Chapter 15
689 Words
Camille
The picture was grainy, taken from across the street, but I knew that silhouette too well.
Me.
My coat draped over one arm. My hair pinned high after a night in Enrique’s sheets. My expression soft—unguarded.
And the timestamp was even worse.
Vivian had followed me. Waited.
She wanted me to know.
But she underestimated how much that *pissed me off*.
---
I sat in my car for ten full minutes, the heat blasting to chase away the early chill, trying to decide if I should call Enrique and warn him—or face this myself.
She wanted me scared.
Instead, I got out, pulled my blazer tighter, and marched into that office like I owned every inch of it.
Because fear was a luxury I no longer entertained.
---
By 11:32 a.m., HR had officially suspended Vivian pending an internal investigation. Someone from the board had “accidentally” CC’d the entire department in a thread detailing her misuse of company funds and her failed cover-up attempt.
By 12:04 p.m., Matt’s name appeared in the forwarded thread.
By 12:19 p.m., I heard him yelling in the executive suite.
And by 12:23 p.m., I was gone—walking into Enrique’s building with the type of satisfaction that deserved champagne.
He met me at the elevator. No assistant. No distractions. Just him, black slacks, open collar, sleeves rolled.
“Come here,” he said the second the doors closed.
I dropped my bag and pressed into him. His lips found mine instantly—hot, urgent. His hand curled around my waist, anchoring me, as if he already sensed the chaos that followed me like perfume.
“Vivian sent me a photo,” I murmured against his mouth. “Of me leaving your place.”
His entire body stiffened.
“She’s escalating,” I continued. “And she’s watching. Matt might be falling apart, but *she’s* the one planning.”
He stepped back, cupped my face with both hands. “Let her watch.”
I blinked. “What?”
His voice was low, fierce. “Let her see exactly what she lost the moment she underestimated you.”
Then he kissed me again—this time slower, deeper. Possessive.
---
He didn’t take me to the bedroom this time.
No—he backed me against the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office, the skyline of Chicago glowing like fire behind me. His hands slipped beneath my blouse, pushing it up and over my head. My bra joined it on the floor.
“You sure you want this kind of attention?” I whispered, breath hitching as his lips brushed my collarbone.
He smirked. “Let them stare. Let her see what power *really* looks like.”
My skirt slid down my hips, pooling at my heels. His mouth trailed fire across my skin, down my stomach, to the inside of my thighs. And then he dropped to his knees.
“Enrique—”
“Shh.” His voice was a dark promise. “I’m worshipping you.”
He did. Every kiss. Every touch. Every deep, slow stroke that followed when he finally stood and entered me—pinning me to the glass, his hands gripping my thighs like he never wanted to let go.
“Say it,” he whispered into my neck.
“Say what?”
“That you’re mine.”
I moaned as he thrust harder, deeper. “I’m yours.”
“Louder.”
“I’m yours, Enrique.”
He groaned against my skin, and the world around us faded.
No past. No betrayal.
Just us—fierce and unbreakable.
---
When it was over, he wrapped me in one of his shirts and carried me to the couch.
“She won’t stop,” I said softly. “Vivian’s unraveling, but that makes her more dangerous.”
He nodded. “Then we finish this. Together.”
And I believed him.
Because in that moment, I realized—this wasn’t just about revenge anymore.
This was about survival.
And love.
And becoming the woman who could burn down the whole damn world… and still rise from the ashes.
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