11. Camille
— ? —
Camille
The weeks after the gala article pass in a blur.
Nathan was right - the people who matter don’t believe Jared’s lies.
Dr. Morrison sends me flowers with a card that reads “Don’t let the bastards get you down.
” Maya mass-texts our entire social circle with a point-by-point rebuttal of every false claim.
Even Diane Whitmore weighs in, releasing a statement to the press confirming the timeline of our relationship and threatening legal action against anyone who repeats the defamatory allegations.
Slowly, the narrative shifts. The tabloids move on to newer scandals. The whispers fade. Life, improbably, begins to feel normal.
I start rebuilding my event planning business. Small jobs at first - a birthday party here, a corporate retreat there - but word spreads. By the end of the month, I’m booked solid through spring.
Nathan and I settle into a rhythm. Morning coffee (still undrinkable). Evening dinners. Lazy Sunday mornings that turn into not-so-lazy Sunday afternoons. The kind of domestic bliss that feels earned rather than assumed.
And then, on a random Tuesday in November, we walk into a restaurant and find Jared waiting.
***
We don’t notice him at first.
The hostess leads us to our table, a quiet corner booth at an upscale Italian place Nathan loves, and we’re halfway through ordering appetizers when I feel a prickle at the back of my neck.
That instinct. The same one that made me open his office door without knocking all those months ago.
I turn.
Jared is three tables away, staring directly at us.
He’s thinner than I remember, grayer, with dark circles under his eyes that speak to sleepless nights.
The ankle monitor is hidden beneath his pants, but I know it’s there.
House arrest pending trial. This restaurant must be within his permitted radius.
And he’s not alone.
Alexis sits across from him, belly straining against her maternity dress. She must be eight months along now. Her face is drawn, exhausted, nothing like the vibrant woman who used to laugh through family dinners while secretly fucking my husband.
“Camille?” Nathan follows my gaze. His expression hardens. “We can leave.”
“No.” Something stubborn rises in my chest. “I’m not running from them. Not anymore.”
Before I can think better of it, Jared is on his feet and heading toward us.
***
“Are you kidding me?” Jared’s voice carries across the restaurant. Heads turn. Conversations pause. “My best friend?”
Nathan doesn’t stand. Doesn’t even look up from his wine glass.
“Former best friend,” he says calmly. “The friendship ended when you fucked her sister.”
“You were supposed to be loyal to me-”
“And you were supposed to be loyal to your wife.” Now Nathan does look up, and there’s something dangerous in his eyes. “Funny how that works.”
Jared turns to me, and for a moment I see a flash of the man I married, charming, confident, certain the world would bend to his will.
“This is pathetic, Camille. You’re only with him to get back at me.”
“Not everything is about you, Jared.” My voice is steady. Stronger than I expected. “Though I know that’s hard for you to understand.”
“You think he actually wants you? He’s just-”
Nathan rises.
He doesn’t do it quickly. He unfolds from the booth with deliberate slowness, using every inch of his height, every pound of muscle he’s built from years of standing over operating tables. When he’s at his full height, he towers over Jared.
“Finish that sentence.” His voice is quiet. Lethal. “I dare you.”
Jared takes an involuntary step back.
“I’ve wanted her since the day I met her,” Nathan continues. “The only reason I didn’t act on it was because I thought you were a good man who would treat her right. I was wrong. You threw away the best thing that ever happened to you for some ego trip with her sister.”
He steps closer. Jared stumbles backward.
“Now she’s mine. And I promise you - I will never make the mistake you made. I will cherish her every single day. And you will spend the rest of your miserable life watching, knowing you could have had this, knowing you threw it away for nothing.”
Alexis appears at Jared’s side, tugging his arm. “Baby, let’s just go-”
The word baby coming out of her mouth makes something twist in my stomach. How many times did he call me that? How many times did that word feel like love instead of habit?
I look at my sister for the first time since she showed up on my doorstep begging for help.
“How does it feel, Alexis? Knowing you’ll always wonder if he’s thinking about me?”
“He loves me now-”
“He loved me too. Once upon a time.” I hold her stare until she’s the one to look away. “Until he didn’t. Good luck with that.”
