VIDAL

EIGHTEEN

Morning light spilled through the guest room's curtains, illuminating scattered signs of Camilla's haste from the night before—a neat stack of her new clothes on the small dresser, shoes tucked beside the armchair, a half-open suitcase she'd hastily filled with a few essentials from her trashed apartment.

Despite the chaos weighing on her thoughts, she'd somehow managed sleep in this neutral corner of Enzo's penthouse. But now, as she roused herself, she took deliberate care preparing for a day that loomed uncomfortably ordinary: going to work as if her life hadn't just been turned upside down.

She crossed the plush rug to the dresser, selecting a dress Enzo had bought her during their outing—a tailored sheath in a subtle navy hue. The fabric was soft but structured, hugging her curves without being overtly revealing. The neckline dipped just enough to show a glimpse of collarbone, while the sleeves were short and neat, leaving her forearms free. A slim belt, the same color as the dress, cinched her waist, emphasizing the gentle hourglass shape beneath.

Camilla paused, exhaling slowly as she examined herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door. The dress fell just above her knees, tasteful yet undeniably flattering.

She stepped into a pair of low stilettos, matching them to the belt's understated sheen—dark, sophisticated, comfortable enough to navigate her day. For a final touch, she brushed her hair until it shone, pulling it back into a low ponytail that felt professional yet feminine.

The entire time, she'd stayed within the confines of the guest room, not yet ready to face Enzo after all that had been said. She couldn't help replaying his confession in her mind, the image of her apartment in ruins, and the determined look in his eyes when he told her no police could help.

She felt a swirl of emotions—confusion, a touch of anger, but also a reluctant gratitude for his protection. It all made her head swim.

At last, she steeled herself. Work beckoned; normalcy beckoned. She gathered her purse, checked her phone to see texts from Kevin and a few emails she needed to answer, then inhaled a steadying breath before opening the door. The hallway was hushed, the penthouse's quiet hush broken only by a faint clink of dishes from the kitchen.

She followed the sound. Crossing into the spacious, sunlight-filled kitchen, she found Enzo standing near the sink, rinsing out a coffee cup. Across from him, perched on a barstool in a plain black suit jacket, was a man she'd never seen before—salt-and-pepper hair, watchful eyes, a sturdy build despite what looked like advanced middle age. They looked up in unison as Camilla entered.

"Good morning," Enzo said softly. He set the cup aside, turning to face her fully. His gaze flicked over her outfit, taking in the polished look, and a subtle flash of appreciation lit his eyes. She tried not to let it affect her nerves.

The older man nodded, rising from the stool with a near-military bearing.

"Hello, miss," he offered. His voice was gravelly, tinged with experience. Enzo gestured between them, formal in posture.

"Camilla, this is Gianni," he said, pronouncing the name carefully. "He'll be your security detail while you're at work."

Camilla blinked, stunned.

"My—security detail?" She placed her purse on the counter with a little too much force, eyes flicking between them. "Enzo, I—I don't need—"

He silenced her protest with a firm set of his jaw.

"Yes, you do," he replied, voice calm but resolute. She recognized an undercurrent of steel in his tone, the same unwavering note he used when demanding she not call the police. "After what happened in your apartment, I'm not letting you go unprotected. Gianni will drive you to work, stay nearby throughout the day, and bring you back here afterward. This is not optional."

The finality in his words made heat flare in her chest. She wasn't used to him being so stern with her, issuing an order rather than a request. It felt like a shift in their dynamic—a reminder that he was used to control, especially when it came to matters of safety. She opened her mouth, ready to push back, but the look on his face told her there was no point. He would not budge on this.

She turned to Gianni, forcing a small, polite smile.

"Nice to meet you," she murmured, though tension coiled behind her eyes. So this was how her day would go—a silent bodyguard trailing her footsteps through the office, shadowing her every move. Perhaps it was better than the alternative of going about her day oblivious to hidden threats, but it still rankled her pride.

Gianni acknowledged her with a brief tilt of his head.

"Miss," he said again, gathering a ring of car keys from the counter. He seemed practiced, not intrusive. But that didn't change the fact that this entire situation felt surreal.

Enzo stepped forward, handing Camilla a travel cup of coffee—she noticed he'd prepared it just how she liked, a small kindness that clashed with his imperious demand.

"Promise me you'll let Gianni do his job," he said, meeting her gaze. "He answers to me, so if anything comes up, he'll contact me immediately."

Camilla accepted the coffee, feeling more frustration than gratitude at the moment. Her mouth pressed into a line. She wanted to snap back that she could take care of herself, but the images of her destroyed apartment held her words in check. Instead, she inhaled deeply, then exhaled, settling for a stiff nod.

"All right. Let's go, Gianni. I don't want to be late."

Gianni moved swiftly, opening the penthouse door for her. Before she left, she cast a glance over her shoulder at Enzo. Their eyes met, and she saw a flicker of regret in his expression—maybe an unspoken apology for being so forceful. But she turned away, not quite ready to accept or acknowledge it.

