Chapter 18
POV: Camille?
Somewhere along the line, I lost track of who was playing the game.
When I signed that contract, I told myself I’d be clever and careful. I told myself that I could keep my head while letting my body cash the checks that my brain had screamed against.
It was supposed to be just 6 months and my debt would be gone.
That’s it. End of story.
Last time I confronted him it solved absolutely nothing. I was lost in a whirlwind that was Michael Vanderbilt. And I had forgotten about my argument as soon as he was inside me.
But now as I was sitting in my tiny apartment at 1 in the morning with a glass of half draken wine and my heart ricocheting inside my ribs, the story felt like it had turned into something else entirely.
I went back and forth with what I wanted—one day it was control, a relationship, the other it was money and less problems, and the next second it was Michael and no contract. I was confusing myself, too.
Because I knew this wasn’t just about money anymore.
It was about Michael.
And that terrified me.
The man was maddening. Completely and utterly maddening.
One moment, he kissed me like I was the oxygen he needed to breathe. The next, he turned cold then detached, like I was just another item on his perfectly organized agenda.
“You’re mine. This is real.”
I’d heard those words spill from his lips like truths he pretended didn’t exist.
And yet he looked at me now like nothing had even happened, like the nights where he lost himself inside me, and he confessed things he shouldn’t have—weren’t even real to him.
I tipped back my wine, swallowing the last bit and muttered at the empty ceiling, “You, Camille, are officially screwed.”
And not just in the literal sense.
The next morning, I tried—I really tried to be professional.
I even stuffed my hair into a bun, applied concealer under my eyes, and even rehearsed an internal mantra hurrying to work.
“You are here to work. You are not here to pine after a billionaire. You can handle this.”
Because spoiler alert.
I could not handle this.
At. All.
By the time I stepped into the conference room, Michael was already there and when his gaze flicked over me, just for a second..my chest constricted.
Fuck.
Because it wasn’t nothing.
I knew the difference. There was heat in his eyes and just for a fraction of a heartbeat before it disappeared under his mask.
After the meeting ended, I’d had enough.
So again, I stormed to his office before I could lose my nerve, just like last time, where I failed.
He was at his desk staring at another pile of documents again.
“Camille,” he said without looking up. Like he hadn’t had me moaning his name on this very same desk.
“Don’t ‘Camille’ me,” I snapped, trying to control my tone and not have the entire company hear.
People had their speculations, but the case we were working on together, was a good cover story.
That got his attention.
His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Careful.”
“Stop saying that,” I shot back. “Stop acting like I’m about to ruin you when you’re the one who keeps pulling me closer one minute and pushing me away the next.”
His jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair and studied me like I was both a problem and a solution. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Camille?”
There it was again.
The hot and cold. The back and forth.
It was horrible. It was infuriating. It drove me crazy.
“Of being impossible! One night you tell me this is real, that I’m yours, and then the next morning it’s like nothing happened. You disassociate whenever you feel emotion. You look at me like I’m just another associate you could replace. Which one is it, Michael? I just don’t understand you!!”
He stood suddenly, and the air shifted. He wasn’t just tall, he was presence, power, and heat.
He crossed the room until he was inches away and towered over me. “You’re mine, Camille and that hasn’t changed.”
God, the back and forth was killing me.
But I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe that something inside him can change.
“Then why do you act like it doesn’t matter?”
His silence was infuriating.
“Say something,” I whispered.
But he didn’t.
He just turned, running a hand through his hair, retreating into himself like a man terrified of his own confession as always. As he always did. Every. Single. Time.
And I saw it, as I always did.
Fear.
Not of me this time and not of the contract but of himself.
***
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Again.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard his voice inside my head. Every time I opened them, I saw his back turned to me and him retreating into silence like he hadn’t meant it.
And the worst part? I didn’t know which version of him I wanted to believe.
Days blurred by and my work piled up and I buried myself in legal briefs and depositions, but none of it could muffle the contradictions that lived in my chest.
And I also buried myself in Michael, pretending as if things were simple, even though they were far from it.
Michael was still emotionally distant, but I chose to forgot it, even though it bothered me, I knew there was no real solution, not one that he would agree to. Yet.
Did I want the money? Absolutely.
Debt freedom was the holy grail I’d been chasing since graduation.
Did I want the power? Maybe.
Maybe I liked being seen, chosen, and desired by Michael Vanderbilt.
But most terrifying of all was the real question that lingered in the back of my mind.
Did I want him?
Yes. God, yes. I did.
And that was the problem.
Because money and power were safe wants, they were even practical wants. They made sense.
But wanting Michael—that was the kind of want that could wreck me.
***
It all came to a head again tonnight in his office.
I had stopped fighting and Michael had reassured me that things were good between us, even if they were just temporary promises.
But when I set the paperwork on his desk, his hand brushed mine.
And suddenly, everything else dissolved from my mind, once again.
The papers. The job. The 6 months contract.
It was just him and me and our unspoken attraction—that wasn’t complicated, unlike our relationship.
The heat between us snapped like lightning as he pulled me against him, mouth crashing onto mine, and his hands roamed with the kind of desperation that left me gasping for air.
And as much as I knew I would regret it, I kissed him back with everything I had.
Because if this was a dangerous game, I’d already lost.
But as I walked out of his office that night with my legs trembling and my chest aching, I knew the truth.
I knew we were just at a standstill, replaying the same moment over and over again, and nothing changed.