Page 153 of Corrupting Camille
But nothing can silence the thunderous pounding of my heart, the way it echoes Kane’s name like an accusation. Every breath hurts, catching on his memory—the brutal tenderness of his touch, his mouth on my skin, the fury blazing in his eyes as I ripped myself away. I close my eyes, teeth biting painfully into my bottom lip, fighting the sting of tears I refuse to let fall.
The city lights blur past the windows, neon and shadow spinning into a chaotic blur. I swallow a strangled sob, pressing a shaking fist to my mouth, desperate to hold back the tears burning behind my eyes. The agony builds, twisting like a blade inside my chest, until I’m barely breathing, barely holding myself together.
Each mile we drive toward Lena’s feels like another brutal, agonizing step away from him, away from the truth I chose to abandon. My skin crawls with regret, with shame, with a desperate longing I know I’ll never be able to outrun.
I close my eyes, body shaking violently as I force back the grief clawing up my throat and silently pray that Lena will somehow know how to pick up the shattered pieces of me when I finally collapse.
***
The car rolls to a stop outside Lena’s brownstone, sleek and familiar, elegant and safe, mocking me with every pristine line and polished brick. Joaquin doesn’t speak, doesn’t turn around. He sits patiently, waiting for me to decide if I’m brave enough, or cowardly enough, to step out of this car.
I grip the handle, fingers trembling, heart fracturing all over again. My throat burns, swollen from tears I can’t swallow down, and I force open the door, stepping onto the curb.
“Thank you,” I whisper hoarsely, unable to meet Joaquin’s eyes. Unable to face the questions, the quiet judgment in his careful silence.
He nods once, expression unreadable. “Be safe, Camille.”
The car pulls away gently, leaving me standing alone beneath a streetlight, cold air slicing into me like knives. Lena’s front door flies open immediately, spilling warm, golden light onto the sidewalk. And there she is, wild hair and wide, worried eyes. My best friend. My anchor. My refuge.
“Girl, what the actual fuck?” she blurts out, giving me a head-to-toe scan. “Who died? And why do you look like you just fled a murder scene?”
I open my mouth, but words choke and dissolve into a raw, miserable sound. Lena rushes forward, wrapping me tight in her arms, holding me as I finally let myself break fully. I shatter right there on her front steps, violent sobs ripping through my chest, shredding my lungs, cracking my ribs until I can barely breathe.
She doesn’t ask questions. Not yet. She just holds me tighter, her warmth seeping into my bones, her hands stroking gently through my hair, anchoring me when I have nothing left to hold onto.
“You’re okay,” she whispers fiercely, voice trembling softly, like my pain hurts her too. “I’ve got you babe, you’re okay now.”
But I’m not. And maybe I never will be again.
She guides me inside, locking the door behind us. I stagger blindly through her entryway and collapse onto her plush velvet couch, pulling my knees tight against my chest.
Lena settles deeper into the velvet couch, tucking one knee beneath her, eyes locked on mine like she’s about to binge-watch a new season of her favorite drama. The silence is thick but comforting, safe, until Lena’s patience finally shatters.
“Okay, bitch, enough,” she says bluntly, waving a manicured hand toward my oversized charcoal shirt and black Fear of Godsweatpants rolled multiple times at the waist, still drooping low. “You wanna explain why you’re out here dressed like the world’s saddest hypebeast? And, like, no shade, but you smell expensive as fuck. Bergamot, cedar, whiskey, sex. Definitely not oat milk Preston vibes.”
A laugh chokes from my throat, bitter but genuine. “God, Lena, it’s bad. Like ‘burn-it-down-and-start-over-in-Mexico’ bad.”
Her eyes flash brighter, interest igniting immediately. “I’m fully invested. Who is he?”
I exhale slowly, chest tight, lungs struggling for air as the truth spills out before I can stop it. “His name’s Kane Rivera. I met him at the Langford. The night of the Sinclair gala. I left and went to the lounge, to get away from everything. And then he was there, watching me, with a— I’m going to eat you alive stare. And then he offered me fifty grand for one night, he assumed I was some escort—”
Lena nearly chokes, eyes bugging dramatically. “Shut the entire fuck up. Fifty stacks? Camille fucking Sinclair…an escort? The audacity! The disrespect! The absolute balls on this man!”
I nod, covering my eyes briefly, shame heating my cheeks. “I know, right? It was infuriating, but also…” I swallow hard. “Hot! God I should’ve slapped him, thrown a drink, something…but instead, I wanted him, violently. Desperately.”
She blinks at me, jaw dropping theatrically. “You thirsty bitch.”
“Shut up.” I groan, shoving her shoulder gently. “It was supposed to be a one-night thing, you know? No names, no strings, just pure fantasy. And Lena…fuck. The sex…”
Her grin turns wicked, eyes glinting mischievously. “Oh,nowwe’re getting to the good stuff. Talk dirty to me, Sinclair. Spill every filthy detail. Was he good? Was he rough? Did he chokeyou…did you choke him? I need ratings. Scale of one to ten, hoe. And do not lie to me.”
I laugh, face burning hotter. “Eleven. A hundred. Lena, it was fucking cosmic. The man fucked me like it was his full-time job. Like he had something to prove. Every time was explosive. Unreal. The kind of sex you read about and think is pure fiction. Like, I didn’t even know orgasms like that existed.”
Her mouth drops open further. “Bitch, I am scandalized. Proud as fuck, but scandalized. You really had billionaire dick and didn’t think to share until now?”
“Because it got so complicated,” I sigh, dragging my hands over my face, exhaustion bleeding through every word. “Kane’s not just some random rich guy. He’s dangerous. Ruthless. Strategic as hell. Next thing I knew, he was buying into Sinclair Media. He put his people in my foundation. Pulled strings like a goddamn puppet master. He was everywhere, Lena. Stalking me, ghosting me, then he’d show up and drag me right back into his orbit, and we’d fuck all over again. Three months of this toxic, twisted game.”
Lena’s eyes widen dramatically, jaw practically hitting the velvet cushions. “Camille, respectfully, what kind of magical pussy did you put on this man to have him out here buying stakes in your goddamn legacy? Like, girl, did you hypnotize his ass mid-orgasm or something?”
