018
786 Words
CAMILLA
In the lobby, she pulled out her phone and turned slightly away from me.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Now… No, just shopping.”
She ended the call and slid the phone into her purse.
Three minutes later, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up.
Of course.
The driver stepped out, nodded once, and opened the back door.
How many cars does this man have?
We slid inside. The leather seat was cool against my thighs, grounding me. The door shut with a soft thud that made my stomach tighten.
No greeting. No small talk.
The driver simply drove.
Smooth. Silent. Efficient.
The city shifted outside the window as we crossed into another world. The streets widened. The buildings gleamed. Glass and steel reflected the sun like they had something to prove.
This part of town didn’t feel real.
People walked with confidence that bordered on arrogance. Like nothing bad ever happened here.
Gianna and I used to talk about places like this after work, legs aching, counting tips on sticky tabletops.
“Bet the sidewalks smell better,” she’d laughed once.
“Bet the people don’t,” I’d replied.
We were always too busy. Too tired. Too broke to test the theory.
The car slowed, then stopped.
And suddenly we were at the mall.
Cool air washed over me the moment we got in. Soft music hummed overhead. Marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers. Designer names glowed from storefronts—quiet, confident, untouchable.
My pulse kicked up.
Not fear.
Opportunity.
This was it.
I lifted a hand to my forehead, letting my steps falter just enough. “Ama… I don’t feel so good.”
She turned instantly. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I—”
I let my knees give out.
I went down carefully, folding inward, making sure my head didn’t hit the floor.
Ama screamed.
“Help! Someone help!”
The sound cut through the mall like glass shattering. Heads snapped in our direction. Conversations died mid-sentence. People rushed toward us from every angle.
“Is she okay?”
“Should we call for help?”
“Miss, can you hear me?”
Hands hovered near my shoulders, my arms, my face. Too many. Too close. Panic prickled under my skin, but I forced myself to stay still. I held my breath, keeping my chest from rising, letting my body go slack.
Years of dodging trouble at the club had taught me this.
How to disappear in plain sight.
How to go limp without hurting myself.
How to become nothing.
“Call an ambulance!” Ama shouted, her voice breaking.
“No,” a man said sharply, authoritatively. “Get her to the car. We’ll take her to the hospital ourselves.”
Strong arms slid beneath me. Lifted me clean off the marble floor. The crowd parted as they carried me through it. Light streaked past my closed eyes. Voices blurred together. Everything felt distant, muffled, and unreal.
They laid me across the backseat. The door slammed shut.
The engine roared to life.
Only then did I let myself breathe again.
Air rushed into my lungs. Relief washed through me, followed quickly by exhaustion. The adrenaline that had carried me this far burned out fast, leaving my limbs heavy and warm.
And I decided to nap a little. Just for a little while.
Voices dragged me back slowly.
Muted at first. Distant. Like I was submerged underwater, listening through thick glass.
“…she needs rest…”
“…likely stress-related…”
“…vitamins and observation…”
The words sharpened bit by bit.
I cracked my eyes open.
White ceiling. Bright, sterile light. A slow, steady beep somewhere near my head.
A hospital room.
A doctor stood at the foot of the bed, clipboard in hand.
Talking to August.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
What was he doing here?
How had he gotten here so fast?
Did I sleep for so long?
Panic surged, hot and immediate. I wanted to close my eyes, to slip back into nothing, to pretend this wasn’t happening—
Then a scream ripped through the hallway.
“Get out of my way, you bastard!”
The door flew open.
A woman stormed in, heels striking the floor like gunshots.
I froze. Stayed still. Tried to disappear again.
But she was impossible to ignore.
Cream dress. Perfect hair. Pearls gleaming at her throat. Fury twisted her beautiful face into something sharp and terrifying.
She didn’t look at August first.
She looked at me.
Her gaze locked onto the bed.
She lifted her hand and pointed straight at my chest.
“Is this the bastard you’re f*****g?”
Then, everything snapped into place.
She was the fiancée.
- Writer
