Chapter 22
498 Words
I stared at the whiskey glass in my hand like it owed me something. The ice had already melted, the amber liquid diluted—just like everything else in my life lately.
I leaned back in the hotel’s plush chair, a high-rise view of the city twinkling in front of him, and yet all I could see was Camille’s face.
Not the Camille who used to laugh into my neck on lazy Sundays or surprise me with takeout after a long workday. No. This Camille was colder. Sharper. The one who stared back at me from the latest headlines with Enrique Salazar at her side.
I scoffed under his breath and downed the rest of the drink.
It should’ve been me beside her. I built her, didn’t I? Molded her. Supported her.
Loved her.
Or… maybe just controlled her.
I set the glass down harder than I meant to, the sound echoing too loud in the otherwise quiet room.
She hadn’t responded to the email. Not a single word. No panic. No begging. No fear.
Just... nothing.
That silence gutted me more than any insult could.
I thought the photos would rattle her—remind her of what they once were. But she hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t folded. If anything, she’d grown colder. Stronger.
Untouchable.
I lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he stood and paced. “You’re still mine, Camille,” I muttered. “You think Salazar can protect you from everything? You forget who I am.”
But the truth whispered louder than his ego: she didn’t forget. She just no longer cared.
I picked up his phone, scrolling through the press release again. Enrique’s name bolded alongside Camille’s in the sponsorship of a charity event. Public. United. Powerful.
My stomach turned.
They were becoming a force—one he couldn’t match anymore.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I had left Camille thinking she’d crumble. Instead, she had risen, reborn from the ashes of my betrayal.
She was building something new, and I was no longer a chapter in her story. I was a footnote. A cautionary tale.
And that… that enraged me.
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Later, I found myself standing outside the office building they once worked in. It was late, and most of the lights were off except for a few glows on the upper floors. Hers, maybe.
I clenched his fists in my coat pockets, jaw tight. I wasn’t here to talk to her. Not really.
I was just trying to remember when things had started slipping.
Had it been the affair? The lies? Or maybe the moment he underestimated the quiet fire burning behind Camille’s smile?
i never thought she'd leave.
I definitely never thought she'd "win."
But now, watching from the shadows like some ghost of her past, I realized the truth:
I had already lost her long before Enrique ever touched her.
And this wasn’t about love anymore.
It was about power.
And I had nothing left.
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- Writer
