Page 97 of Sexting the Billionaire

She nods gratefully, secures the blanket more firmly around herself, and opens the door just enough to reveal her face.

"Camden," she says, her voice cool and composed. "It's nearly midnight. What are you doing here?"

"I've been trying to reach you for weeks"

His voice drifts through the partially open door, the plaintive tone setting my teeth on edge. "You're not returning my calls, my flowers were sent back?—“

He pauses, then adds with a casual shrug, "That wine subscription we used to get? Still ships to my place. One of the boxes had your new address on the invoice. Guess you forgot to cancel."

Cassie’s eyes narrow, her voice clipped.

"I didn’t forget. I just didn’t expect you to still be opening my mail."

"It was addressed to me." He lifts his hands, defensive. "I didn’t even realize until I looked at the paperwork inside. Come on, Cass—it’s not like I was stalking you."

"Because I don't want to talk to you," Cassie interrupts. "I've made that very clear."

"Five minutes," he pleads. "Just give me five minutes to explain."

"Explain what? Why you cheated on me? Why you're suddenly interested again months later?" Her voice hardens. "There's nothing to explain, Camden. We're done. We've beendone since the night you told me you'd 'outgrown' me at our anniversary dinner."

"I made a terrible mistake," he says. "The biggest mistake of my life. Without you, I?—"

"Stop." Cassie's command is quiet but firm. "I'm not interested in your regrets or your explanations. I've moved on. You need to do the same."

"Is there someone else?" Camden asks, a new edge to his voice. "Is that why you won't even talk to me?"

I tense, ready to intervene if needed, but Cassie handles it perfectly.

"My personal life is no longer your concern," she says. "But yes, I'm with someone who values me exactly as I am. Who doesn't need me to be smaller or quieter or more convenient."

There's a pause, then Camden's voice again, harder now. "It's Kade, isn't it? The rumors are true."

"Goodnight, Camden," Cassie says, firm and final. "Don't come here again."

She closes the door before he can respond, turning the deadbolt with deliberate finality. For a moment she leans against it, eyes closed, gathering herself. Then she looks up at me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"You didn't intervene," she observes. "Even though you clearly wanted to punch him."

"I still might, if he keeps sending flowers," I admit. "But you handled it perfectly. You didn't need my help."

Her smile widens, bright with something that looks like pride. "No, I didn't. But I'm glad you were here anyway."

She crosses to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her head against my chest. I hold her close, marveling at her strength, her clarity, her unwavering sense of self. All qualities I recognized from the beginning, all reasons I fell for her despite every self-protective instinct.

"Come to bed," she says, taking my hand and leading me toward her bedroom. "I'm exhausted."

The casual domesticity of the request—not for sex, but simply to sleep beside her—catches me in an unexpected rush of tenderness. This is what I've been missing all these years of pursuing success and control. This simple human connection, this quiet intimacy.

"I'll be right there," I tell her. "I just need to send a quick email to Zara about tomorrow's schedule."

As she disappears into the bedroom, I pull out my phone, sending a brief message to my assistant to clear my morning meetings. Whatever crisis awaits at Elysian can wait a few hours. For once, I'm putting my personal life first.

I'm about to follow Cassie when I hear a small sound from the bathroom—the unmistakable sound of retching. Moving quickly, I find the door ajar, Cassie kneeling on the tile floor, her body heaving as she's violently ill.

"Cassie," I say softly, kneeling beside her to hold her hair back. "Let me help."

She doesn't protest, too caught in the grip of nausea to maintain her usual independence. I stroke her back gently, murmuring soothing nonsense until the worst passes.

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