Chapter 3The Call
Chapter Three: The Call
The phone rang once.
Camille’s heartbeat didn’t change.
Twice.
Zara shifted slightly beside her, watching her like she might shatter—or set something on fire.
Three times.
For a brief, fleeting second, Camille thought—
He won’t answer.
Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe whatever they once were had long since faded into something distant and irrelevant.
Maybe he wouldn’t care.
---
The line clicked.
Silence.
Then—
“…Camille?”
---
Her breath caught.
Not visibly. Not dramatically.
Just enough for her to feel it.
His voice was deeper.
Colder.
But unmistakably his.
---
For a second, she couldn’t speak.
Memories hit all at once—laughter, quiet conversations, the way he used to look at her like he understood things she never said out loud.
The way he used to say—
Моя бабочка.
---
“Hi, Mikhail.”
Her voice was steady.
She was proud of that.
---
There was a pause on the other end.
Not awkward.
Measured.
Like he was thinking.
---
“I didn’t expect you to call,” he said finally.
No warmth.
No hostility either.
Just… distance.
---
Camille nodded slightly, even though he couldn’t see her.
“I know.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
---
“Is everything okay?”
The question was simple.
But there was something underneath it.
Something sharp.
Observant.
He had always been like that.
---
Camille glanced at her reflection in the mirror.
At the black hair.
At the version of herself she had just brought back to life.
“No,” she said honestly.
---
Silence again.
But this time, it shifted.
Subtly.
---
“What happened?” Mikhail asked.
His voice was quieter now.
Lower.
---
Camille’s fingers tightened slightly around her phone.
She could say it.
She could tell him everything right now—spill the truth, let the anger and humiliation bleed into her words.
But she didn’t.
Not yet.
---
“I need to show you something,” she said instead.
A pause.
Then—
“Show me?”
“Yes.”
Her tone didn’t waver.
“It’s not something I want to explain over the phone.”
---
Mikhail didn’t respond immediately.
Camille could almost picture him—still, composed, eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words.
Weighing them.
Weighing her.
---
“Why me?” he asked finally.
---
The question landed exactly where it was meant to.
Camille’s chest tightened.
Because it was fair.
Because after everything—after the distance, after the silence—they weren’t supposed to be this to each other anymore.
---
“You already know why,” she said softly.
---
Another pause.
But this one felt different.
Heavier.
---
When he spoke again, his voice had changed.
Just slightly.
Enough for her to notice.
“Where are you?”
---
Camille exhaled slowly.
This was it.
---
“My place.”
A beat.
“Tonight.”
---
Zara’s head snapped toward her slightly, but she stayed quiet.
---
“There’s going to be dinner,” Camille continued, her tone calm, controlled. “Adrian will be there.”
She let the name settle.
Then—
“So will Elara.”
---
Silence.
Not the thoughtful kind.
The dangerous kind.
---
When Mikhail spoke again, his voice was colder than before.
“Explain.”
---
Camille’s gaze hardened just a fraction.
“I will,” she said. “But I need you to come first.”
A pause.
Then, quieter—
“Please.”
---
That word lingered.
Not desperate.
Not weak.
But real.
---
On the other end, something shifted.
She couldn’t see it.
But she felt it.
---
“…What time?” he asked.
---
Zara let out a slow breath beside her, a small, satisfied smile forming.
---
“Seven,” Camille replied.
“Don’t be late.”
---
A beat.
Then—
“I won’t.”
---
The line went dead.
---
Camille lowered the phone slowly.
For a moment, she just stared at it.
At his name still glowing faintly on the screen.
---
Zara stepped closer.
“Well?”
---
Camille lifted her gaze.
And for the first time—
There was something dangerous in her eyes.
---
“He’s coming.”
---
Zara grinned. “Good.”
---
Camille turned back to the mirror.
To her reflection.
To the woman staring back at her like she had been waiting for this moment.
---
“Tonight,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
---
Two liars.
Two betrayers.
Sitting at the same table.
Thinking they were in control.
---
Her lips curved slightly.
Not into a smile.
Something sharper.
---
“They have no idea what’s coming.”
---
And neither—
did the man who used to call her his butterfly.