Camille didn't knock when she entered the penthouse office. She refused to. If Dante wanted a wife who acted like an obedient shadow, he married the wrong woman.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the cool, expensive air of the room wrapped around her like a warning. Dante stood by the wide glass windows, sleeves rolled up, jaw clenched, phone in hand. He looked like a storm trying and failing to remain contained.
He heard her footsteps but didn't turn.
"Where were you?" His voice was calm, too calm, and it scraped across her nerves.
Camille crossed her arms. "Out."
"With who?"
"With people who don't interrogate me like a soldier caught sneaking out of base."
That made him turn.
Dante's eyes locked on her like she was the only disruption in a perfectly controlled world. And the worst part? She could see jealousy carved into every line of his expression.
He exhaled once through his nose sharp, irritated, revealing more than he intended.
"You ignored my calls."
