Camille didn't sleep that night.
She lay awake in the vast, cold luxury of the Moretti penthouse bedroom, staring at the ceiling while her past crawled out of the shadows she thought she'd buried.
Victor.
Elena.
Her cousin.
Her ex-fiancé.
The two people who tore her heart apart and then acted as if she was the villain for feeling hurt.
And now one of them was leaking photos of her marriage?
She shouldn't be surprised.
But she was furious.
At them.
At herself.
At the universe for refusing to give her peace.
When dawn finally crawled across the sky, Camille sat up, splashed cold water on her face, tied her hair back, and marched straight into the kitchen.
She wasn't expecting Dante to be awake.
But he was.
He stood over the counter, reading documents on his tablet, a cup of coffee untouched at his side. He looked sharp, polished, dangerously calm the kind of calm that came before a storm.
His eyes lifted when she approached.
"You didn't sleep," he said quietly. Not a question.
Camille huffed out a humorless laugh. "Hard to sleep when half my past is trying to ruin my present."
Dante set the tablet aside. "Sit."
It wasn't a command this time.
It was an invitation.
She sat across from him, arms folded over her chest, trying to gather the courage to say what she'd kept locked inside for too long.
Dante watched her carefully, like he was trying to read the things she wasn't saying.
"Luca traced the leak," Camille began. "He said it came from someone close to the Laurent family."
"Yes."
Camille swallowed hard. "It's them."
Dante didn't blink. "Victor and Elena?"
Hearing their names from his mouth felt like someone scraping an old wound with a knife.
"Victor always hated losing," Camille whispered. "He hated when people looked at me more than him. He hated when I got opportunities he didn't. He hated "
She stopped.
Dante leaned closer, voice low but steady. "Finish."
"He hated that I didn't fall apart when he humiliated me," she said. "Elena married him because she wanted my life. My place. My everything."
Dante's jaw tightened, a flicker of anger passing over his expression. Not jealousy fury. Fury on her behalf.
"People like Victor don't attack you directly," Camille continued. "They attack your image, your value. So leaking a fake scandal about my marriage? That's exactly something he'd do."
Dante rested his forearms on the table, eyes locked with hers.
"Then we hit back harder."
Camille blinked. "Dante"
"You're my wife, Camille," he said. "Fake or not, contract or not, I protect what's mine."
She inhaled sharply, heat curling in her stomach at the intensity of his tone. Not romantic. Not soft. But deeply possessive in a way that made the air between them crackle.
"I didn't say I needed protection," she murmured.
"I didn't say you did," Dante replied. "But you're going to get it anyway."
Camille shook her head, almost smiling despite the chaos inside her. "Control freak."
He smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting. "If I were controlling you, you wouldn't have walked out last night without telling me."
"Are you still upset about that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No." He paused. "I'm still furious."
Camille let out a soft scoff. "You're ridiculous."
"And you provoke me on purpose," he countered.
Her stomach tightened again, but she didn't break eye contact. "If you can't handle provocation, that sounds like a personal problem."
Dante leaned back in his chair slowly, studying her with a dangerous, unreadable expression.
"For the record," he said quietly, "I can handle you just fine."
The words hung between them, thick with tension the kind that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the unspoken pull neither of them wanted to name.
But before either could speak again, Dante's phone buzzed sharply.
He checked the screen.
His entire expression shifted sharper, colder, lethal.
"Who is it?" Camille asked, instinctively tensing.
Dante stood. "Your past."
Camille froze. "Victor?"
Dante nodded once, voice clipped. "He requested a meeting."
Camille's chair scraped back. "What? Why would he—"
"Because," Dante interrupted, "he thinks he can manipulate the situation."
Camille clenched her fists. "Of course he does. He thinks the world bends to him."
"He thinks you still do," Dante said flatly.
The words hit her like a slap.
Because once foolishly she had.
"Tell him no," Camille said immediately. "I'm not meeting him. I don't want anything to do with him."
"I already agreed," Dante said.
Camille's head snapped up, shock and anger flaring in her chest. "You what?"
Dante didn't flinch. "You need closure, Camille."
"I need peace," she snapped. "Victor is the opposite of peace."
Dante walked toward her slowly, each step controlled but deliberate.
"You've been running from this for months. From the humiliation. From the betrayal. From what they did."
