Page 241 of Corrupting Camille
His hand stills, palm warm and steady. “Camille.” The word is barely audible, cautious but edged with something harder. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I will be,” I whisper back.
There’s a weighted silence, thick enough to drown in.
Then quietly, carefully: “I want you to see a doctor.”
My pulse spikes. I twist in his arms, turning slowly until I can look up into his dark, searching gaze. “Why?”
He meets my eyes directly, his expression unreadable but intense. “Because I know your body, Camille. And it’s different.”
My throat tightens painfully, and I force a small smile. “You make it sound like I’m malfunctioning.”
His thumb brushes across my cheek gently, reverently. “No,” he murmurs, “but something’s changed. You’ve been off ever since that night we got back. And I won’t wait until it’s something I can’t fix.”
His voice cracks slightly on that last word, betraying the fear he’s desperately trying to hide. Fear not of enemies or threats, but of losing control of something precious, losing control of me.
I lift my hand to his, threading our fingers together. “Let’s give it a day or two,” I soothe gently. “I’ll see how I feel.”
His jaw clenches, a silent war raging behind his eyes. Finally, he nods reluctantly. “Okay. A day.”
A beat passes, the tension hanging thickly between us.
Then, as if desperate to lighten the heaviness, he pulls me closer, tucking me tightly beneath him. His body shields mine completely, protective and possessive, like armor forged specifically to shelter me.
“You want to go somewhere today?” he murmurs softly, brushing his lips against my temple. “Somewhere quiet. Just us.”
Surprised, I blink up at him. “You’re not working?”
His expression shifts slightly, something fierce and unyielding surfacing. “Not today.”
The finality in his voice makes it clear, he’s already rearranged every meeting, every demand, every threat just to create space for us. For me.
My heart swells, and I press my palm gently against his chest. “Okay,” I whisper softly, giving in to the warmth of him. “Let’s disappear.”
His gaze softens, and he nods once, firmly.
Because right now, disappearing with Kane Rivera doesn’t feel reckless. It feels necessary. It feels like survival.
And maybe, just maybe, we both need to hide together for a little while.
Kane
She hasn’t said a fucking word.
But I don’t need her to.
I feel it, something delicate, something potent shifting beneath her skin, deeper than she realizes. It’s a quiet metamorphosis, her body changing right in front of me, becoming softer, slower, instinctively protective. Her scent has changed too subtle but unmistakable like she’s blooming from the inside out, creating something fierce, fragile, mine.
And the way she curls into herself while she sleeps? The way her hand finds her stomach, protective, unconscious?
It guts me.
Because I fucking know.
She’s not ready to admit it yet, so I don’t push. I watch, vigilant, calculating. But I made the call to the doctor anyway quietly, discreetly, behind her back. She won’t find out unless she asks, unless she confronts me directly.
She might be scared to confirm it.
