Chapter 2: Back Under One Roof
403 Words
Camille didn’t even bother to unpack properly. She dropped her overnight bag by the grand staircase of Elias’s penthouse, taking in the sleek, cold perfection she’d once pretended was home.
> Thirty days, she reminded herself. I can survive thirty days.
Elias watched her from across the foyer, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.
> “You’ll use the guest room,” he said flatly.
“Fine,” she shot back. “I’m not here to play wife any more than necessary.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Our schedule starts tomorrow. First event, a charity gala. Eight o’clock.”
Camille’s jaw tensed. “You want me on your arm, smiling like nothing’s wrong?”
> “That is the agreement.”
She laughed bitterly. “Right. An agreement. That’s all we ever were.”
Silence cut between them like glass. Elias stepped closer, and for one traitorous moment, Camille caught the faintest hint of what used to be in his eyes — regret, or maybe even longing.
> “Camille,” he started, but stopped himself, the words dying.
She turned away before he could finish, swallowing a lump in her throat.
> “I’m tired. Let me rest.”
Without waiting for his reply, she climbed the stairs, leaving Elias alone in the echo of their broken fairy tale.
---
The next morning, she woke to a sharp knock on her guest-room door.
> “Camille. We leave in two hours.”
She pulled the pillow over her head, fighting the rush of old memories — Sunday mornings in this same penthouse, coffee in bed, his laugh, their dreams. It had all turned to ashes so fast.
She refused to let those ghosts win.
> Thirty days, she reminded herself again. Then I’m free.
---
That night, the gala was a sea of flashing cameras and false smiles. Elias held out his arm, stiffly.
> “Ready?” he asked.
> “Let’s get this over with.”
As they stepped out onto the red carpet, Camille forced her lips into a picture-perfect smile. The press went wild.
> Mr. and Mrs. Carter — still the perfect couple, the headlines would say tomorrow.
They didn’t know the truth.
They didn’t know the heartbreak still bleeding between them.
And Camille wondered, with a chill down her spine, if thirty days would be long enough to survive pretending she didn’t still love him
- Writer
