Chapter 17
707 Words
Camille
I woke up with Enrique's arms wrapped tightly around me, our legs tangled beneath the soft sheets of his bed. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t wake up with the weight of fear or the ghosts of betrayal pressing on my chest.
Instead, there was warmth. Safety. And something far more dangerous—hope.
His fingers traced slow, lazy circles along my hip, like he’d been awake long enough to memorize my shape in the morning light. I turned my head slightly, catching his eyes already open, already watching me.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice husky and rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I whispered back, letting my fingers dance along his jawline.
“Still feeling like it was a mistake?” he teased gently, a smirk forming on his lips.
I laughed softly. “No. Not even close.”
He kissed my shoulder, slow and deliberate. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you walk away, Camille.”
His words sent a delicious chill down my spine, but before I could respond, the alarm on my phone buzzed from the nightstand. Reality, once again, came knocking.
I checked it and sighed. “I’ve got a meeting this morning with HR. Another nail in Vivian’s coffin.”
Enrique leaned in, kissed my temple. “You’ve got this. Want me to have someone on the board nudge things along?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Enrique…”
He smirked again. “Fine. I’ll behave. For now.”
But I knew he meant it—he would scorch the earth for me if I asked.
---
Later that morning, I walked into the HR office with a folder thick with receipts. Screenshots. Audio recordings. Vivian had made it easy with her arrogance, and I was ready to end this chapter for good.
As I presented the final round of evidence, the HR director leaned back in his chair, visibly rattled.
“This is damning, Camille,” he said, tapping his pen against the desk. “She won’t recover from this.”
“Good,” I said, my voice steel. “Because she never gave me the chance to recover when she stabbed me in the back.”
---
By noon, the office buzzed with whispers. Vivian had been escorted out—screaming about sabotage, pointing fingers at everyone but herself. But it was done. The facade had finally cracked.
I stood by the elevator, watching the chaos unfold with quiet satisfaction. That’s when a familiar voice whispered beside me.
“She always thought she was smarter than everyone else.”
I turned. Charlotte.
She looked flawless as always, confident and cool in a cream blazer and sleek ponytail.
“I didn’t know you were back in town,” I said, surprised.
“Just for a few days. I heard what went down and figured I’d drop by. You look… dangerous.”
“Been a long time coming.”
She smirked. “Well, if you’re ready for round two, I might have some information you’d be interested in. About Matt.”
My body stiffened. “What kind of information?”
“Let’s grab a drink tonight. I’ll fill you in.”
---
That night, I sat across from Charlotte at a quiet rooftop bar. The skyline of Chicago glimmered behind her like a trail of secrets waiting to be unraveled.
She sipped her wine slowly before speaking. “Matt’s not just watching you, Camille. He’s working with someone. Someone from inside the company. Someone who wants you gone.”
My heart skipped. “You’re sure?”
She nodded. “I overheard a call. He’s planning something. And it involves trying to ruin your reputation… again.”
My grip on the glass tightened. “Let him try.”
“You’re not alone anymore,” Charlotte said, placing a hand over mine. “Whatever he’s planning, we’ll bury him together.”
For the first time, I believed it.
And later that night, when I returned to Enrique’s place, his hands pulled me back into that storm of passion, and I let him drown me in it—because in the dark, in his arms, I didn’t feel hunted.
I felt powerful.
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- Writer