***
Nathan drops cash on the table, enough to cover our uneaten meal and a generous tip for the disruption, and takes my hand.
We walk out with our heads high.
In the car, he looks at me. “You okay?”
“Better than okay.” And I mean it. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins, but underneath it is something else. Something that feels like closure. “That was... I’ve never had anyone stand up for me like that.”
“Get used to it.”
“I’m serious, Nathan. My whole life, I’ve been the one smoothing things over. The one keeping the peace. The one making myself small so other people could feel big.” I turn to face him. “You make me feel like I’m allowed to want things out loud.”
“You are allowed.” He leans across the console to kiss me, soft and sweet. “You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to fight back. You’re allowed to want things for yourself. And anyone who tries to make you feel otherwise can go straight to hell.”
“Take me home.”
“Your wish is my command.” He starts the car. “Gentle or-”
“Don’t bother being gentle tonight.”
His answering grin is wolfish. “Yes ma’am.”
***
We barely make it inside.
The confrontation - the declaration, the public claiming of us - has done something to both of us. Some switch has been flipped. Some restraint has been removed.
Nathan crowds me against the wall the moment the door closes, his mouth hot on my neck, his hands everywhere.
“That dress has been driving me crazy all night.”
“It’s just a simple black dress-”
“It’s the way you wear it.” His teeth graze my pulse point, and I shiver. “The way you move in it. The way you look at me like you know exactly what you do to me.”
“What do I do to you?”
He grabs my hand and presses it against his erection, letting me feel how hard he is through his pants.
“That.” His voice is rough. “Every time. Just looking at you.”
I stroke him through the fabric, watching his eyes flutter closed, feeling him twitch against my palm.
“Bedroom,” I manage.
“Can’t wait that long.”
He spins me around, pressing me face-first against the wall. I hear his zipper. Feel him shoving my dress up around my hips, pulling my underwear aside.
“Nathan-”
“Tell me you want this.” His breath is hot against my ear. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you. Please, Nathan, I want-”
He pushes inside me in one long thrust.
The angle is different like this, deeper, more intense, hitting spots that make me cry out. His hands grip my hips as he sets a punishing rhythm, driving into me so hard the wall shakes.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my neck. “Say it.”
“I’m yours-”
“Louder.”
“I’m yours!”
He reaches around to find my clit, his fingers working me in time with each thrust until I’m hurtling toward the edge far faster than I expect.
“Fall apart for me. Right here, just like this.”
Release hits hard and fast, white-hot, my forehead pressed to the wall as I come apart around him. He goes rigid behind me, a rough sound breaking against my shoulder, and then he’s shuddering through his own release, both of us braced against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping us upright.
Neither of us moves for a long beat. We just stay like that, panting, his body covering mine, his softening cock still inside me.
“I think you broke me,” I manage.
He laughs breathlessly against my shoulder. “We didn’t even make it to the bedroom.”
“We can try again.”
“Give me ten minutes.”
“Five.”
His hand slides between my thighs again, already seeking. “Or we could stay right here.”
***
The next morning, my phone rings while Nathan’s making his ritual attempt at coffee.
Diane Whitmore.
“The trial date is set,” she says without preamble. “Three weeks from now. You’ll need to testify.”
I sink onto the couch, suddenly cold. “Testify?”
“Your evidence is key to the prosecution’s case. The offshore accounts, the forged expense reports - you’re the one who found it all. Your testimony connects the dots.”
“And Jared’s lawyer?”
A pause. “He’s going to try to destroy you on the stand, Camille. He’ll bring up Nathan. He’ll imply the affair was ongoing before your separation. He’ll paint you as a vindictive wife who framed her husband to get his money.”
“None of that is true.”
“Doesn’t matter. His job is to create reasonable doubt. To make the jury question your credibility, your motives, your character.” Another pause. “Are you ready for that?”
I think about everything I’ve survived. The discovery. The betrayal. The family meeting where my parents chose Alexis. The social destruction. The tabloid lies.
This is just one more battle. And I’ve learned how to fight.
“I’m ready.”
“Then let’s prepare.”