She exited, heels clicking on the polished floor, Gianni following a step behind. Enzo stayed in the kitchen, the soft lighting catching the tension in the set of his shoulders. Only after the elevator doors closed did Camilla let out a long, shaky breath, steeling herself for a day that would be anything but normal.

Camilla stepped into the office lobby, shoulders held tense with the knowledge that, even out of sight, Gianni was still somewhere outside, stationed with that unblinking vigilance Enzo had demanded. She pushed the thought away, focusing on the tasks ahead.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the hum of phone lines gave the morning a familiar edge of normalcy--something she badly craved after the events of the last twenty-four hours.

She made her way through the maze of cubicles, exchanging quick hellos with a few coworkers who glanced up from their screens.

Most of them were already immersed in client calls or drafting documents, so no one lingered on her for more than a polite second.

Reaching her small corner desk, she settled her purse and laptop, exhaling as she tried to stifle the fluttering tension in her chest. She was barely settled when Kevin appeared with his usual brisk energy, materializing at her elbow like a conjured force.

"Morning, Camilla," he greeted, letting his gaze drift over her. "You look lovely today. Is that a new dress?" His tone hovered between professional courtesy and personal interest, but she forced a polite nod and a small smile.

"It is," she said simply.

The garment was a sleek navy sheath Enzo had insisted on buying her, hugging her figure in a tasteful way. The hem stopped just above her knee, and she'd paired it with low heels that felt secure on the city sidewalks.

She couldn't help but recall how different the memory of Enzo's approving gaze was from Kevin's perfunctory compliment. Where Enzo's look made heat rise behind her collar, Kevin's words only brushed her nerves in an odd, dissonant way.

Kevin gave a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well, it suits you," he said. "I tried texting you yesterday. You never responded. Everything all right?"

Camilla cleared her throat, battling the urge to cringe at the memory of her phone lighting up with his messages while she was in the thick of chaos.

"Sorry about that," she replied, deciding to stick to the half-truths she'd used before. "I had some...family issues. It got pretty overwhelming, and I wasn't checking messages."

A flicker of skepticism crossed Kevin's face, but he let it pass.

"Okay. As long as you're all right."

He shifted gears in an instant, the pivot in conversation a sure sign he had something else on his mind.

"Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the Von Claude case. My first formal motions hearing is set for tomorrow morning, and I need time to organize my arguments properly." He rolled his shoulders, as if anticipating a grueling task. "I'd like you to come over to my place tonight to help with the prep. There's a lot of research to cross-check, and the filing deadlines are hitting us at dawn. I want to be sure everything's in order."

Camilla's heartbeat skipped.

Normally, an invitation to Kevin's apartment for work wouldn't cause such an internal uproar. But now, everything about her life felt complicated by Enzo's looming presence--and Gianni's, if he were required to escort her everywhere.

Still, she fought down the spike of anxiety. She didn't need Enzo's permission to do her job.

She forced a calm expression.

"Tonight?" she echoed, leaning an elbow on her desk. "Sure. If that's what you need. Around what time?"

Kevin's smile slid into place. "Let's say seven. I'll text you my address and buzz you in when you get there. We've got a lot to cover, so be prepared to stay a while."

She nodded, running a quick mental list of the projects on her plate. Nothing too urgent to keep her from going, so she didn't see a valid excuse to refuse.

"Understood," she said. "I'll be ready."

His eyes flicked over her once more, and for a moment, she felt an unwelcome pinch of awareness. But Kevin only nodded, stepping back to let her move past him.

"Great," he said. "We need all hands on deck with these court documents. See you then."

With that, he spun on his heel, heading toward his office. She heard him greeting another colleague moments later, already shifting gears again.

As he walked away, Camilla tried to gather her own swirling thoughts. Her phone was in her purse, silent now, but she knew if she so much as glanced at it, there might be a message from Enzo checking on her.

I'm going to do this on my own terms, she told herself, refusing to let guilt or fear undermine her professional obligations.

Gianni wouldn't like it if she went out again tonight, presumably, but that wasn't really his call.

And as for Enzo--he might dislike the idea of her stepping into a late meeting at Kevin's place, but he couldn't expect her to lock herself away.

She breathed in, letting the steady hum of the office center her. This is my life, she reminded herself.

She tapped her laptop awake, diving into the backlog of emails with more concentration than she felt.

Outside the window behind her desk, she knew Gianni was stationed at the curb, watching people come and go, a silent protector. It was surreal having a bodyguard, but Enzo had made it clear this wasn't optional.

Camilla tried to quell the roiling inside her, that mixture of gratitude and resentment. She was grateful for the care, resentful for the control.

As she opened the first email regarding a client meeting next week, she settled on an internal compromise: she'd let Gianni drive her to Kevin's if that was absolutely necessary, but she wouldn't yield control of her daily activities to Enzo's oversight.

