried to steady her breathing, but each inhale felt tight, each exhale uneven. Her hands trembled before she tucked them under her legs.
She wasn't crying.
But she felt close.
Dante watched her.
He wasn't subtle about it. His gaze lingered on her profile as though trying to decode what was happening beneath her calm mask.
Finally, he spoke.
"You shouldn't let her get to you."
Camille gave a short, humorless laugh. "That's easy for you to say."
"She's jealous," Dante said simply.
"Of what?" Camille snapped before she could stop herself. She turned to him, frustration boiling over. "Of destroying my life? Of taking Victor? Of humiliating me every chance she gets?"
"Of you," Dante replied, voice steady. "Of the fact that you survived what she did."
Camille swallowed hard, her throat aching. "Survived," she repeated quietly. "Is that what you call it?"
She leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes.
"I felt like a joke today," she whispered.
Dante's jaw tightened. "I won't let her use you as target practice again."
"You can't protect me from everything," she said, eyes still closed.
"I can try."
Her eyes snapped open.
Something about the way he said that soft, almost reluctant unnerved her more than Elena ever could.
She turned her body slightly toward him. "Why do you care, Dante? This is a contract. An agreement. You don't have to step in. You don't have to"
"I chose to," he cut in.
The car filled with quiet again.
But this time, it was charged.
Camille studied him, trying to understand the man sitting inches away. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw, the stillness in his posture none of it matched the cold, detached man she thought she married.
She spoke carefully. "You scared her."
"Good."
"That's not a normal reaction."
"I'm not a normal man."
Camille huffed. "Trust me, I've noticed."
For the first time tonight, the edge of Dante's mouth twitched. Not a smile more like the ghost of one.
He shifted, turning toward her slightly. "What she said about Victor don't let it reopen old wounds."
"It didn't reopen anything," Camille muttered. "It just reminded me how stupid I was."
"You weren't stupid," Dante said, voice low. "You were trusting."
She shook her head. "Same thing, in my experience."
Dante stared at her for a long moment, then spoke softer than she had ever heard him.
"He didn't leave you because he stopped loving you."
Camille froze.
Her breath hitched. "Then why did he leave?"
Dante didn't answer immediately.
His fingers drummed once on his thigh, a rare sign of his inner conflict.
"That's his truth to confess," he said eventually. "But I'll tell you this much what happened wasn't your fault. And Elena didn't win anything."
Camille's chest tightened painfully. She hated that his words hit so deep. Hated that they mattered. Hated that she wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.
"Why do you even care how I feel?" she whispered.
"You're my wife," he said simply.
"Contract wife," she corrected.
"Still my wife."
Her pulse spiked. "You don't even like me."
He turned to her fully now.
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to," she murmured.
Dante exhaled slowly, like he was choosing every word with care. "Camille… liking you was never the problem."
Her breath caught.
He continued, voice quieter:
"The problem is that I wasn't supposed to."
A shiver rolled through her.
"And why not?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
He didn't look away.
Because if I do…
He didn't say it out loud, but the words hung in the air.
Instead he answered:
"Because this marriage wasn't meant to be complicated."
Camille's chest tightened. "And it is now?"
"It's becoming," he corrected.
Silence again heavy, delicate, dangerous.
The car slowed as they approached the estate. Camille's heart pounded louder with each passing second.
She turned toward the window, trying to calm the storm inside her.
But Dante's voice pulled her back.
"Earlier tonight," he said quietly, "when I stood in front of you did it bother you?"
Camille blinked, caught off guard. "Bother me?"
"Being defended," Dante said. "Being shielded. Did it feel like I overstepped?"
Camille stared at him, stunned at the vulnerability in the question.
"No," she whispered. "It… didn't bother me."
His eyes softened in a way she wasn't ready for.
"What did it feel like?" he asked.
She swallowed, her voice barely steady.
"Like I wasn't alone," she said. "For the first time in a long time."
Dante exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, as if her answer affected him more than he expected.
The car came to a stop in front of the mansion.
Neither moved.
Dante opened his door first, stepping out. Then he walked around and opened hers not with formality, but with a strange gentleness.
Camille stepped out, her heels touching the pavement softly.
Dante stood beside her, the night breeze brushing past both of them.
"Camille," he said suddenly.
She turned.
He looked at her like he was seeing her clearly for the first time past the wounds, past the defenses, past everything she tried to bury.
"You're stronger than you think," he said quietly. "And Elena knows it. That's why she hates you."
Camille swallowed hard, emotion clawing at her throat.
"Goodnight," Dante said before she could respond. His voice was controlled again, walls slipping back into place. But something lingered in his eyes unspoken, unresolved.
He walked ahead of her toward the door.
Camille stood still for a moment, hand pressed against her chest, trying to pinpoint what exactly had changed between them tonight.
She couldn't name it.
But she felt it.
And she knew
this had just raised the stakes for both of them.