Chapter 22
Camille
Iadjust the neckline of my dress, hyperaware of how it hugs the body that's now housing a secret.
Julian's hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady through the thin fabric.
He leans close, his breath tickling my ear as he whispers something about the champagne being cheap despite the four-figure ticket price.
I manage a smile, even though exhaustion pulls at me.
"You good?" Tristan appears at my other side, his voice low enough that only I can hear him. His hand brushes mine.
"Just tired," I murmur back. Pregnancy fatigue is real—a bone-deep weariness that no amount of sleeping seems to fix. "But I'm fine."
I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince him or myself. This is our first public appearance as... whatever we are. The three of us haven't put a label on it, but we're definitely something. Something that makes my heart race when I think about it.
Tristan looks unfairly good in his tailored suit, the dark gray bringing out the blue in his eyes.
Julian, in classic black, has charm pouring off him like cologne.
And here I am between them, trying desperately not to look like a woman who's carrying another man's child while sleeping with two best friends.
"You look beautiful tonight," Julian says, reading my insecurity like it's written across my forehead. "That color makes your eyes look like the ocean."
I roll those apparently oceanic eyes, but can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?"
"Never," he protests, pressing a hand to his heart in mock offense. "I'm being completely honest. Ask Tristan."
Tristan's lips quirk up at the corners. "He's not wrong," he admits, his eyes doing a slow sweep down my body that makes me blush. "You're stunning."
It's still new, this—being the center of their attention. Sometimes it feels like too much, like I don't deserve it. But tonight, surrounded by Manhattan's elite raising money for children's cancer research, I'm selfishly glad to have them flanking me like gorgeous bookends.
Julian snags three champagne flutes from a passing waiter, then immediately looks stricken. "Shit, I'm sorry—"
"It's fine," I say, taking one. "I'll just pretend." I bring the glass to my lips without drinking, the bubbles tickling my nose.
The evening unfolds in a blur of small talk and strategic mingling. Julian knows everyone, naturally, and introduces me around like I'm someone important. Tristan is quieter but no less commanding, offering sharp observations that make me hide my laughter behind my hand more than once.
For a little while, I almost forget about the fatigue, the morning sickness, the uncertainty of my future. I let myself just be a woman in a beautiful dress, standing between two handsome men who look at me like they can't quite believe their luck.
Julian leans in close, his lips brushing my temple. "That woman over there has been staring daggers at you for twenty minutes. I had a date with her once, years ago. Bit of a clinger."
I follow his gaze to a redhead in a green dress who quickly looks away. The absurdity of it—someone being jealous of my complicated mess of a life—makes me laugh. It feels good, the laughter bubbling up genuine and unexpected, and Julian's face lights up in response.
That's when I feel it—a prickling sensation at the back of my neck, the unmistakable weight of someone watching me. Not with curiosity or jealousy, but with something heavier.
I turn, still smiling from Julian's joke, and lock eyes with Alexander Kingsley across the room.
The world around me blurs. The crowd fades to a hum of white noise. There's only Alexander, standing twenty feet away, his green eyes fixed on mine. He's impeccable as always—tailored tuxedo, perfect posture, that face that still haunts my dreams. But it's not his appearance that steals my breath.
It's who he's with.
Fiona Astor stands beside him, her arm looped through his like she belongs there. Her crimson dress makes her look like she's been dipped in blood. Her dark hair is swept up to showcase diamond earrings that catch the light with every calculated tilt of her head.
The last time I saw her was in Alexander's office, when she'd looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of her Louboutin. She'd made it clear then that she thought I was beneath him, beneath her, beneath this entire world I was trying to navigate. Now she's at his side.
Alexander's expression shifts from shock to something unreadable—a tightening around his eyes, a slight clench of his jaw. Does he know about the baby? Has he somehow found out? Or is he just surprised to see me here, with these two men whose hands keep finding reasons to touch me?