Camille's throat tightened painfully.
"You don't get to decide when I'm ready," she whispered.
"You're right," Dante said softly. "But you're not facing him alone. I'll be there."
She shook her head. "Dante, you don't understand Victor. He'll twist everything. He'll pretend he was forced. He'll say he 'did what was best.' He'll"
"He'll lie," Dante finished. "And I'll make sure he regrets it."
Camille stared at him.
Not the CEO.
Not the cold billionaire.
But the man who without realizing it was becoming her shield.
She let out a trembling breath. "Fine. When?"
"Today," Dante replied. "He's at the Laurent estate."
Camille's heart sank. She hadn't been back there since the night everything fell apart.
She forced herself to breathe.
"I'll go," she said finally. "But this isn't for him. It's for me."
A flicker of approval passed through Dante's eyes.
"That's why I agreed."
At the Laurent Estate
The gates felt heavier. The air thicker.
Everything Camille once knew twisted into something unfamiliar, colder, tainted.
Victor stood in the courtyard wearing an expensive suit bought with Laurent money and Elena's influence. His hair was slicked back. His smirk was the same.
Elena stood beside him, wearing the ugly triumph of someone who had stolen something that never belonged to her.
Camille felt her pulse hammering.
Victor's eyes flicked from Camille… to Dante… and Camille saw something ugly flash in them.
Envy.
Victor took one step forward.
"I see marriage suits you," he said, voice silky with fake charm. "Dante Moretti. Quite an upgrade from me, hmm?"
Dante stepped beside Camille, posture straight, presence radiating danger.
"This won't take long," Dante said coldly.
Victor ignored him and looked straight at Camille.
"You've changed," he said.
"Good." Camille's voice didn't shake. "I'd hate to still resemble the woman who forgave you for every disgusting thing you hid behind love."
Elena scoffed. "Oh please, Camille. Playing the victim again? You weren't abandoned—you were replaced."
Camille laughed softly, bitterly. "You're right. Replaced with someone who needed attention more than oxygen."
Victor bristled. "This isn't why I called you."
"No," Dante cut in smoothly, "you called because you're desperate. You leaked a photo, and it didn't ruin anything. So now you want attention. Here it is. Five minutes."
Victor flushed, looking caught.
Camille crossed her arms. "Say what you called me here for."
Victor hesitated then stepped closer.
Too close.
Dante immediately moved, placing a hand on Camille's lower back, guiding her half a step behind him.
Victor's eyes narrowed at the gesture.
"I want you back," he said suddenly.
Camille's breath vanished.
Even Elena's head whipped toward him. "Victor what?!"
Victor didn't look away from Camille. "You were supposed to be my wife. My partner. I made a mistake."
Camille stared at him, stunned at the absurdity.
"You didn't make a mistake," she said quietly. "You made a choice."
"And I choose you now," Victor insisted.
Dante's voice turned lethal. "She's married. To me. And not once has she regretted leaving the trash behind."
Victor snapped, "She doesn't love you! This is a contract the whole city knows it!"
Camille took a step forward, finally speaking with fierce clarity.
"You're right," she said. "It started as a contract."
Victor smirked triumphantly.
"But here's what you don't understand," Camille continued, voice steady. "Dante didn't break me. He didn't betray me. He didn't choose someone else over me. He didn't humiliate me. He didn't use me."
Her eyes locked onto Victor's.
"You did."
The courtyard went silent.
Elena's face twisted, but Victor looked shaken the truth hitting him harder than he expected.
"And one more thing," Camille added.
She reached for Dante's hand without thinking.
Dante's eyes widened slightly, but he let her.
Camille lifted her chin.
"Even if this marriage started as business…
I will never go back to the man who taught me how to stop loving."
Victor's expression cracked anger, regret, disbelief all tangled.
Dante placed a hand on Camille's shoulder, grounding her, steadying her, silently telling her he was there.
Victor's voice broke. "Camille… don't do this."
"I'm not yours," she said softly. "Not anymore. Not ever again."
And with that, she turned away.
Dante followed, placing himself at her side as they walked out.
Victor's voice echoed behind them. desperate, angry, hollow.
"Camille!"
She didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
She wasn't that woman anymore.
And as Dante's hand brushed against hers in silent reassurance, she realized
She wasn't alone either.