Chapter 11 Camille
ELEVEN
CAMILLE
The afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Camille’s office, casting geometric patterns across the Lexington blueprints spread before her like a complex puzzle waiting to be solved.
She’d been lost in the technical drawings for hours, her mind dancing between structural possibilities and aesthetic enhancements, completely absorbed in the kind of work that made her soul sing.
Leander’s original design was solid—brilliant, even.
His structural integrity was flawless, the spatial flow logical and efficient.
But as Camille studied each elevation and floor plan, she saw opportunities he’d missed.
Places where warmth could soften the stark functionality, where natural light could transform cold corporate spaces into environments that actually nurtured the people who worked there.
Her red pen moved across the blueprints with increasing confidence, marking adjustments to window placements, suggesting interior courtyards that would bring the outside in, redesigning the lobby to create a sense of arrival rather than mere passage.
She sketched in living walls, water features, and seating areas that would encourage collaboration while maintaining the professional atmosphere Leander’s clients demanded.
When she finally leaned back in her chair, the blueprints looked like they’d been through a creative storm. Red ink covered nearly every surface—notes, arrows, question marks, and enthusiasm spilling across the technical precision of Leander’s original work.
A laugh bubbled up from her chest as she surveyed the chaos she’d created. He’d asked for her perspective, and she certainly hadn’t held back. For once in her professional life, she’d allowed her true vision to emerge without filtering it through what others might expect or approve of.
The realization sent a thrill through her, but underneath it, a growing anticipation was building.
Leander had invited her to the Hamptons tomorrow, wanted her to meet his mother—steps that should have terrified her with their implications of permanence and commitment.
Instead, she felt invigorated, as if her life was finally clicking into place like pieces of a perfectly designed puzzle.
She was choosing herself, choosing what she wanted, and the world wasn’t ending. In fact, it was beginning.
Her phone rang, interrupting her moment of triumph. Damian’s name flashed across the screen, and her stomach clenched with instinctive unease.
I really want to have a relationship with you. I’ll do anything you want to make that happen. I can’t stop thinking about you.
Camille stared at the message, her earlier euphoria curdling into discomfort. The intensity felt wrong, possessive rather than romantic. She typed back carefully, maintaining politeness despite her growing alarm.
I appreciate that, but I’m not interested. I’m already seeing someone else.
His response came so quickly it was clear he’d been waiting for her reply.
Being with Leander is a huge mistake. People will spread rumors about you being with a murderer.
The words hit like ice water. Camille’s fingers froze over the keyboard as confusion and disbelief warred in her chest. When she finally typed her response, she felt the room spinning around her.
What are you talking about?
His response came hot and fast again.
Leander killed a man. That probably won’t look good for you, dating a dangerous man. It will hurt your image and your family’s image.
The phone slipped from her suddenly numb fingers, clattering against the desk. Murderer. The word echoed in her mind, clashing violently with everything she knew about the man who’d held her so tenderly last night, who’d made her feel safer than she’d ever felt in her life.
Her laptop was open before conscious thought took over, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she searched for answers. The articles appeared quickly—twelve-year-old headlines that made her blood run cold.
Drake Holdings Heir Kills Father’s Attacker in Self-Defense
Business Partner’s Betrayal Turns Deadly
No Charges Filed in Drake Murder Case
Camille devoured every word, her heart hammering as the story unfolded.
Leander’s father, ambushed by a trusted business partner.
The attack that left both men dead and Leander scarred—literally and figuratively.
The investigation that concluded he’d acted in self-defense, protecting himself when the attacker turned on him after murdering his father.
The scar on his collarbone. The pain that had flickered across his face when she’d touched it last night. Twelve years of carrying this trauma, this guilt, this terrible knowledge of what it felt like to take a life.
Her chest ached with sudden understanding. No wonder he was so controlled, so protective, so afraid of letting people close. He’d learned in the most brutal way possible that love could be weaponized and that trust could kill.
The blueprints forgotten, Camille sat in the gathering afternoon light, processing this revelation.
She didn’t feel afraid of Leander—if anything, her heart broke for the young man who’d been forced to make an impossible choice.
But she understood now why he held himself apart, why vulnerability seemed to cost him so much.
This weekend, when they had privacy and quiet, she would find a way to bring it up. Not as an accusation or demand for explanation, but as an opening for him to share what he’d carried alone for so long.
Gathering the marked-up blueprints, she made her way to his office, her mind still processing everything she’d learned. When she knocked and entered, Leander looked up from his computer with a smile that made her chest tighten with protective tenderness.
“I have your blueprints,” she said, spreading them across his desk. “Fair warning—I may have gotten a little carried away with the red pen.”
His green eyes moved across the marked-up drawings, and his smile widened into something approaching awe.
“This is incredible work, Camille. These solutions—the interior courtyards, the light wells, the way you’ve reimagined the lobby flow—I never would have considered half of these approaches, but they’re exactly what the project needs. ”
Pride bloomed warm in her chest. “Really? I was worried I’d overstepped.”
“You’ve elevated it from functional to inspired.” He looked up at her, his expression intense. “You belong in this world. You’re going to build something extraordinary here.”