My stomach lurches, and for a terrifying moment, I think I might actually be sick right here on the marble floor. Julian is saying something to me, but his words sound far away. Tristan's hand presses against my lower back, steadying me.
"I need to—" I mumble, already pulling away from them. "Bathroom. Just a minute."
I don't wait for their response. I turn and move through the crowd, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Don't run, I tell myself. Don't make a scene. Just breathe. Just move.
Thank god the women's restroom is empty. I grip the marble countertop, staring at my reflection in the gilded mirror. My face looks pale beneath my carefully applied makeup, my eyes too wide, too bright.
"Pull it together," I whisper to myself. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't matter."
But the lie tastes bitter on my tongue. Alexander does matter. He's the father of my child, whether he knows it or not. And seeing him with Fiona—God, why her? Of all people?
I splash cold water on my wrists, an old trick my mother taught me for calming down. It doesn't help. My heart still pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
Why am I so upset? I'm happy with Julian and Tristan. What Alexander does—who he dates—shouldn't affect me like this. But the image of Fiona at his side makes me want to throw up. I hate her smug face, her perfect body, her obvious satisfaction at being where I once stood.
The door opens, and I straighten up, expecting to see some socialite ready to judge my obvious breakdown. Instead, Julian slips inside, concern etched across his handsome face.
"Hey," he says softly. "What happened back there? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I open my mouth to tell him—to confess that Alexander is here, that seeing him with Fiona feels like someone's twisting a knife in my gut.
But the words stick in my throat. Julian has been so good to me, so understanding about the baby, about my past with Alexander.
I don't want him to think that I'm still hung up on a man who discarded me without a second thought.
"Nothing," I manage, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack my face. "Just got a little overwhelmed. Pregnancy stuff."
Julian studies me, those kind eyes seeing too much. "You sure that's all it is?"
I nod, swallowing the truth down like a pill too large for my throat. "I'm sure. Just needed a minute to breathe."
He doesn't believe me. I can tell by the way his head tilts slightly, the way his eyes narrow. But he doesn't push, and that makes me like him even more.
"Take all the time you need," he says, pulling me to him briefly. "Tristan and I will be right outside when you're ready."
As he turns to leave, guilt washes over me.
I can’t believe he didn’t see Alexander.
Because if he had he would know what’s going on with me.
I should tell him. I should be honest. But the words don't come, and then he's gone, and I'm alone again with my reflection and the truth I can't seem to share.
We leave shortly after I come out of the bathroom. I glance around for another glimpse of Alexander but he’s nowhere to be seen.
Julian drapes his suit jacket over my shoulders without asking. It smells like him and I take a deep whiff. Tristan walks a step ahead, his back rigid as he signals to the valet.
As we wait for the car, I keep scanning the entrance, half-terrified Alexander might appear with Fiona on his arm. My stomach churns at the thought of a confrontation. I just need to get away from here, away from the possibility of those green eyes finding me again.
"Car's coming," Tristan says.
Julian's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "You're shivering," he murmurs.
I am. I'm rattled, shaken to my core by a two-second eye contact with a man who doesn't even know he's going to be the father of my baby. What does that say about me? About the feelings I'm supposed to have buried?
The sleek black car pulls up, and Tristan opens the door for me. I slide into the backseat, Julian following close behind. Tristan takes the front passenger seat, his profile sharp against the city lights as we pull away from the curb.
For a full minute, there's only the sound of traffic and my own heartbeat in my ears. Then Tristan turns in his seat, his blue eyes finding mine in the dim interior.
"What the hell happened back there?" His voice isn't angry, exactly, but there's an edge to it—concern wrapped in frustration.
I shake my head, looking down at my hands. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Nothing doesn't send someone running like that," Tristan pushes, his gaze never wavering. "You were fine one minute, then white as a sheet the next."
Julian shifts beside me. "Camille." Just my name, but there's a plea in it.
