Chapter Four The Table
Chapter Four: The Table
By the time Camille got home, the sun was already beginning to set.
Golden light filtered through the windows, soft and warm—deceptive in how calm it made everything look.
Like nothing was about to break.
---
She didn’t rush.
That was the first rule she set for herself.
No rushing. No nerves. No hesitation.
Everything tonight would be deliberate.
---
The dress she chose was black.
Of course it was.
Sleek. Effortless. Fitted just enough to remind anyone looking that she had a body they had long since stopped appreciating.
Her hair—jet black, smooth, falling over her shoulders like ink—framed her face in a way that sharpened everything.
Her features.
Her gaze.
Her silence.
---
Camille looked at herself in the mirror one last time.
There was no trace of the woman from yesterday.
Good.
---
The door opened behind her.
“You’re dressed up.”
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Adrian’s voice.
Casual.
But there was something under it.
Something curious.
---
Camille met his gaze through the mirror.
“I felt like it.”
---
He stepped further into the room, his eyes lingering on her longer than usual.
Longer than they had in a long time.
“…You changed your hair.”
It wasn’t a question.
---
Camille turned slowly.
“Yes.”
---
Adrian studied her.
Really studied her.
And for the first time in a while—
He looked… unsettled.
---
“It’s different,” he said.
Camille tilted her head slightly. “Do you not like it?”
A small pause.
Then—
“No,” he said quickly. “It’s just… unexpected.”
---
Unexpected.
She almost smiled.
---
“I just wanted to change things up,” she said lightly.
The same words she had already decided she would use.
Simple.
Harmless.
Untraceable.
---
The doorbell rang.
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Camille’s eyes flickered toward the door.
Right on time.
---
Adrian frowned slightly. “I thought Elara said she’d be late.”
Camille’s expression didn’t change.
“She might have come earlier.”
---
She walked past him before he could say anything else.
Every step steady.
Measured.
Controlled.
---
When she opened the door—
Elara stood there.
---
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Because Elara was staring.
Not subtly.
Not politely.
Openly.
---
Her gaze moved from Camille’s face…
To her hair…
To her dress…
Then back to her eyes.
---
Shock.
It flashed too quickly for her to hide it.
---
“Camille,” she said slowly. “You look…”
She trailed off.
Like she didn’t know what word to use.
Or maybe—
Like she didn’t want to say it out loud.
---
Camille smiled faintly.
“Different?”
---
Elara let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite land.
“Yes. Very.”
Her eyes lingered just a second too long.
Calculating.
Comparing.
---
“I just wanted to change things up,” Camille repeated smoothly.
---
Elara stepped inside.
Still looking at her.
Still trying to figure something out.
---
Adrian appeared behind Camille.
“Elara,” he greeted, but his attention shifted almost immediately back to Camille.
Again.
And again.
---
It didn’t go unnoticed.
---
“Wow,” Elara said lightly, glancing between them. “Did I miss something? Since when do we dress like this for dinner at home?”
---
Camille walked past her, unbothered.
“Since today.”
---
Elara’s smile tightened slightly.
---
Then—
The doorbell rang again.
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Silence fell.
Immediate.
Heavy.
---
Adrian frowned. “Are you expecting someone else?”
---
Camille turned.
And for the first time that night—
There was something unmistakable in her eyes.
---
“Yes.”
---
She didn’t wait for another question.
Didn’t give either of them time to react.
---
She walked to the door.
Opened it.
---
And there he was.
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Mikhail.
---
Time didn’t stop.
But it felt like it did.
---
He stood there, just as composed as she remembered—tall, still, dressed in dark tones that matched the quiet intensity in his expression.
But his eyes—
The moment they landed on her—
Something shifted.
---
Surprise.
Real, unguarded surprise.
---
His gaze moved slowly.
Taking her in.
The black hair.
The dress.
The way she held herself now.
---
“…Camille.”
Her name left his lips quieter than before.
---
For a second—
Just a second—
The distance between them felt fragile.
---
Then it was gone.
---
She stepped aside.
“Come in.”
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He did.
And the moment he crossed the threshold—
Everything changed.
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Adrian straightened.
“Elara,” he said under his breath, confused. “Why is he here?”
---
Elara didn’t answer.
Because she was staring.
At Mikhail.
Then at Camille.
Then back at Mikhail again.
---
“You didn’t tell me he was coming,” she said, her voice just a little too sharp.
---
Camille closed the door gently.
“I didn’t think I had to.”
---
Mikhail’s gaze hadn’t left her.
Not once.
---
“You look…” he started.
Then stopped.
Like he was choosing his words carefully.
---
Camille met his eyes.
Calm.
Unreadable.
---
“Different?” she offered again.
---
A pause.
Then—
“Yes.”
But the way he said it—
Was nothing like the others.
---
It wasn’t confusion.
Or surprise.
---
It was recognition.
---
Like he was seeing something he had seen before.
Something he hadn’t forgotten.
---
Something that had just come back.
---
The air in the room shifted.
Subtle.
But undeniable.
---
Adrian cleared his throat. “Mind explaining what’s going on?”
---
Camille turned slightly.
Finally acknowledging all of them at once.
---
Her expression was calm.
Her voice steady.
---
“I invited him.”
---
Elara let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “For what?”
---
Camille’s lips curved just slightly.
---
“For dinner.”
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Silence.
---
Heavy.
Tense.
Uncertain.
---
Mikhail stepped further into the room, his presence filling the space in a way that made everything feel smaller.
More contained.
More dangerous.
---
And still—
His eyes drifted back to Camille.
---
Not questioning.
Not doubting.
---
Watching.
---
Carefully.
---
Like he already knew—
Something was about to unfold.
---
And this time—
They were all going to be part of it.