Chapter 4
POV: Camille ?
Mornings were cruel but this one had a particular bite to it and with sharp teeth to boot.
I woke up to the alarm blaring far too loudly for a body that had only managed 4 hours of sleep.
My head throbbed with a dull ache, and it was no wild night for me, just a night filled with spreadsheets of student loan payments, overdue rent notices, and an online banking tab that I had stared at until my eyes blurred.
The numbers had been relentless.
Checking Account: $147.34
Credit Card Balance: negative $6,484.09
I had, foolishly, hoped that securing a position in the legal department of one of the most powerful tech companies in New York would ease the financial chokehold. Instead, reality had proven quick to remind me that entry level in a skyscraper still meant barely scraping by.
I pressed my hands against my eyes, willing myself not to cry before the day had even begun.
Not today, Camille. Get up and put on the heels and pretend like you’re not drowning.
By the time I rushed into my small bathroom, a mascara wand in one hand and a toothbrush in the other, I was already behind schedule.
My reflection wasn’t merciful either.
My blonde waves were still slightly frizzy from sleeping on damp strands. At 5 foot 5, I looked younger than 24 years old.
I grabbed my only decent navy blazer, tugged it over a cream blouse, and slipped into the black pencil skirt that had seen far too many wears already. I wasn’t dressing to impress anyone, I couldn’t afford to keep up with the expensive clothing that the lawyers who were two floors up wore.
I pushed through the revolving doors, cheeks still flushed from the rush from getting off the subway and told myself, as I did every morning, “you belong here.”
But the truth was, I wasn’t sure.
Not after I kept thinking about the document and Michael and everything about him. I felt like an imposter even in my own skin.
Even now, the memory made my pulse quicken just thinking about it…and him.
Because the truth was, it was an arrangement that was so surreal I had thought it was a joke: women agreeing to “date” Michael Vanderbilt—the man who owned this empire for 6 months in exchange for obscene amounts of money. Tens of thousands. Maybe hundreds even. Who know.
But I knew that it was definitely enough to erase every debt I had with one signature.
And yet, as much as the idea horrified me, it also intrigued me the same.
Because I had also seen Michael.
And I couldn’t unsee him.
6 foot 2 feet tall, dark brown hair that gleamed under the boardroom lights, clean shaven and picture perfect. He had the lean build of a man who didn’t waste time on bulk. He wasn’t just handsome,he was magnetic and commanding without a word.
I let out a deep breath, trying to force away the lingering thoughts.
But by the time I reached the 27th floor, my nerves had begun their daily climb all over again.
The legal department buzzed with keyboards clicking, phones ringing and lawyers darting from office to office. I tucked myself into my cubicle, hoping the day would pass without incident.
But fate had other plans.
At precisely 9:12 am exactly, my cubicle phone lit up.
Extension: Executive Office
My heart slammed in my chest as I fumbled the receiver to my ear. “C–Camille Martens speaking,” I stuttered.
“Mr. Vanderbilt would like to see you.” The assistant’s tone sounded.
Before I could respond, the line went dead.
For a moment, I just sat there, phone in hand, as my thoughts oscillated in my mind on a constant loop.
Why me? What did I do?
But at the same time I could practically hear my bank account whispering in the back of my mind: This is your chance. This is the moment. Don’t screw it up.
Because there was a dull ache inside of my chest, hoping that he would offer up “The Contract”.
The walk to his office was filled with perpetual dread.
And when I got there, my hand shook as I knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a velvet-like voice sounded from behind the door.
Keep it together, Cam, I told myself.
But as I opened the door, and my gaze landed on his, I felt every bit of the nerves I was suppressing.
His eyes were steady and unreadable as they flickered over me in a way that made my heartbeat accelerate.
“Miss Martens.” His voice was smooth and controlled.
I swallowed hard. “Mr. Vanderbilt.”
“Sit.” He gestured to the leather chair across from him.
I obeyed.
For a long moment, he studied me, elbows resting on his desk with his fingertips pressed together.
Then he spoke. “You found something last week.”
The words struck me like a blow.
He knew.
“I—I didn’t mean to,” I stammered. “It was just—filed wrong, and I—”
His hand lifted, silencing me with one motion. “Relax, Miss Martens. If I wanted to fire you then you wouldn’t be sitting here.”
I froze with my mouth half open.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, the hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m more interested in your…reaction?”
I blinked. “My reaction?”
“The contract,” he replied, pausing. “You read it after all.”
I hesitated, then nodded.
“And?” he pressed on.
“It’s..unconventional.”
He chuckled softly. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”
“I just—I don’t understand,” I admitted, words tumbling out before I could stop them. “Why would someone like you…”
“Need to pay for companionship?” He finished the sentence for me.
I flushed, mortified from his directness. “I didn’t mean…”
“No, you’re right to ask,” he smirked. “It’s not about need. It’s about control. I don’t waste time with games. Everything is clear, defined, and mutually beneficial this way. Control is an important thing to keep.”
Casually, like he was asking about the weather he opened his mouth to speak again. “And I want you to consider it.”
“What?” I blurted out.
“6 months,” he said smoothly, tapping his fingertips on the desk casually. “Discretion, exclusivity, companionship. In exchange for compensation that would, I suspect, resolve certain financial burdens of yours.”
My heart stopped and my mind went blank.
He knew.
Somehow, he knew.
“You can’t possibly…”
“Can’t I?” His gaze locked on mine, unflinching. The nerve of this guy, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it, because well, I fucking have. “I’ve done my homework, Miss Martens. You’re bright, ambitious, but you’re drowning in debt.”
I felt exposed and stripped bare, as though he had reached into my chest and plucked out every shameful secret.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
And against my better judgment, I did.
His expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady, almost gentle like. “I’m offering you a solution, just 6 months with no games and no hidden terms and then you can walk away wealthier than you ever imagined or if it’s fine by you, then you can keep struggling.”
I couldn’t breathe.
My mind flashed back to my bank account and the pitiful numbers glaring at me, the suffocating weight of loans that would outlive me.
And just one signature could change everything.
And yet…
It felt like a devil’s bargain.
“I…I need time to..to think,” I whispered.
He nodded as though he expected as much. “Of course. Take the week but understand that opportunities like this don’t linger.”
I stood on shaky legs, feeling like I might possibly pass out in his office but forced a confident tone. “Thank you Mr. Vanderbilt.”
“We’ll see if you still thank me later.”
As I left his office, the city stretched out before me through the glass walls.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like freedom.
It felt like a cage. But a cage lined with gold.
And that was the most dangerous kind.