I exhale shakily, turning to stare out the window at the passing streetlights. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Was it something I said?" Julian asks softly. "Or did? Because if I crossed a line—"
"No," I cut in, my voice sharper than intended. "You didn't do anything wrong. Either of you. It's just..." I trail off, unsure how to continue without revealing the whole truth.
How do I explain that seeing Alexander with Fiona felt like having the floor drop out from under me? How do I admit that part of me still cares what he thinks, who he's with, whether he's moved on? It would sound like I'm still hung up on him—and maybe I am.
Tristan's jaw tightens. "Just what?"
"Leave it, Tris," Julian says quietly.
"No, I want to know what we're dealing with here," Tristan counters, his voice low but intense. "If something—or someone—upset her, I want to know how to make it right."
The protective edge in his voice makes my chest ache. These men care about me, are trying to take care of me, and I'm shutting them out because I'm afraid of what they'll think.
"It wasn't anyone's fault," I say finally. "I just... I got overwhelmed. There were a lot of people, and I'm tired, and—" It’s only half the truth but, right now, it’s all I can manage.
"And suddenly you needed to flee to the bathroom," Tristan finishes, skepticism clear in his tone.
Julian places a hand on my knee. "You don't have to explain if you don't want to," he says, throwing Tristan a warning look. "But we're here if you do."
The guilt intensifies. They deserve better than this, better than my evasions and half-truths. But the words stick in my throat: I saw Alexander. The father of my baby. The man who walked away without a word. And he was with Fiona, the bitch who's always made it clear she thinks I'm below her.
Instead, I say, "Can you just take me home? I need some time alone."
Julian's hand squeezes my knee once before retreating. "Of course."
Tristan looks like he wants to argue, his mouth opening and then closing again when Julian shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Another silent exchange passes between them, and Tristan turns back to face the front, his shoulders tense.
"Whatever you need," Julian says softly.
The rest of the ride passes in silence. I watch the familiar buildings slide by, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions inside me.
Why did seeing Alexander affect me so strongly?
Is it just hormones amplifying everything?
Or is it something deeper, some unresolved part of me that still clings to what might have been?
Alexander never loved me. I know that now. What we had was physical, transactional in a way—he took what he wanted, and I let him because I was caught up in the fantasy of him. Of being wanted by someone like him. It wasn't real.
What I have with Julian and Tristan feels different. There's care there, consideration. They see me—not just my body or what I can do for them, but me. They know about the baby and still want to be with me. That has to mean something.
So why am I sitting here, replaying two seconds of eye contact with Alexander? Why did seeing him with Fiona make me feel like I've been replaced, when I'm the one who's moved on to something better?
The car pulls up to my apartment building, and I feel both relief and reluctance. I need space, time to think, but I also hate the idea of being alone right now.
"Do you want us to come up?" Julian asks, reading my hesitation.
I shake my head. "No, I just need some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
His expression is worried but accepting. "Promise?"
"I promise." I lean over and kiss him lightly, then glance at Tristan in the front seat. His eyes meet mine, still guarded but softer now.
"Get some rest," he says, and there's genuine concern beneath the stiffness.
I nod, gathering Julian's jacket closer around me as I step out of the car. "I'll give this back to you tomorrow," I tell him, but he waves it away.
"Keep it. I've got others."
I stand on the sidewalk, watching as the car pulls away, Julian's face visible through the window until they turn the corner. The night wraps around me, cool and indifferent to the storm inside my head.
In the elevator up to my apartment, I finally let myself acknowledge the truth I've been running from all night: seeing Alexander reminded me that I'm carrying his child, a permanent connection to a man who wanted nothing to do with me.
And no matter how much I care for Julian and Tristan, no matter how good they are to me, that fact will never change.
The realization sits heavy in my chest as I unlock my door and step into the empty apartment. I should tell them. I will tell them—tomorrow, when the shock has worn off and I can think clearly again. They deserve the truth, even if it complicates everything.
But tonight, I just need to be alone with my thoughts, trying to reconcile the woman I was with Alexander and the woman I'm becoming with Julian and Tristan.