Page 17 of The Weight of Her Silence
He looked away.
Camille gave a quiet, almost sympathetic laugh.
“You think that means you’re not allowed to want more for yourself. That you can’t want me, even though you do.”
“I never promised you anything,” Nate said.
“Maybe not with words. But with your body? Your time?” She leaned in, voice soft but dangerous.
“You’re already mine more than hers.”
He didn’t argue. Because some truths didn’t need words. And some lies lived in the spaces between what was said and what was done. Camille placed her hand on his chest, over his heart.
“She doesn’t see you anymore. Not like I do.”
Her voice dropped, sultry and slow.
“You come alive here, Nate. You breathe here.”
He closed his eyes. Because damn it—she wasn’t wrong. And that terrified him.
Chapter 16
A Future Without Her
He didn’t mean to stay the night. But when he woke up with Camille curled into his side, her leg draped possessively over his hip, her breath warm against his neck, he didn’t rush to leave either.
It was quiet.Peaceful.
No kids banging on the bedroom door. No cold shoulder across the bed. No guilt-heavy silences. Just the hum of the city through the hotel window and the woman beside him who made everything feel so easy.
She stirred, smiled lazily.
“Morning.”
He grunted, voice still thick from sleep.
“What time is it?”
“Still early,” she murmured, stretching.
“Stay.”
He hesitated.
Camille rolled over, propping her head on her hand, watching him like she was memorizing every inch of his face.
“You’re always rushing back to a place that doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
“She’s still my wife.”
Camille arched an eyebrow.
“Technically. But emotionally?” She traced a finger down his chest.
“You haven’t belonged to her in a long time.”
Nate didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
