SOLD TO AUGUST CHILDE

004

AUGUST



Camilla walked right in front of me, each step slow, deliberate, measured, like she was trying to control every movement of her body while her mind screamed at her to run. Her eyes stayed glued to the front door of the club, as if it might suddenly swing open and swallow her whole—or as if someone would burst through it and save her.

Every now and then, she flicked her gaze back at me. Once. Twice. Then forward again.

I could see the hope there. Fragile, desperate. The tiniest spark of it lingered in the depths of her dark eyes. She wanted help. Someone to intervene, someone to step in and whisk her away from me. She wasn’t getting it. Not tonight. Not from me.

I still didn’t fully understand why I’d dropped twenty million without a second thought. The number had slipped from my mouth before my brain even caught up with what I was doing. But the second I saw that glare of hers from the stage, something inside me shifted.

I needed to know who she was. Needed to understand why she looked at me like I was the enemy when she didn’t even know me.

And that smart mouth. That fire in her voice when she spoke. I wanted to hear it again. I wanted to feel it snap back at me, challenge me, talk to me like I wasn’t untouchable.

We reached the VIP section. Daniel was already deep in his cups—three drinks down, two girls draped over him like they were accessories, smiling too wide, laughing too loud. He noticed us, but didn’t pause.

“Keys,” I said.

He fished them from his pocket without a word and tossed them over.

“You leaving already?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Taking her home,” I said, flat, final.

He blinked once, then just laughed low and went back to the girl whispering in his ear.

Rico, on the other hand, was hovering like a nervous puppy. “I’m sending a driver. Make sure Daniel doesn’t leave this spot,” I said without looking at him.

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” he nodded so fast I thought his head might fall off.

I lowered my gaze to Camilla’s hand. Small, delicate, trembling just a fraction. I wrapped my fingers around hers, my hand swallowing hers completely. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t relax either. But she didn’t pull away. That was enough.

I led her through the club, weaving through the crowd. People moved aside faster than they had on our way in. Whispers followed us. Phones stayed out longer than usual, recording and taking pictures. I didn’t care.

Outside, the night hit with a cool bite, the city lights bouncing off the wet pavement. Daniel’s black Ferrari waited, sleek, gleaming, untouchable under the streetlamps. I opened the passenger door for her.

She hesitated.

“Get in,” I said. Not too harsh.

She slid inside without a word.

I circled to the driver’s side, lowered into the leather seat, and started the engine. The low purr filled the silence. I pulled out my phone, dialed my driver.

“Pick up Mr. Beaumont at Rico’s. He’ll be in the VIP section. Bring him home safe.”

“Yes, sir. On my way,” the voice replied.

“Good,” I said. Ended the call and tossed the phone into the center console.

I turned to Camilla. She sat rigid, hands knotted in her lap, staring straight ahead, breathing shallow, trembling like she had just escaped some invisible cage. She was somewhere else entirely, lost inside her own fear.

“Are you not going to talk?” I asked, voice calm, almost gentle.

Nothing.

I gripped the wheel tighter. Took a slow breath. “I believe I asked you a question.”

She shook her head. Slowly at first. Then faster. Her words tumbled out in a whisper, raw and broken.

“This is a dream,” she muttered. “This is a dream. I have to wake up.”

Her hands went up to her head. Slammed against the side of her skull once. Twice. Dull thumps that echoed in the small space of the car.

I slammed on the brakes and pulled over in one smooth motion. The car rocked to a stop.

“Stop that,” I said, voice sharper than I intended.

She didn’t. Kept hitting. Kept chanting. “Wake up. Wake up.”

I reached over, caught both her wrists in one hand. Gentle, firm. Pulling her toward me until she had no choice but to face me. I tilted her chin up with my free hand.

“Look at me,” I said.

Her eyes were wide. Glassy. Panic radiating from her like heat, and tears brimming.

“This is no dream, princess,” I whispered. My voice low and steady.

She screamed. A raw, broken sound that made my chest ache. “Let me go! You have to let me go!”

Tears spilled over, streaking her cheeks. Her body shook.

I stared at her. Something twisted deep in my chest. I didn’t like it. I’ve seen women cry before. Anger. Manipulation. Crocodile tears meant to twist men. This was different. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t performance. This hurt to watch, and I barely knew her.

“Quiet,” I said, voice firmer than before. “Or I’ll deal with you right here.”

Her body went still, breath hitching. Tears continued to fall, wet and hot.

“Please,” she whispered. “Just let me go, Mr. Childe. I promise… I promise I won’t show my face anywhere near you again.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. Vulnerable. Fractured.

I held her gaze for a long, long second. Then I let go of her wrists. Turned back to the road. Started the car again.

The rest of the drive passed in silence. City lights streaked past the windows. Neon signs, traffic lights, reflections in puddles—everything blurred. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, small, shaking, staring out the window like the world was ending.

We arrived at the private garage beneath my penthouse. The one Taylor didn’t know about. The one my parents didn’t know about. My secret escape.

I killed the engine. Reached over, unbuckled her seat belt.

The second the strap released, she shoved me hard. The door flew open, and she bolted.

I was out of the car in a heartbeat.

She made it maybe ten feet before one of my guards stepped out of the shadows. A massive man, fast, silent. He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her clean off the ground. She kicked. Twisted. Fought like hell.

“Get off me!” she screamed, voice ragged.

He brought her back to me without a word.

I stepped forward. Wrapped my arm around her waist, pulled her against my chest. She froze, caught between rage and fear.

I leaned down, buried my face in her hair for one long, fleeting second. Vanilla and smoke. Something sweet underneath it that hit me harder than I expected.

“Don’t you ever,” I said against her ear, voice low, rough, and dangerous. “Don’t you ever try to run from me again, princess. Or else you’ll hate yourself for it.”

Her body went limp in my arms. Breath shuddering, trembling.

“Okay,” she whispered. So soft I almost missed it.

I loosened my hold just enough to look down at her. Tears still wet on her cheeks. Eyes red and swollen. She was beautiful even when she was breaking.

“Good,” I said. I brushed a stray strand of hair from her face with my thumb. “Welcome home.”