Page 16 of Corrupting Camille
Like I'm the one playing. Like I'm the one who smiles and schemes and stands here planning to use him as leverage for some political dynasty.
Anger flares inside me, white-hot and swift, but I swallow it down, coating it with a smile so sweet I can almost taste the sugar turning to ash on my tongue.
"Funny," I whisper, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "You used to enjoy playing games."
His eyes narrow. "Careful, Camille."
"Or what?" I breathe softly, my pulse pounding harder, louder, defiant. "You'll report me to my parents?"
He exhales sharply through his nose, visibly controlling himself. Always in control. Always perfectly poised, just like he expects me to be.
"Just don't embarrass us," he mutters, straightening, smoothing his jacket as he steps back, mask slipping neatly back into place. "Not tonight."
He turns abruptly, dismissing me. Expecting me to follow, to fall in line like I always do.
Tonight, the note in my palm burns through my skin, like a secret I can’t wait to keep. My breath comes fast and shallow, my pulse is racing with the reckless thrill of finally stepping off the carefully drawn path I’ve always followed.
Tonight, danger feels intoxicating.
Recklessness feels like rebellion.
It’s the first genuine breath I’ve allowed myself in years.
I glance briefly back at the ballroom, familiar yet unbearably suffocating, and take a slow, deliberate step backward.
My heart pounds violently as I move toward the elevator doors. They slide open smoothly, soundlessly, like a whispered dare coaxing me into ruin.
I step inside without hesitation, turning slowly to watch the doors seal shut, cutting me off from the world I’ve always known.
The elevator rises swiftly, smoothly, pulling me away from practiced smiles and flawless façades, higher into the Langford,toward something forbidden, unknown, and dangerously irresistible.
I glance down once more at the note, the black ink stark and vivid against the thick paper, each letter a silent threat and a sinful promise.
…I’m happy to play daddy, make your throat raw…
The words pulse through me, electric and reckless, igniting something wild beneath my ribs. Each syllable hums in my veins, whispering promises sharper than fear, louder than caution.
This is madness.
This is reckless, irrational, irresponsible, exactly the sort of trouble I was raised to avoid.
But tonight the ache outweighs reason. Tonight, careful feels like drowning, and danger feels like air.
Maybe I’m done being careful.
Maybe I’m tired of running from the dark.
Maybe I want to run straight into it.
Maybe, just maybe I've always been waiting for someone ruthless enough to force me onto my knees, strong enough to strip away every bit of pride, every pretense of perfection until I'm raw and trembling beneath his touch, maybe I've spent my whole life aching for someone who'll break me open, who'll make me submit…not politely, not gently, but violently, unapologetically, and absolutely.
***
The elevator whispers to a stop.
Penthouse.
I step out, heels clicking softly against polished stone. The corridor stretches ahead quiet, dark, daring me to take another step forward.