Maybe even with you, she thought, but the weight of what she’d learned made her hesitate. There were conversations they needed to have, truths that needed sharing, before she could give him her whole heart.
Even if it might already be too late for such caution.
“Would you like to leave a bit early?” he asked, rising from his chair with fluid grace. “We could grab dinner before going back to pack for the weekend.”
“That sounds perfect,” she replied softly.
Tonight, perhaps, she would find the courage to ask about his father. To let him know that his past didn’t frighten her—it only made her want to understand him more.
The warm glow of candlelight danced across the rustic walls as Leander guided Camille through the restaurant with his hand resting possessively on her back.
The touch sent electric awareness spiraling through her, and she found herself leaning slightly into his solid presence without conscious thought.
Everything about being near him felt right—the way he anticipated her needs, how his green eyes tracked her every expression, and the protective energy that radiated from him like heat from a fire.
Four days. She’d only known him personally for four days, yet sitting across from him now felt like the most natural thing in the world.
The rational part of her mind whispered warnings about moving too fast, about the wisdom of sleeping with her boss and moving into his home after such a brief acquaintance.
But her body hummed with contentment in his presence, and something deeper—something that felt suspiciously like recognition—told her this man was exactly where she belonged.
Still, she needed to understand him better. The passionate night they’d shared had been incredible, but physical chemistry wasn’t enough to build a future on, no matter how her heart seemed to skip every time he looked at her with that intense focus.
“The Lexington project is going to be stunning once we implement your suggestions,” Leander said, cutting into his steak with precise movements.
Camille smiled, warmth blooming in her chest at his praise. “I’m excited to see how it develops. The natural light integration alone will transform the entire feel of the space.”
“You have a gift for seeing possibilities others miss.” His voice carried that low, rumbling quality that made her pulse quicken. “If I had known how talented you were, I would have hired you sooner and brought you onto this project from the beginning.”
The compliment sent pleasure coursing through her, but underneath it lurked the weight of what she’d discovered earlier. She took a steadying breath, knowing she couldn’t avoid the conversation any longer.
“Damian texted me today.”
The change in Leander was instant and dramatic. His jaw clenched, the relaxed set of his shoulders transforming into rigid tension. His green eyes flashed with something dangerous—protective and possessive in equal measure.
“You should block his number immediately.” The command came out sharp.
“I did block him after his last message,” Camille said quickly, recognizing the alpha dominance rising in him and wanting to defuse it before he could spiral into full protective mode. “I didn’t want to be harassed further. But he did mention something before I cut contact.”
Leander’s grip tightened on his fork. “What was that?”
Camille chose her words carefully, watching his face for signs of how to proceed. “He said you were involved in a situation where you killed a man.”
The reaction was immediate and devastating. Every trace of warmth vanished from Leander’s expression, replaced by the cold, controlled mask she’d seen glimpses of in their early interactions. His emotional walls slammed shut so forcefully she could practically hear them locking into place.
“I don’t want to discuss that tonight.” His voice had gone flat—the tone he might use with a difficult client. “We should focus on enjoying each other and the food and our weekend ahead.”
The dismissal stung, but more than that, it worried her.
She’d seen the pain that flickered across his features when she’d touched his scar, and had sensed the deep wounds he carried beneath his controlled exterior.
This wasn’t about satisfying her curiosity—this was about understanding the man she was falling for.
“Leander, I found the articles about what happened twelve years ago,” she said gently, leaning forward to close some of the distance he’d created between them. “It doesn’t frighten me. I just wanted to understand, to support you the way you’ve been supporting me.”
His green eyes remained shuttered, giving nothing away. “There’s nothing to understand. It’s in the past.”
The finality in his tone told her she’d hit a wall she couldn’t breach tonight. Disappointment settled heavy in her chest, but she recognized the signs of someone protecting themselves from pain. She’d worn those same defensive masks for years.
Forcing a smile, she redirected the conversation to safer ground. “Tell me about your mother. What should I expect when we get to the Hamptons?”
The shift in topic worked like magic. Some of the tension eased from Leander’s shoulders, and genuine affection softened his features.
“She’s going to love you,” he said, his voice warming. “But fair warning—she’s been waiting for me to bring someone home for years. She might be a little overwhelming in her enthusiasm.”
“What’s she like?”
“Fierce, intelligent, completely unimpressed by wealth or status.” A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “She’ll probably interrogate you about your intentions toward her son.”
Camille laughed, some of the earlier tension dissolving. “Good thing my intentions are honorable.”
The remainder of dinner passed in easier conversation, but Camille couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d glimpsed something crucial about Leander tonight—and that whatever had happened twelve years ago was still shaping every decision he made.
Thirty minutes later, she stood in the guest room of his penthouse, folding clothes into her suitcase for their weekend getaway.
Through the open doorway, she could hear Leander moving around his bedroom, and anticipation fluttered in her stomach at the thought of three days away from the city.
Three days away from work pressures, Damian’s interference, and her family drama she hadn’t fully dealt with yet.
Maybe in the quiet of the Hamptons, she’d find a way to reach the man behind those carefully constructed walls. And when she did, maybe she would finally throw all caution aside and choose this mate bond and a future with him.