Chapter 6
1503 Words
Damian's POV
The following morning, I sense that something has changed in Camilla
The way I saw her this morning—it felt like a slap. A silent gloved slap that cut deeper than any screaming match or fistfight.
Camilla De-Canio was no longer the shy, sweet secretary who blushed when you looked too long or stammered when spoken to. No. The woman standing before me at that industry launch party in London wore confidence like a suit—flawless, commanding and dangerous.
She wore crimson that early morning
A fitted dress that hugged her curves and fell just below the knees. Simple, elegant and powerful. Her makeup was subtle but bold, her lips was so sharp contrast to her soft skin.
She moved through the crowds now like she belonged here, as if she was born for this world of champagne flutes, shutter clicks, and polished ambition.
But I knew better. I knew who she used to be and the fact that she no longer looked like her past—that she no longer looked at me like her past—unnerved me.
She passed by me without flinching. No smile, no acknowledgment. As if I were just another nameless man in a navy tuxedo.
That was the first sign.
I grabbed a drink I didn’t want just to mask my discomfort. Across the room, Daniel stood at the edge of the platform, eyes trailing her every movement. He looked proud, territorial and not the usual icy detachment he reserved for everything and everyone.
No, this was different. This wasn’t strategy. This was something else entirely.
And then it hit me—he was falling for her back there in Milan.
I clenched the stem of my glass too hard.
I had to understand what the hell happened while they were seeing each other. One drunken night, a fading memory, and suddenly he returned to find us here in London offices. What's he doing here? I asked myself
Daniel my brother, I greeted him. Are you here for something? He nodded and gave me his hands.
He might have sense something, maybe she was now his?
Not on my watch.
Two days later, I left them and showed up at the De-Rosie house in Knightsbridge. Good. He didn’t come to see him.
Daniel POV
Camilla opened the door.
She was barefoot, dressed in silk lounge pants and a cream cashmere sweater that made her look soft, almost delicate—until you looked at her eyes.
They held the same calm steel I saw that night at the party. I didn’t know how to talk to her anymore. The woman who once laughed at my terrible jokes now stood like a statue carved by time and betrayal.
“Daniel,” she said, voice neutral, polite and guarded.
“I was in the area,” I lied.
She didn’t believe me, but she let me in.
The mansion was clean. Not just clean—immaculate. There were fresh flowers on the glass table, a plate of sliced apples and cheese on the kitchen counter, and soft jazz playing from hidden speakers.
It wasn’t Damian’s space, this was hers I guess.
She offered me tea. I asked for whisky. She raised a brow but poured it anyway.
“I didn’t know you moved here permanently,” I said, sitting on the edge of the long white couch.
“I didn’t plan to,” she replied. “But London has a way of keeping you once it gives you a reason to stay.”
“You’ve changed.”
She looked up from her tea. “So have you.”
She was right. I wasn’t the same either—but in ways I didn’t yet understand. Everything I used to chase now felt hollow.
The women, the fast cars, the careless decisions. They used to thrill me. Now, they felt like empty echoes of a boy too afraid to stand still.
“Camilla,” I said, shifting toward her. “We should talk about what happened that night.”
She stiffened.
“What night?”
“You know the one.”
Her gaze turned colder. “That night was a mistake. One I don’t intend to repeat.”
I flinched. “So that’s it?”
She stood, crossing her arms. “You disappeared, Daniel. You left without a call, a message—anything. I was just a game you got bored of.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
I searched for the right words, but nothing came. Maybe because she was right. That night had started with intoxication and flirtation, but I remembered the way she had kissed me—like it meant something.
I remembered waking up to find her asleep on my chest, and instead of staying, I had fled.
I had been afraid.
“I messed up,” I said finally. “But I never stopped thinking about you.”
She looked down at her tea, then away. “You stopped acting like I mattered. That’s enough.”
I wanted to yell, to argue, to tell her I was different now. But I didn’t deserve her trust—not yet.
Before I could say more, the elevator chimed.
Damian walked in. Of course he would.
He paused when he saw me sitting with her. A flicker of something passed through his expression—surprise, then annoyance, then control. Always in control.
“I wasn’t aware we were having guests,” he said smoothly.
“I invited myself,” I replied, standing.
Camilla stood between us like Switzerland. “He was leaving.”
I blinked.
She turned to me, his gaze firm. “Thank you for stopping by, Daniel. But I have a lot of work, and this isn’t the time.”
Damian said nothing, watching the exchange with sharp eyes.
I nodded slowly, every inch of me burning. “We’ll talk again.”
“I don’t think we will,” she said.
That cut deeper than it should have.
Later that week, I visited my father. Antonio De-Rosie back in Milan, he was lounging by the pool of his estate, sipping espresso and scanning the business headlines like a king waiting for news of war.
He looked up when I approached. “London suits you boy,” he said. “Though I doubt you went just to admire the rain.”
“I want to know what’s going on,” I said bluntly. “With Camilla. With Damian. With everything.”
He smirked. “Finally taking an interest in the company, are we?”
“I’m serious.”
Antonio leaned back. “Damian is making moves. Big ones. Merging De-Rosie Tech’s fashion under Camilla’s brand, aligning with digital platforms in Milan and Tokyo.
The girl has influence now. She’s no longer just a secretary.”
I gritted my teeth. “I guess she’s pregnant father.”
Antonio raised an eyebrow. “Is she?”
“Yeah. And I think…” I hesitated. “I think I’m the father.”
Now he leaned forward.
“Well, well. That’s quite the complication. Do you have proof?”
“No. But I know.”
He chuckled darkly. “Then you better do something before Damian claims what should’ve been yours.”
“I don’t want her because of the baby—”
Antonio interrupted, voice hard. “It doesn’t matter what you want. The will stands. Whichever of you proves worthy—by marriage, by legacy, or by blood—will inherit everything. That’s the deal.”
I stared at him. “You’re playing with our lives Dad.”
He smiled without humor. “I’m building an empire. Empires are never built on comfort.”
Over the next few weeks, I tried again.
I sent flowers to Camilla’s office in London—she sent them back. I invited her to brunch—she declined. I emailed her pictures from a time when we were close, back when everything was simple. She didn’t reply.
But it wasn’t just rejection that haunted me.
It was the realization that someone else had stepped into the void I left behind. And not just anyone—my brother. The man I had always competed with, always outshone in charm but never in patience.
Damian had played the long game. He took her pain and built her an empire.
And now she chose him.
The final blow came one rainy afternoon when I walked past a boutique on Bond Street. There, in the window, was a poster of Camilla—elegant, powerful and untouchable. Below it, in silver font, were the words:
De-Canio London
A legacy redefined.
She wasn’t just building a brand.
She was erasing who she used to be—and with it, everything I thought I had meant to her.
But I wasn’t going to give up.
Because I wasn’t just fighting for a company anymore.
I was fighting for a second chance at the only woman who had ever made me want to be better.
- Writer