A part of her worried how Enzo might react, given the sternness in his voice that morning. But she pressed that aside. In the end, she was an adult, and the only one who would face any fallout if she made a bad call.

Settling deeper into her seat, she began typing away. Kevin might be her boss, but she needed to keep a clear boundary. And Enzo might be her self-declared protector, but she refused to let him overshadow her autonomy. Somewhere in that middle ground, she hoped to find a sense of self that wasn't torn in two by the men in her orbit.

At least for now, focusing on work gave her a refuge--a place where her competence mattered more than anyone else's intentions. And as for the evening? She'd face that when it came, expecting that either way, her life had just grown even more complicated.

~*~

Camilla stepped out of Gianni's car and into the silent street, the warm press of midnight clinging to her skin. The headlights briefly illuminated the massive front doors of Enzo's building before Gianni pulled away, leaving her under the glow of an old streetlamp.

The ride back had been tense, though she'd tried to brush off Gianni's rigid posture as simple fatigue on his first day working so late. Still, she sensed something deeper behind his tight jaw and sparse words, as though the day's events had cast a shadow beyond normal duty.

Inside, the penthouse lobby was eerily hushed at such an hour. Only 4 d a single guard nodded her through, and she took the elevator up alone, leaning against the wall, eyes half-lidded from her exhausting evening.

Kevin's place was polished and well-kept, but the hours of court prep had dragged on. She wondered if Enzo would still be awake, or if he'd gone to bed.

Part of her hoped he was asleep, so she could tiptoe in and avoid any tension over how late it was. Another part of her dreaded facing the flicker of disapproval she was sure to find in his eyes.

When the elevator doors slid open onto Enzo's penthouse foyer, the darkness unsettled her. Only the faint outlines of furniture stood out against the shadows, and the air felt oddly still. She slipped off her shoes near the entrance, letting her feet sink into the plush rug, then padded forward, reaching for a light switch she couldn't quite locate.

She headed toward the kitchen by memory, guided by the faint glow of the city lights outside. Rounding the corner, her hip bumped a solid shape in the near-blackness. She gasped in surprise, stepping back as a figure loomed out of the dark. A small click sounded, and a low lamp flicked on. Enzo sat at the kitchen's island, a tumbler of something amber in his hand. His posture was rigid, tense.

"Enzo?" she whispered, heart thrumming at the unexpected collision. "Why—why are you sitting in the dark?"

He didn't answer immediately, just stared at her with a calm that felt more dangerous than anger. In the soft lamp glow, she caught the restrained fury in his eyes, the set of his jaw. The silence dragged, punctured only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. Finally, he spoke, voice low and tight.

"Why were you at Kevin's house until midnight?"

Camilla's pulse skittered. She swallowed, trying to steady her voice. "I had to help him prep for the hearing tomorrow. It ran late—longer than we expected—"

He lifted a brow, unimpressed. His eyes trailed down her body, as though looking for something out of place on her perfectly smooth dress.

The tension in the room thickened. She let out a breath, explaining more than she wanted to. "It was purely for work, Enzo. Actually, I ended up cutting things off with him—personally, I mean—before I left. You know he had a... a history of flirting. I told him I'm not comfortable with it anymore. I made that clear."

She trailed off, seeing how he hadn't moved a muscle, except to tip the glass to his lips and finish the last of his drink.

Her words seemed to bounce off him without effect, though she sensed the undercurrent of jealousy was strong. She realized how it must look—slinking back to the penthouse at midnight after spending hours at another man's apartment.

A sour pang of guilt churned in her stomach. She expected a torrent of accusations or some outburst, but he just set the empty tumbler down with a decisive clink.

"Your dinner is in the microwave," he said quietly, his tone almost too controlled.

Then he stood, stepping around her in a fluid motion, the faint smell of whiskey trailing in the air.

Camilla twisted to follow him with her gaze, half reaching out. "Enzo—"

But he didn't acknowledge her plea. He simply crossed the dark living room, heading upstairs. A few moments later, she heard the muted thud of a door closing, leaving her alone in the hush of the kitchen, the overhead lamp casting a lonely circle of light.

She let out a shaky breath, her mind reeling from the raw chill in his voice. She yearned to go after him, to push for a conversation, but something in his posture warned her not to. Perhaps she was too tired, too unsure of what she would say.

Instead, she stood there for a few long seconds, fingers tightening around the strap of her purse. Her heart ached at the rift she felt opening between them—a collision of jealousy, secrets, and unspoken desires.

Quietly, she turned to check the microwave, finding a plate wrapped in plastic. He had saved dinner for her, even in his anger, and that simple kindness twisted her guilt further. But she couldn't muster the courage to face him right now. She'd let the night pass, hoping morning might bring a calmer discussion.

She flicked off the lamp, letting the kitchen plunge back into shadows. With careful steps, she headed to the guest room, the weight of their fractured moment following her like a silent echo through the halls.