Page 106 of Corrupting Camille
It doesn’t matter who’s speaking. The words blur.
My mother’s clapping so hard her bracelets jangle up her forearm. “My darling,” she breathes dramatically, dabbing at the corners of her eyes, and I want to slap her. She’s never cried for me. Not when I needed it. Not when I was violated. But now? Now she weeps because I look good on Preston’s arm and the cameras are pointed our way.
Charles is beaming. “This will be excellent for optics,” he says to Preston’s father, who agrees, clasping his shoulder like they’ve just secured a merger. “The Sinclairs and Caldwells, one hell of a power move.”
Clara’s glowing beside me, her hand clasped around Nathan’s. “I knew he was going to propose,” she whispers, her smile wide, her eyes shining with that too-pure hope I lost a long time ago. “You deserve everything, Cam.”
The lie lodges in my throat.
Preston’s grip tightens as he leads me toward yet another group. His smile’s too polished, too gleaming, and he doesn’t seem to notice how quiet I’ve gone. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.
And then the energy shifts.
I feel it before I turn.
A static prickle on my skin.
My lungs tighten.
He’s here.
Kane’s voice slides in like velvet-dipped poison. “Congratulations,” he says, smooth and sharp, standing with Ivy just behind him.
Preston brightens. “Kane. Ivy. Thank you…means a lot.”
Kane’s eyes never leave mine. Not once. Not when Ivy offers me a cheek-kiss, not when Preston turns to shake his hand. He watches me as though he’s standing on the edge, calmly fascinated, watching my entire world splinter apart beneath his feet.
“Camille,” he murmurs, voice hushed but charged, dangerous like ice hidden beneath fresh snow. His gaze skewers me, methodical, relentless, unraveling every thread of my carefully woven lies. He extends his hand, bold and arrogant, waiting for me to refuse, knowing damn well I can’t. Preston watchesintently, Clara’s breath hitches audibly, the room tightens like a noose pulled gently taut.
I set my hand in his, fingers shaking subtly, betraying everything I’ve tried to hide. His grip closes around mine, possessive, unforgiving, iron wrapped in deceptively gentle heat. He raises my hand slowly, deliberately, pressing his lips to my knuckles, a kiss that feels like the edge of a flame, deceptively sweet until it sears your skin.
“Congratulations,” he whispers again, each syllable a frostbite kiss against overheated flesh. His thumb strokes languidly along the tender skin of my wrist, tracing hidden paths of torture, a caress that bruises invisibly, slowly dismantling every wall I’ve painstakingly built. “Such a pretty prize.”
My pulse pounds against my throat, wild and raw. His words burrow deeper than I let anyone else see, scraping painfully over wounds I’ve pretended don’t exist.
“I’m happy,” I breathe, the words brittle and delicate as fractured glass.
His smile is slow, ruthless, sharpened on cruelty and honed for destruction.
“Are you?” His voice slithers under my skin, dark and dangerous, a whisper made for shadows. “Keep telling yourself that lie, Camille. Maybe one day, you’ll actually believe it.”
“I do.” We both hear it for the lie it is.
Preston steps in swiftly, oblivious and purposeful, threading his hand through mine like a chain locking into place. He pulls me close, protective yet suffocating, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he loosens his hold.
I let him.
Because it’s easier.
Because it’s expected.
But Kane doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His stare burns through me as I’m led away, eyes dark and locked on mine with that unbearable intensity that’s always seen too much.
Hyper-focused.
Always.
Like he’s cataloging my damage, like every fractured breath is just another reason to drag me back under.
