Camille had seen expensive places before. Weddings, fake engagements, family gatherings hosted by people who liked showing off their wealth — she'd been exposed to all that polished glitter.
But nothing compared to Dante's private rooftop spa.
When the elevator doors opened, she genuinely forgot how to breathe.
The entire top floor was wrapped in glass walls overlooking the city. Warm light spilled in from the late morning sun, shimmering over a long infinity pool that looked like it poured straight into the skyline. Soft music hummed from hidden speakers. Tropical plants lined the walkways, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla and citrus.
It didn't look like a spa.
It looked like another world.
A soft-life world.
Camille turned slowly, awe widening her eyes. "This… this is for me?"
Dante's voice came from behind her. "All of it."
She glanced back at him. He wore a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets as he watched her take it all in — not with pride, or arrogance, but something quieter.
Something like satisfaction.
Like he wanted to see her amazed.
"I didn't know something like this existed in this building," she whispered.
"It doesn't," he said. "I had it remodeled years ago. But you're the first person I've brought here."
She turned fully at that.
"Ever?"
He nodded.
Her heart fluttered unexpectedly. "Why me?"
A muscle in his jaw tightened. "Because you needed it."
Camille swallowed.
Because she needed it…
Not because she was bait.
Not because she was technically his wife on paper.
Not because she was leverage in some dangerous game.
Just because she needed it.
He walked past her and picked up a silk robe folded neatly on a chaise lounge.
"Go change," he said, softer than usual. "Relax. For once, let your bones breathe."
She stared at him, unsure if she should smile or cry. "And you?"
"I'll be nearby," he said. "If anything happens… you call my name once."
There was no teasing in his tone. Only protective certainty.
Camille nodded and slipped into the private changing room.
When she returned wearing the robe and soft slippers, she felt suddenly lighter, like a part of her had been unknotted.
Dante was waiting by the poolside, leaning against the glass railing with the city behind him. When he saw her, his eyes swept over her once — not with hunger, not with claim, but with quiet approval.
"You look peaceful," he said.
"I feel… different."
"Good."
A staff member approached, bowing slightly, but Dante lifted a hand.
"No staff today. I'll handle everything."
The woman bowed again and disappeared.
Camille blinked. "You dismissed them?"
"I didn't want anyone else near you today."
Her pulse skipped.
Dante gestured to a lounge bed. "Sit."
She obeyed, sinking into the soft cushions.
Then he lifted her ankle gently — careful, almost hesitant — and placed her foot into a warm basin of scented water.
Camille stiffened. "Dante, what are you doing?"
"I'm not good at many gentle things," he said quietly. "But I can at least do this."
"You don't have to," she whispered.
His eyes met hers, calm and steady.
"I know."
And he continued anyway.
Warm water lapped over her skin. The citrus scent rose with the steam. The city stretched endlessly around them, but here, in this moment, it felt like the world had paused. Offering her a breath. A break. A sanctuary.
After a few minutes, Dante dried her feet with a plush towel, movements precise and oddly gentle for someone with hands built for power.
Camille couldn't look away.
"You don't have to protect me like this," she said softly.
"Yes," he said, never raising his voice. "I do."
"But why? After everything—"
"Because you're in danger," he said. "And because I refuse to let anyone take you from me."
Camille swallowed. "Dante…"
He stood slowly, eyes locked on hers.
"For so long," he said, voice quiet, "my life has been noise. Fights. Power. Shadows. But you—"
He paused, searching for the right words.
"You're the first quiet thing I've had in years."
Her heart tightened.
"And when I almost lost you last week," he continued, "I realized something."
"Realized what?" she whispered.
"That I don't want a life without you in it."
The air stilled.
Camille pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breath. "I didn't realize you felt that… deeply."
He let out a low exhale. "Neither did I."
Her pulse raced.
But the moment didn't get to settle — not fully — because his expression suddenly shifted. Sharpened. Darkened.
Camille tensed. "What is it?"
He moved fast, stepping in front of her, blocking her view toward the glass wall on the right.
"What's happening?" she whispered, fear creeping in.
Dante didn't answer immediately. He watched something outside with hard, assessing eyes.
Finally, he said quietly, "Someone triggered the motion sensors on the far rooftop."
Camille's stomach dropped. "But… that means—"
"Yes," Dante said. "Someone is on the building."
Her breath shook. "But no one else has access."
"Exactly."
He pulled out his phone, typed something rapidly, and slipped it away.
"Security is locking the elevators now," he said. "No one leaves or enters this floor except us."
Camille grabbed his arm. "Are we safe?"
Dante turned to her slowly, cupping her cheek with a steady hand.
"You're safe with me," he said. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Her eyes glistened.
But then he added, in a low, controlled voice
"Stay behind me. Don't move until I say so."
Her pulse hammered. "Dante—"
"It's okay," he said softly. "You wanted a soft life today. I promised you peace. And I intend to keep that promise."
"How—how can you keep it when someone's already—"
"Because," he said, thumb brushing her cheek once, "I am the storm they fear."
He straightened, expression returning to cold authority.
"Camille, listen carefully."
She nodded, breath shaking.
"If they've come for you," he said, "they've made the worst mistake of their lives."
The rooftop was silent.
Too silent.
Then—
A faint tap sounded from the far glass panel.
Camille froze.
Dante's eyes darkened.
"Get behind me," he whispered.
She did.
And the moment she did, the glass panel on the far side of the rooftop slid open — not shattered, not forced.
Unlocked.
By someone who knew exactly how.
Dante muttered under his breath, "So that's how this day is going to go."
And then a shadow stepped inside.