Page 79 of Corrupting Camille

I’m already walking, grabbing a fresh shirt from my closet, slipping the Glock into my waistband. “Four hours. Have everything set.”

“Copy.”

I end the call, the phone a dead weight in my hand. The silence in the penthouse feels suffocating now, but as I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, all I can see is Camille.

The haunted, shattered look in her eyes at Haven House. The way her voice broke as she spoke of the past she’d tried so desperately to bury, the wounds hidden behind polished smiles and expensive dresses.

I shouldn’t be thinking of her now. Shouldn’t even care, not when Miami’s about to burn and Mateo’s blood demands revenge. But I do.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling a sharp, angry breath.

I’m torn in half, pulled between the bloody revenge I owe Mateo and the brutal vengeance Camille deserves but won’t seek for herself. Two worlds colliding, leaving me standing alone in the wreckage.

I grab the keys, step outside, and head toward the elevator. Every step feels heavier, harder, dragging me toward a war that demands blood, while leaving behind the one woman whose silent suffering echoes louder than my rage.

Mateo’s death needs answering, swiftly and mercilessly.

But Camille?

I’ll find answers for her, too, no matter how deep I have to cut.

Camille

The room is dark when I finally leave Haven House, just a dim porch lamp illuminating the cracked pavement outside. Ava fell asleep exhausted, her tiny body curled up on that beanbag as if she’d finally found a safe place to rest. Marcy promised to watch over her, the gratitude in her eyes enough to make my throat close up again. But my work isn’t done. Ava is just one of dozens, girls who’ve been let down, discarded, or forgotten. Girls, I promised myself I’d protect.

The Sinclair Foundation was built for them, but somehow I’d allowed the true purpose to slip away, overshadowed by fundraisers, galas, and appearances. Out of sight, out of mind.

No more.

Tonight, beneath the heartbreak and anger, a fire ignites inside me, a determination raw and bright and razor-sharp. I’m done standing quietly in the shadow of a life built by other people’s expectations. I’m done letting men like Kane or my father dictate what matters, who matters. Because tonight reminded me exactly why I’m here. I pull out my phone, thumbhovering briefly over my banking app. Kane might’ve seized control of the foundation’s finances, but he can’t control me.

I tap the screen, and seconds later, a transfer notification confirms my personal funds moving swiftly into a new emergency account, one entirely mine. Tomorrow morning, I’ll start looking for a safer house, a place these girls can truly call home. No more overcrowded rooms, peeling wallpaper, or broken faucets. No more girls like Ava falling through cracks I’d allowed to widen. The night air is biting, sharp against my skin as I step toward my car, keys clenched in my fist like a lifeline. My breath clouds in front of me, every exhale fierce, hot with resolve.

When I reach my car, I pause, pressing my palms to the icy metal roof, head bowed, eyes shut tight. The frigid air stings my skin, cuts into my bones, but for a brief second, it clears my mind. Focuses me.

I let tonight’s conversation with Ava replay in my head, a steady loop that wounds as much as it heals. I’d buried my pain for so long I’d convinced myself it wasn’t there anymore. But seeing Ava, trembling and raw, reminded me how deeply those scars still run. She gave me something tonight, a reminder of the girl I used to be. The girl who survived, even when no one was watching.

I owe it to her, to that lost version of myself, to fight harder, to make sure the Ava’s of this world aren’t invisible, aren’t alone.

My phone buzzes sharply against my thigh, startling me back into the present. I pull it out quickly, heart leaping irrationally, but it’s just Lena.

Hey bitch, you alive? Haven’t seen you in days.

A faint smile touches my lips. Lena, blunt and fiercely loyal, is exactly who I need right now. But tonight… tonight theexhaustion runs deeper than I thought. Tonight, I just need silence.

Still breathing. Barely. Long story. Drinks tomorrow?

Her reply is instant.

Say less. Tomorrow it is. Bring your drama.

I let out a quiet, shaky laugh, relief chasing the tension in my chest. Lena’s chaos is always better than my quiet suffering.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I start the engine and crank the heat until warmth chases the chill from my fingers. The city rolls by in a blur of streetlights and distant laughter, lives moving forward even when mine feels frozen in place.

When I pull into the driveway, the house is dark, my parents likely asleep, Clara curled safely in bed, dreaming of wedding plans and perfect futures. I climb the stairs slowly, quietly, not wanting to disturb their oblivious peace.

In my room, I kick off my shoes and peel away my coat, exhaustion sinking into my muscles. My phone lights again, Lena sending one last text: