For the first time since this entire nightmare began
Ella Astor cried.
Not publicly.
And certainly not where anyone could see.
But after leaving the balcony in Monaco, she locked herself inside her hotel suite and stared at the city lights for nearly an hour.
Because Dante's answer had been immediate.
Brutal.
Absolute.
You never will.
Not "I don't know."
Not "Maybe one day."
Not even a polite rejection.
Just truth.
The kind that left no room for hope.
And somehow that hurt far more than she expected.
Meanwhile, Dante spent the rest of the evening avoiding everyone.
Investors. Politicians. Reporters.
Everyone.
By midnight he sat alone on another balcony overlooking the ocean.
His phone rested in his hand.
Camille's contact remained open on the screen.
He stared at it.
Then locked the phone.
Opened it again.
Locked it again.
Pathetic.
The most feared businessman in the country apparently couldn't figure out how to talk to one woman.
