The ballroom glittered under the crystal chandeliers, every corner filled with laughter, quiet deals, and the soft clinking of glasses.
Camille stood beside Dante, her back straight, her expression calm. On the outside she looked perfectly composed.
Inside, she was studying everything.
Every whisper.
Every glance.
Every person who looked at her like she didn't belong beside Dante Moretti.
She was used to judgment. High society thrived on it.
But tonight felt different.
Tonight they were watching her like a test.
And Camille Laurent had never enjoyed failing tests.
Dante's arm was still around her waist.
It wasn't tight.
It wasn't controlling.
But it was deliberate.
A silent message to the room.
Mine.
Camille pretended not to notice the warmth spreading from where his hand rested against her side.
"You're staring," she murmured quietly.
Dante didn't look at her.
"I'm observing."
"Same thing."
His thumb moved slightly against the fabric of her dress.
