The knock on the door was soft but deliberate, interrupting the comforting silence that had formed between her and Dante
Mila looked up from her phone, her eyes moving toward the double doors. Dante didn't look up at all—his attention remained fixed on the contract in front of him, his pen moving across the page in quick, precise strokes.
"Come in," he said without lifting his head.
The door opened, and Victoria stepped inside.
She moved with the same polished confidence she'd had all day—heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor, posture perfect, expression neutral. Professional. Controlled.
But there was something deliberate about the way she approached Dante's desk. Something calculated in the timing.
Mila watched her, her phone still resting in her lap, her body language relaxed. She didn't sit up. Didn't shift. Just watched whatever play the other woman was about to put on.
