Page 244 of Corrupting Camille

“There’s a problem.” He pauses, the words raw like sandpaper on skin. “A leak in my circle. Someone close. Someone I trusted.”

A pang slices deep inside my chest, the ache immediate and personal, as if the betrayal were mine. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, heart cracking at the shadows edging his eyes.

He tightens his grip, almost imperceptibly, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on tighter. “This isn’t your fault.”

I swallow hard, feeling the helpless frustration burning up my throat. “It feels like it.”

“Don’t,” he says fiercely, voice low, commanding, filled with something like desperation. “You don’t carry my burdens, Camille. They’re mine alone.”

I turn my gaze toward the horizon, the ocean shimmering beneath the sunlight, so deceptively peaceful too beautiful for this storm swirling between us. “When you hurt, I feel it too, Kane. Whether you like it or not.”

Silence stretches out between us, taut and uncertain. I know he’s listening, absorbing it, wrestling with truths neither of us wanted to face.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says finally, voice rough, stripped bare of defenses.

A bittersweet ache spreads through my chest, softening my voice to a whisper. “I don’t think love works like that. We don’t get what we deserve, we get what we’re brave enough to fight for.”

His eyes shut briefly, jaw locked tight, the muscles there working as though he’s fighting something within himself. His hand tightens further around mine, like I’m his anchor, the one thing that keeps him from drifting away.

“Then I’ll fight for you,” he promises fiercely, almost savagely. “Until I can’t breathe. Until there’s nothing left.”

We don’t speak again after that. There’s no need. Instead, we sit quietly, letting the silence wrap around us, filled only by the distant crash of waves and the slow, cautious beat of two hearts tangled in something fierce, messy, and beautifully uncertain.

This quiet moment, fragile and fleeting as it is, feels stolen, borrowed from a reality that neither of us trusts completely.

But right now, it’s enough.

***

The sun dips toward the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and burning oranges. The breeze grows cooler, slicing gently through my hair, lifting strands around my face as though even the wind senses my restlessness. Kane sits next to me, shoulders squared, jaw clenched tight enough I can see the muscle twitching. He watches the horizon like something is coming, something he has to face before it reaches me.

He hasn’t glanced at his phone since the call, hasn’t shifted his weight or moved from my side, but his stillness screams louder than any words ever could. I feel it vibrating through his body, the tension like a wire about to snap.

“Do you want to go?” I finally ask, my voice barely louder than the whisper of wind.

His thumb moves over my knuckles, a slow, deliberate stroke, as if he’s memorizing the texture of my skin. “I don’t want to take you back to that world yet.”

“Do you think I’m safer here?” My voice comes out softer than I meant it to, more vulnerable.

“I know you are,” he murmurs with quiet certainty.

I nod slowly, my chest heavy, a strange tiredness slipping into my bones. Gravity seems to pull harder lately, sinking me deeper into thoughts I haven’t dared to voice yet. My stomach shifts, not sharply, but with that subtle, lingering nausea I’ve grown accustomed to hiding.

It’s becoming impossible to ignore the queasy mornings, the way my body protests the scent of espresso now, how my emotions swing like a pendulum, dizzyingly high one moment and heartbreakingly low the next. Tears fill my eyes for no reason, laughter bubbles up unprompted, and every feeling comes too strong, too fast.

But I haven’t told him.

I don’t even know how to begin to put words around the fragile secret I’ve been guarding inside myself. I can’t say it out loud,not yet. Not without shattering this fragile truce, this carefully constructed silence we both cling to as if it were armor against the truth.

By the time we leave our quiet spot behind, night has draped the sky in shadows. Stars blink awake, distant and cold. Kane doesn’t take me through the front door of the compound. Instead, we slip down an old, narrow corridor, dark and lined with shadows, smelling faintly of oil and gunpowder. He doesn’t explain why, and I don’t question it, but I notice how his hand hovers constantly near his waist, fingertips brushing the hidden outline of his gun.

I swallow thickly, tension settling like frost along my spine.

Javi is already waiting for us when we reach the hallway near Kane’s office, posture stiff, face an unreadable mask carved from stone. His eyes flick briefly to mine, acknowledging me silently, respectfully, before shifting his attention back to Kane.

“She’s secure?” he asks bluntly.

Kane’s entire body tightens at those words, the quiet implication behind them clear.