Chapter 003: The Infamous Fiancée
1076 Words
Early the next morning, Sarah slipped out of the hotel and drove back to the Laurent mansion.
She had forced Rafael to leave her suite the night before—discreetly, without drawing attention. The last thing she needed was someone spotting him with her. What happened between them had been a mistake. One she intended to bury deep, despite the maddening truth: Rafael had handled her body exactly the way she needed. Still, her heart belonged to Vincent.
Or did she? she reminded herself bitterly.
“That sucks as hell,” she muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the memory of Vincent introducing his new woman to the public replayed in her mind like a cruel joke.
She parked in the driveway and stepped into the mansion, brushing past the house security without a word. She prayed Vincent wasn’t home yet—and luck was on her side. His most-used car wasn’t in the garage.
Ascending the stairs with the hope of crashing in bed, she halted abruptly—nearly colliding with Damian.
She let out a startled gasp. “You scared me.”
Damian didn’t answer. His dark gaze settled on her face, unreadable.
Sarah attempted to walk past him, hoping to avoid another confrontation after last night. But his voice—low and laced with menace—stopped her cold.
“I wonder how the Master would feel... knowing what you and Rafael have been up to.”
“Stop. Just stop, Damian,” she rasped, not turning around.
“You were going to walk past me like you hadn’t promised me anything last night,” he muttered, lowering his face close to hers.
Sarah clenched her jaw. Arguing with Damian was always futile. For some reason, Vincent had decided she needed protection—and had saddled her with the most persistent, insufferable bodyguard imaginable. Damian rarely left her side unless she was in her room, and he always had questions. Always watching. Always lurking.
“I’m still waiting for your offer—”
“Okay, okay!” she snapped, cutting him off. She stepped closer and pressed a quick, cold kiss to his lips. It held no warmth, no spark—but Damian didn’t seem to care. He was stunned, even pleased.
“Soft lips,” he murmured, savoring the taste of her like a man who had just won.
“I kept my promise,” Sarah whispered harshly. “So keep yours. Don’t tell Vincent.”
Damian’s attention was no longer on her words. He grabbed her waist, pinning her back against the wall, caging her in with both arms.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, her heart pounding.
He leaned in, eyes locked on her lips. Just as his mouth neared hers, the front door downstairs swung open.
Sarah pushed him off, panic flaring. Damian disappeared into the corridor like a shadow, leaving no trace.
She forced a cheerful smile as she descended the stairs. “You’re back,” she greeted.
But her smile faltered the moment her eyes landed on Camille—Vincent’s fiancée.
Now that she saw her up close, Sarah’s brows furrowed. Something about Camille was familiar.
“Hi, Sarah,” Camille said brightly. “I guess we haven’t been properly introduced, but Vincent has said a lot about you.”
Sarah didn’t return the smile. “Of course, he has. But… have we met before?”
Camille’s expression flickered for the briefest second before recovering. “No, dear. I don’t believe so.”
Vincent, noting the tension, stepped in smoothly. “You must be mistaking my darling wife-to-be for someone else, dear.” He wrapped an arm around Camille’s waist, his smile calm but watchful.
Sarah’s eyes flicked to the possessive touch, and she struggled to suppress the scowl tugging at her lips.
“Yeah, of course. It’s nice to meet you too… Carol.”
“It’s Camille,” Camille corrected gently.
“Yeah, whatever,” Sarah replied with a saccharine smile.
Turning to Vincent, she softened her tone. “I’ll be upstairs. I’ve got a hangover and need to rest.”
Vincent’s sharp eyes studied her. “That’s fine, darling. Camille will be staying a few days. You’ll have time to get to know each other.”
He brushed a thumb across her cheek in a tender gesture. Sarah leaned in to kiss him lightly on the cheek.
“See you soon,” she said.
Without sparing Camille another glance, she darted up the stairs, her heart pounding.
Camille, watching the exchange closely, felt an unease settle in her chest.
“Are you okay?” Vincent asked, concern flickering across his face.
“I’m fine,” Camille lied. “Joe is bringing my luggage soon.”
Vincent wasn’t buying it. “You don’t seem okay. What’s wrong?”
Camille paused, then sighed. “I feel like your daughter doesn’t like me.”
Vincent chuckled, stroking her cheek. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Sarah is... complicated. That girl has more moods than most women combined. She doesn’t trust easily—but give her time.”
Camille exhaled slowly and nodded. “It’s fine.”
She wrapped her arms around him, needing the comfort. Vincent returned the embrace, relieved that her tension was fading.
He had met Camille at a business conference. She was sharp, charming, and exuded confidence. Even at forty, she was a stunning divorcée who turned heads wherever she went. After a single night out, Vincent had decided she fit perfectly into his world. She understood power. She dressed like royalty. She didn’t ask unnecessary questions.
And he needed a distraction.
Losing Tiffany had nearly broken him. She’d died under mysterious circumstances, and after a year of mourning, the whispers had started. Whispers he couldn’t afford. People suspected what they shouldn’t. And his feelings… for someone else… were too dangerous to admit.
Camille was safe. Camille was status. Camille was the solution.
“That reminds me,” she said, pulling away. “I thought your daughter’s name was Kendra, not Sarah.”
Vincent’s fingers twitched, scratching the back of his neck—a telltale sign of discomfort.
“Well… Kendra is my biological daughter. She’s away, working in Seattle. Sarah… isn’t mine by blood.”
Camille’s face shifted. “What do you mean?”
“She’s my late wife’s daughter.”
Camille stepped back, her eyes narrowing. The unease she’d felt earlier returned—and this time, it was stronger.
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