CHAPTER TWO
839 Words
THE FIRST MEETING
8:00 A.M. sharp.
Julian Cross stood outside the towering glass structure of Devaux Innovations, holding a leather-bound portfolio under one arm, wearing the only tailored suit he owned. Dark navy. The cuffs showed signs of slight wear. His tie was straight, but his heart raced beneath the polished surface.
He wasn’t nervous about the work, however; he knew his talent.
He was nervous because of her.
The name Camille Devaux didn’t just ring bells in architectural circles. It struck gongs in corporate warfare, in tabloids, and in whispered stories of power, brilliance, and blood.
Julian had never designed for someone like her before.
Hell, no one had.
The lobby guard scanned his appointment code, gave a tight nod, and motioned to the private elevator, which was already waiting, doors open.
"Penthouse," the guard said. "She’s expecting you."
Camille—The Queen in Her Lair
She waited in silence.
No music. No assistants. Her long legs were crossed in tailored black slacks, and her hair was pulled back into a smooth bun.
Everything about her posture said control.
Her expression said nothing at all.
She liked that.
She needed it.
When the elevator chimed, she didn’t move. Just watched.
The doors opened.
He stepped in.
Julian Cross.
Taller than she expected. Sharp eyes. Strong jaw. His architecture hinted at hunger and restraint, and now she saw the man behind the lines.
He walked toward her, calm, confident but not arrogant.
He stopped a few feet away and extended a hand.
“Julian Cross,” he said.
Camille didn’t take his hand.
Instead, she motioned to the seat across from her.
“Sit,” she said.
The Conversation
Julian lowered himself into the minimalist chair. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t talk unnecessarily. It earned her attention.
“I’ve reviewed your work,” Camille said. “Your scale approach is... romantic. Rare. You design like you’ve lost something.”
Julian blinked once. “Maybe I have.”
Camille tilted her head slightly. “What was it?”
He smiled faintly. “Stability. Legacy. But I think I’m rebuilding it.”
She studied him.
He didn’t flinch. That mattered.
“I want an estate designed on private land in Suffolk,” Camille continued. “It will serve as a living space and retreat. No press. No digital footprint. The plans will never leave this office.”
She slid a digital tablet toward him.
Julian picked it up, scanned the rough terrain outline. His brow furrowed.
“This is... remote,” he murmured.
“That’s the point.”
Camille leaned forward slightly. “Can you build me something that breathes? Something the world can’t follow into?”
Julian met her gaze.
“Yes.”
Nadia – Watching
From behind the mirrored glass of Camille’s inner office, Nadia Quinn watched the entire exchange.
Her fingers were tense on the edge of her tablet.
This was the man Camille had chosen?
Julian was... attractive, in a disheveled kind of way. Talented. But Nadia didn’t trust charm. Especially not the kind Camille noticed.
Because Camille was noticing.
Her posture was different.
Just a fraction.
But Nadia saw it.
She always saw.
After the Meeting
Camille stood as Julian finished explaining his initial approach.
“I’ll need to walk the land before drawing the first concept,” he said.
“Of course. Nadia will coordinate.”
Julian paused. “I appreciate the opportunity.”
Camille studied him, then extended her hand at last.
He took it.
Her grip was cool. Firm. And her eyes lingered on his a moment longer than required.
Julian left the room with his heartbeat faster than when he arrived.
Private Office : Moments Later
Nadia entered as soon as the door closed.
“You seem... intrigued,” she said carefully.
Camille didn’t respond.
Instead, she walked to the window, her voice quiet:
“He doesn’t flinch.”
Nadia tilted her head. “That’s dangerous.”
Camille smirked. “No. That’s useful.”
Julian walked out of the building, past rows of tinted black SUVs and sleek glass.
His phone rang.
Ellie’s name lit up the screen.
“Did you meet her?” she asked without hello.
“I did.”
“And?”
“She’s... cold. Brilliant. Completely unreadable.”
Ellie was silent for a moment. “Be careful, Jules. Women like that don’t just pay you to build homes. They test you. They consume.”
Julian smiled faintly. “I think I just passed round one.”
Camille’s Past Echoes
Late that evening, Camille walked alone through her South Wing—a part of her estate she never allowed staff into. She stepped into a dark room lined with old, covered canvases and blueprints.
She removed the cloth from one.
A childhood drawing. A sketch of a house. One that never got built.
In the corner
, scrawled in faded pencil: Pour Maman.
Camille stared at it.
Emotion flickered across her face for just a second.
Then it was gone.
She replaced the cloth and turned out the light.
- Writer
