Page 156 of Corrupting Camille
I laugh harder, wiping tears from my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” she retorts, grinning proudly, “I’m still not the one fumbling bag-of-the-century dick.”
I groan loudly, flopping onto my back, covering my burning face with both hands. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” Lena says cheerfully, popping another piece of popcorn into her mouth and eyeing me smugly. “I’m going to bring it up at your wedding, your baby shower, and probably my speech at your funeral.”
“Lena!”
“I’m kidding. Sort of.” She shrugs lightly, nudging me with her foot. “Honestly, Cam, if this man is giving throne-level oral I get why you’re spiraling. Your life is officially divided into pre-throne and post-throne.”
I laugh again, lighter now, the tension in my chest easing with every ridiculous word she says. “I hate you.”
“You love me,” Lena counters smugly, stretching out lazily on the plush carpet and yawning dramatically. “But for real…give it a few days. Let him cool off.”
“Hmm.” I don’t have words, so I sigh softly.
We lie there quietly, the room warm and hazy around us, the ache in my heart temporarily softened by laughter and Lena’s unshakeable certainty. I close my eyes, holding onto that feeling, safe, comforted, hopeful.
Then Lena nudges me again, her voice low and teasing. “But, Cam, seriously if you ever fumble throne-level dick again, I’m staging an intervention.”
And as we dissolve into laughter once more, tangled up on her soft rug, I know for certain I might be a complete disaster, but with Lena at my side, at least I’ll never be alone.
***
Lena’s sleek black Range Rover gleams under the soft streetlights as we step outside, the city quiet around us, oblivious to the chaos tearing me apart. Sliding into the buttery leather seat feels surreal, like stepping from one world straight into another.
Reality is waiting, and I don’t know if I’m ready.
Lena hits a button, the engine hums smoothly to life. She eyes me from the driver’s seat, perfectly manicured nails tapping the wheel impatiently.
“Buckle up, Cinderella. Your pumpkin awaits.”
I let out a weak, humorless laugh, clicking the seatbelt into place. “Pretty sure Cinderella didn’t torch her life for morally questionable dick.”
Lena snorts, pulling smoothly onto the street. “And that’s exactly why no one cares about Cinderella’s basic ass anymore. Get on your villain era, babe…it’s way more interesting.”
We glide quietly through Manhattan, neon lights streaking past in blurred waves. My reflection stares back at me, a ghostly, mascara-streaked disaster.
“How bad is it?” I whisper, pulling Lena’s hoodie tighter around me, inhaling the familiar scent of Chanel, laundry detergent, and home.
She glances over, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Like you just got fucked spectacularly and had your heart ripped out simultaneously. So basically, iconic disaster energy.”
“God,” I groan, tipping my head back. “They’re going to murder me.”
“Probably,” Lena says cheerfully. “Or maybe they’ll just exile you to the Hamptons. Worse things have happened.”
“I think it might be too late for that,” I say, voice bitter and hollow.
Her gaze softens, flicking toward me. “Cam, listen. Fuck your parents. Fuck Preston. Fuck all the expectations you never signed up for. You made a choice. Maybe it was messy and impulsive, but at least it was yours.”
“You’re annoyingly insightful,” I mumble.
She smirks. “It’s my superpower.”
We fall silent for a moment, streets rushing by in blurred streaks of neon, reality looming closer. Lena breaks it quietly.
“So what now?”
