Chapter 5: The Almost
662 Words
Camille woke to warmth.
It took her a second to realize where she was — and another to realize why she felt… different.
She turned her head.
Elias.
Still asleep.
Still shirtless.
Still inches away.
Somehow, during the night, the space between them had disappeared. His arm was draped loosely across her waist, their legs tangled like old habits they couldn’t unlearn.
> Breathe, Camille. Breathe.
She tried to shift without waking him, but his grip tightened, pulling her just slightly closer.
> “Camille…” he murmured, half-asleep.
Her name on his lips — soft, raw, familiar — sent something sharp through her chest.
This wasn’t in the contract. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
And yet… she didn’t pull away.
---
Later that morning, Camille stood in the kitchen in silence, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Elias walked in, freshly showered, buttoning his shirt like nothing had happened.
> “About last night…” she began.
> “It was cold,” he said flatly. “Nothing more.”
Camille blinked. “Right. Of course.”
> “We’re still on the same page, aren’t we?”
> “Page one of a contract,” she replied, voice colder than she meant it to be.
Elias looked at her, jaw tight.
> “Camille, don’t start reading into something that doesn’t exist.”
She set the mug down harder than necessary.
> “Don’t worry. I stopped reading a long time ago.”
---
That night, they had dinner with his aunt — smiling, laughing, faking it so well that even Camille started to believe her own lie.
Elias brushed his fingers against hers under the table, and the heat in that one small touch nearly destroyed her.
But when the dinner ended, and the door closed behind them, all the warmth vanished again.
He said nothing.
She said nothing.
And that silence said everything
(Elias Thoughts)👇👇
The office was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. Elias leaned back in his chair, staring at the contract lying open on his desk. He’d read the clauses a hundred times, but tonight they felt heavier, like each line carried something unspoken between them.
He rubbed a hand over his face. This was supposed to be simple. She would play the role of his wife for two years, and in return, she’d get the security she needed, and he’d get the stability his company board demanded. Clean. Professional. Temporary.
But somewhere between the charity events, the early morning coffees, and the arguments over nothing and everything… temporary had started to feel like something else.
He hated that he could still hear her laugh from earlier that day. She had been teasing him about his inability to cook pasta without overboiling it. He’d pretended to be annoyed, but secretly, it had been the highlight of his week.
He closed the contract and pushed it aside. The papers didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that in thirty days, she would be gone, and all of this — the dinners, the quiet nights, the way she filled the silence without trying — would be over.
His phone buzzed with a reminder about tomorrow’s meeting. He ignored it, pulling out his wallet instead. There, tucked behind a credit card, was a small coffee shop loyalty card. Only two stamps filled.
He thought about finishing it alone, just to have something to do. But the truth was, he didn’t want to. The card wasn’t about coffee — it was about her. About the mornings she’d drag him out of bed because “life wasn’t meant to be lived half-awake,” and how she’d always order cinnamon, even though she claimed to hate it.
Elias set the card down on the desk, staring at it for a long moment.
He told himself he’d survive when she left. He always survived. But tonight, for the first time, he wondered if surviving would be enough.
- Writer
