Page 261 of Corrupting Camille

“I think you’re going to be a dad.”

The words strike like lightning, electric, bright, silent, but deafening.

Not bullets. Not blood. Just this…a moment of fragile hope amid ruin, something small and powerful and impossibly pure in a world stained by everything I’ve done.

She finally lifts her gaze, eyes bright with tears, uncertainty pooling in their depths, raw vulnerability etched into every line of her face.

And I feel something rip open deep inside…something locked tight for so long I barely remember it existed. It floods through me, warmth, wonder, awe mingled with a deep, aching fear. Not for me. For them.

My family.

“Say it again,” I breathe, voice rough, broken, the man I’ve become split wide open, laid bare in front of her.

Her lip trembles slightly, but she doesn’t look away. “I think I’m pregnant, Kane.” Her voice cracks, raw and beautiful. “I think you’re going to be a father.”

My hand stays locked gently on her stomach, fingers spread, protective, reverent. I lean forward slowly, carefully pressing my forehead to hers, absorbing this truth. Letting it in.

And I shatter quietly.

This isn’t something I thought I’d ever deserve. Not after everything I’ve done. Not with the blood still staining my hands, the screams still echoing in my ears. But she’s handing it to me anyway, a second chance, redemption in the form of something innocent, something ours.

My voice is ragged against her skin. “I’ll protect you both. With everything I have, everything I am. I swear it. I’ll kill for this. I’ll die for this.”

Her hands wrap around my wrists, holding on tight. Her gaze holds mine fiercely, unwavering.

“I know,” she whispers. “That’s why I’m still here.”

I kiss her slowly, gently, like I’m drowning and she’s the only breath left in my lungs. Not like a man who owns her. But likea man given grace, like a monster given forgiveness by the only angel who ever saw him clearly.

Like a man who’s just been saved.

Chapter Twenty-five

Camille

The doctor arrives just after eleven, discreet and calm. She’s in her early forties, dressed simply in charcoal scrubs and worn Nikes, carrying a small leather case like it holds something precious, something sacred. She introduces herself quietly as Dr. Morales, her voice gentle, practiced, reassuring.

Javi escorts her into the room, silent as a ghost, and vanishes just as quickly, leaving us suspended in uncertain silence.

Kane doesn’t move from his spot by the wall. Arms crossed tightly, shoulders tense beneath the stretch of his black shirt, eyes fixed steadily on me. He doesn’t look away, not to greet her, not to watch her set up, just me. Like he’s holding himself in place by sheer force of will.

Dr. Morales is calm, efficient, her motions careful but confident, as though she’s done this in stranger places, under darker circumstances. She carefully unfolds a compact Doppler monitor, a tablet, sterile gloves, and a pale blue drape fromher bag. Each movement feels deliberate, every object a quiet, reverent preparation for something I’m still struggling to grasp as real.

“Is this your first pregnancy?” she asks softly, kindly.

My throat tightens painfully. I nod, the motion jerky, uncertain.

She smiles gently, sensing my hesitation. “We’ll keep it simple today. No bloodwork unless you’d like it. Just a quick scan. We’ll find a heartbeat, confirm viability, and then we’ll go from there.”

Another silent nod, trying to breathe through the knot in my chest.

I lean back slowly, heart thrumming too hard, my shirt lifting just enough to expose my lower stomach. My skin feels suddenly fragile, impossibly delicate beneath the weight of the doctor’s gaze and Kane’s. Especially Kane’s. Even with him here, protective, solid, fierce, I still feel exposed in a way I’ve never experienced before.

The gel is shockingly cold, a jolt against my sensitive skin. I flinch, and Dr. Morales murmurs something soft and soothing, though the words slip right past me.

She places the wand carefully, gliding slowly over my abdomen. The monitor crackles softly static, uneven, uncertain.

My heartbeat speeds up in silent panic. But then, abruptly, it’s there…