SOLD TO AUGUST CHILDE

015

AUGUST

The moment I got into the car, I shut the door harder than necessary and leaned back against the leather seat.

I exhaled hard and pulled my phone from my pocket.

Conrad’s number was already at the top of my call log.

He picked up on the first ring. As always.

“Sir.”

His voice was steady and alert. No warmth, no wasted emotion. Just readiness.

“I need you to watch someone for me.”

There was a brief pause on the line. Not hesitation—never that. Calculation. Conrad weighed every word, every implication, before responding. He didn’t ask unnecessary questions.

“Should I get men to do it?”

“No.” I reached up and loosened my tie, suddenly aware of how tight it felt around my neck, how it seemed to cut off my air. “I want you to watch her personally.”

Another pause.

“Alright, boss.”

My driver merged smoothly into traffic, the engine humming beneath us. I stared straight ahead, jaw tight, eyes fixed on nothing and everything at once.

“She’s a runner,” I added, my voice low. “So watch out for that.”

“Okay, boss.”

I ended the call and dropped the phone onto the seat beside me. For a moment, I sat there in silence, listening to the muted sounds of the city through the glass. My fingers curled slowly into a fist as I drew in a controlled breath.

Now let’s see how you run, princess.

I headed straight for the office.

Traffic was light. My mind wasn’t.

Every mile I put between myself and the penthouse felt like a rope tightening around my chest. Her smile had been real this morning.

And that was the problem.

I promise.

The words echoed again, hollow.

I didn’t believe her for a second.

Not because she was a liar. But because hope makes people reckless. And Camilla was desperate enough to try.

I believed she’d run.

And I believed Conrad would stop her.

The building rose ahead of us, all glass and steel and quiet power. I straightened as the car slowed, the familiar mask settling back into place. August Childe. Controlled. Untouchable. The man who never lost.

The elevator ride to my floor was silent. Too silent. I stared at my reflection in the mirrored wall and barely recognized myself. Dark circles under my eyes. Jaw tight. Something restless beneath the surface.

My assistant met me at the doors the second the elevator opened.

“Mr. Childe,” she said quickly, matching my stride without missing a step. “Mr. Beaumont is waiting in your office.”

“Thanks.”

I didn’t slow down. Didn’t ask questions. Just walked straight through the glass doors and pushed my office door open without knocking.

Daniel Beaumont was already inside.

Of course he was.

He was sprawled in one of the leather chairs across from my desk like the place belonged to him—legs crossed, one ankle resting casually on his knee, fingers draped lazily over the armrest. He looked relaxed. Too relaxed. Like this wasn’t my office, my life, my mess he was sitting in the middle of.

The moment he saw me, his mouth curved into that familiar grin. The same one he’d worn since I’ve known him. Easy. Sharp. Like he always knew something you didn’t.

“My man,” he said. “There he is.”

I shut the door behind me and crossed the room, dropping into my chair with a heavy exhale. “Now what do you want, D?”

“Nothing,” he said easily, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Just here to congratulate you on the recent announcement.”

My jaw tightened. I leaned forward and rubbed my temples, pressing my fingers hard enough to feel something other than irritation building behind my eyes. “Please don’t remind me.”

Daniel laughed. Loud. Carefree.

“I guess your mom finally hooked you with that one, huh?”

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a long second, counting my breaths. One. Two. Three. Trying to keep the tightness in my chest from turning into something uglier.

“She got me good,” I said finally. “I don’t know what to do.”

The words sat between us, heavier than I’d intended. That was the truth. A rare one. One I didn’t hand out easily.

Daniel’s grin softened. He tilted his head, studying me now instead of joking. “What about the girl?”

My eyes snapped back to him. “What girl?”

Too fast. Too sharp.

His smirk returned instantly. “Rico’s girl.”

Something dark flashed through me. I leaned forward, planting my hands on the desk, and glared at him hard. The kind of look that usually shut people up. The kind that warned them not to take another step.

“Don’t call her that.”

The room felt tighter suddenly, like the air had thickened. I broke eye contact first, reaching into my desk drawer and pulling out the small orange bottle. My fingers were steady even though my chest wasn’t. I popped the cap, shook out two pills, and dry-swallowed them without water.

Daniel watched the whole thing in silence.

No jokes or comments.

“But I don’t even know her name,” he said finally, quieter now.

I exhaled through my nose. “Her name is Camilla, okay?” I snapped, irritation bleeding into my voice despite myself. “But you don’t need to talk about her.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing that. Filing it away. Daniel was good at that—knowing when to push and when to sit back.

“So what are your plans for her?”

The question hung there.

Before I could answer, the door burst open.

My assistant rushed in first, face pale, eyes wide like she’d seen something coming she couldn’t stop. Taylor followed right behind her, heels clicking sharply against the floor—each step precise, deliberate, and loud enough to announce her presence without a word.

“I’m so sorry, sir—” my assistant started, breathless.

I waved her off without looking. “It’s fine.”

Taylor didn’t even glance at me. Her attention was fixed squarely on the assistant, her expression cool and cutting.

“Of course it would be fine,” she said smoothly. “He’s my husband-to-be.”

My assistant nodded quickly, clearly flustered, eyes darting between us. She looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

“You can leave, Gale,” I told her.

She didn’t hesitate. She bolted.

The door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded much louder than it should have.

Taylor finally turned her attention to Daniel. Her expression shifted instantly, like flipping a switch—from sharp to pleasant, from territorial to polished.

“Oh… Daniel,” she said lightly. “How are you?”

Daniel smirked. “I’m very well.”

She rolled her eyes like they were old friends sharing some private joke, then turned back to me and crossed her arms over her chest. The movement was casual, but the message wasn’t.

She was bracing herself.

The silence stretched.

I could feel Daniel watching us both now, saying nothing, absorbing everything.

“Where have you been sleeping, August?”