SOLD TO AUGUST CHILDE

021

After his conversation with Camila

The hallway was quiet and sterile, humming with that low hospital sound that always made my skin crawl. Ama stood near the wall, hands clasped, eyes alert.

She straightened when she saw me.

“Please get Camilla ready,” I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “We’re going home.”

Her eyes flicked toward the room, then back to me. “Yes, sir.”

She nodded fast and slipped inside.

I didn’t wait.

I walked straight out of the building and into the parking lot, the night air hitting me like a slap. I leaned against the hood of the car and closed my eyes for half a second, forcing myself to breathe.

In. Slow.

Out. Controlled.

My lungs felt like they were filling with glass anyway.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Nothing about Camilla ever was.

A knock sounded against the passenger window.

I didn’t need to look.

“August.”

Taylor’s voice—soft, familiar, carefully measured. The kind she used when she wanted forgiveness without consequence.

I opened my eyes and turned my head just enough to see her standing there. Flawless, as always. Hair perfectly set, makeup untouched, not a single crack in the image she curated so obsessively. She looked like she’d stepped out of a lifestyle magazine—calm, elegant, untouched by the chaos she’d helped create.

I wanted to leave her standing there.

Let her keep knocking.

Let her realize, for once, what it felt like to be ignored.

Let her knock until her knuckles bled.

But I knew Taylor.

If I ignored her, she wouldn’t retreat quietly. She’d escalate. Make noise. Cry loud enough for security to notice. Call my mother and frame herself as the wounded party. Turn this quiet hospital parking lot into a spectacle.

She always knew how to win by making a mess.

I rolled down the glass.

“What do you want, Tay?”

She sighed, long and theatrical, and rested her hand against the window. Her shoulders slumped just a fraction—just enough to signal vulnerability without ruining her posture. For a brief second—barely a flicker—she looked almost human.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Okay? I’m sorry for embarrassing you that way.”

The word embarrassing almost made me laugh.

I rubbed my hand hard over my forehead, pressing my fingers into my skin like I could physically ground myself there. Like if I pushed hard enough, the tension might bleed out.

“You didn’t embarrass me,” I said evenly. “You embarrassed yourself.”

Her lips parted. I saw the reflex—argument rising, pride bristling. I didn’t give her the space.

“And please,” I added, my voice calm and final, “can we keep it strictly online until the wedding?”

That landed.

Her expression froze for half a second before she masked it. She nodded quickly. Small. Controlled. “Take care.”

No argument. No tears.

She turned and walked back to her car. Her driver opened the door without a word. A few minutes later, the black SUV pulled away, disappearing around the corner of the lot.

I watched it go.

It felt like watching a life I was supposed to want slowly fade into the distance.

Footsteps approached behind me.

Soft. Familiar.

Ama.

Camilla.

I turned.

She looked different now that she wasn’t pretending. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. A deep frown carved lines between her brows, her shoulders slightly hunched, like she was holding herself together through sheer force of will.

Angry.

Tired.

Beautiful.

I nodded to the driver. “Unlock the doors.”

Then I met his eyes. “Get out.”

He blinked once, surprised, but didn’t argue. Stepped aside without a word.

I moved to the driver’s seat myself. The leather was cold beneath my hands as I settled in, the weight of the moment pressing down harder than the seatbelt ever could.

Ama opened the passenger door for Camilla.

Camilla climbed in slowly, movements careful, deliberate. Like she didn’t trust the ground beneath her to stay solid. She buckled her seatbelt without looking at me.

That hurt more than I expected.

I glanced at Ama through the open window. “My driver will take you back to the penthouse.”

She hesitated. Looked at Camilla. Then at me. Reading the air, as she always did.

“Okay, sir.”

She stepped back.

I closed the window.

Now it was just the two of us.

I started the engine and let the low rumble fill the space between us. Didn’t rush. Let the sound sit there, grounding, steady. Letting the moment breathe.

Camilla stared straight ahead, jaw tight, eyes fixed on nothing.

“Do you still want to go out?” I asked.

She turned so fast she nearly startled herself.

“What?” Her eyes were wide, searching my face like she was waiting for the trick. The catch. The condition.

“Do you still want to go out?” I repeated, my tone steady, deliberate.

Silence stretched between us.

Then she nodded. Small. Careful. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

I reached over and checked her seatbelt myself, fingers brushing the fabric near her shoulder. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away.

“Fasten it tight.”

She did. Her hands trembled just a little.

I pulled out of the parking lot slowly, deliberately. The hospital shrank in the rearview mirror, its lights blurring as the city opened up around us—bright streets, moving people, life continuing like nothing had cracked open inside my chest.

Camilla pressed her forehead lightly against the window.

I kept my hands loose on the wheel. Kept my voice even.

“Where do you want to go?”

She didn’t answer right away.

She watched the buildings slide past like she was memorizing the feeling of motion. Of space. Of freedom. Like if she stopped paying attention, it would be taken from her.

“Anywhere,” she said finally. Soft. Honest. “As long as it’s not inside four walls.”

I nodded once.

The things I do for this girl, man.