Camille couldn't sleep.
The house was too quiet. Too wide. Too cold in the corners where silence lingered like cobwebs. Every beat of her heart felt too loud in the darkness, thudding against her ribs like a warning.
She tossed. Turned. Gave up.
The events of the night replayed in her head again and again Elena's venom, Dante stepping between them, the car ride that felt like a slow unpeeling of truths she wasn't ready to face.
And the worst part?
A deep, unsettling flutter that hadn't left her chest since Dante opened the car door for her.
She pushed off the sheets and slipped out of bed.
Maybe a glass of water would quiet her mind.
The hallway was dim, lit only by soft strips of golden light along the floor. Her bare feet made no sound as she padded toward the kitchen, her robe tied loosely around her waist.
But halfway down the staircase
She froze.
Voices.
Low. Tense. Familiar.
She shouldn't have been able to hear them from here Dante's office was farther down the hall but the door was cracked open just enough for sound to slip through.
She stepped closer, heartbeat spiking. Not because she wanted to eavesdrop.
But because the way Dante spoke made her stop mid-breath.
His voice wasn't calm.
It wasn't cold.
It was razor-sharp.
"Find out who sent the pictures."
Camille's stomach dropped.
Pictures?
She moved closer until she could see a sliver of the room through the narrow gap. Dante stood beside his desk, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched so tight she could see the tension from where she stood.
His right hand curled into a fist by his side.
Whoever he was speaking to probably Matteo or another of his security heads was on speakerphone.
The voice responded, muffled but serious:
"We're still tracing the source, sir. They were routed through multiple proxies."
Dante hissed a breath through his teeth. "Of course they were. Cowards always hide behind screens."
A pause.
Then:
"And the information attached… Should we assume it's accurate?"
Camille felt her throat tighten.
Dante's reply came slow, deliberate, dangerous.
"It doesn't matter if it's accurate. It matters that someone tried to use it against her."
Her.
Her?
Camille pressed a hand against her chest to steady her breathing.
The voice on the phone continued, more cautious now.
"Sir… these things about Miss Laurent's ex about Victor it could damage her reputation if leaked. It's not just about your public image anymore. It's "
"Don't say her name," Dante snapped.
Camille's breath caught.
His voice had dropped to a tone she'd never heard from him before. Cold. Protective. Absolute.
There was a long, loaded silence.
The man on the line cleared his throat.
"Understood. What are your orders?"
Dante didn't answer immediately.
He turned away from the desk, and for a moment Camille thought he was walking closer to the door. Her heart hammered so hard she swore he could hear it.
But he stopped.
Ran a hand through his hair.
And said:
"No more attacks. No more threats. And if anyone tries to drag her past into the light again…"
His voice softened
but became infinitely more dangerous.
"…I'll drag theirs into hell."
Camille gasped quietly.
Dante froze.
For a terrifying second, she thought he had heard her.
But he didn't turn around. Didn't move toward the door.
He just stood there hands braced on the edge of the desk, head bent forward as though the weight of the whole night had finally landed on his shoulders.
The man on the phone spoke again, more wary now.
"And Victor Moreau? Should we keep eyes on him?"
Camille's body stiffened.
Victor.
Her heart twisted painfully at the name she spent months trying to forget.
Dante's reply came slow… cold… controlled.
"Yes. He's involved whether he wants to be or not."
Her breath stopped entirely.
Involved?
In what?
She leaned closer before she could stop herself, trying to catch every word.
Dante continued:
"The timing is too convenient. First the gala. Then the photos. Then the sudden reappearance of Elena's circle online. Someone is planning something."
Camille pressed her palm to the wall to steady herself.
She didn't understand everything he said.
But she understood enough.
People were watching her.
Digging.
Pushing.
Trying to use her past against her.
And Dante… was fighting it.
Quietly. Viciously. Alone.
"Handle it," he ordered finally. "I don't want her touched. Not by rumors. Not by threats. Not by anyone."
The call ended with a soft beep.
Silence washed over the room.
Dante stood completely still.
Camille clutched her robe tighter, trying to calm the storm inside her.
Part of her wanted to back away silently, pretend she heard nothing.
Another part the part that had been bruised by betrayal whispered that she deserved the truth.
Before she could decide what to do
Dante spoke again.
But not on the phone.
To himself.
Barely audible.
A confession meant for no one.
"I shouldn't care this much."
Camille's hands trembled.
Her breath hitched.
Her heart… broke open a little.
Because there was no anger in his voice.
No coldness.
Just something raw and unguarded that she had never heard from him before.
Something that terrified him.
And her.
She stepped back quiet, careful her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't stop until she reached her room, closing the door softly behind her.
She leaned against it, exhaling shakily.
Questions swarmed her mind.
What pictures? Who sent them? Why Victor? Why now?
But one question drowned out all the others:
Why was Dante protecting her like this?
She slid down to the floor, knees drawn to her chest.
Tonight, she expected drama.
She expected conflict.
She never expected to hear Dante Moretti, the untouchable devil heir, break character for even a second.
And she never expected his breaking point…
to be her.
A shiver ran through Camille as she hugged her knees tighter, listening to the silence press in around her.
Dante's words echoed endlessly in her mind, refusing to settle.
She tried to breathe, to calm the chaos inside her chest but nothing worked.
Tonight had changed something.
And she knew it.