Chapter six Nothing to Worry About
Chapter Six : Nothing to Worry About
The apartment felt too quiet after Mikhail left.
Like something had shifted and hadn’t settled back into place.
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Camille was rinsing the last of the dishes when she heard it—
The door opening again.
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Her hands didn’t stop moving.
Didn’t falter.
Didn’t give anything away.
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Adrian stepped inside.
Slower this time.
Quieter.
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“You didn’t have to come back,” Camille said lightly, her back still turned. “I thought you’d stay out longer.”
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The door clicked shut.
“I forgot my keys.”
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A pause.
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Then—
“What was that?”
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There it was.
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Camille turned off the tap calmly, reaching for a towel as if the question didn’t land exactly where he wanted it to.
“Asking about dinner?” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I thought it went well.”
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Adrian didn’t smile.
Didn’t move.
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“You know that’s not what I mean.”
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Camille dried her hands slowly.
Deliberately.
Then turned to face him fully.
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He was watching her.
Not casually.
Not the way he used to.
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Closely.
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“What do you mean?” she asked.
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Adrian let out a short breath, running a hand through his hair.
“You and Mikhail,” he said. “Since when are you two… like that?”
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Camille blinked once.
Soft.
Almost confused.
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“Like what?”
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His jaw tightened slightly.
“Don’t do that.”
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“Do what?”
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“This,” he gestured vaguely between them. “Acting like nothing happened when it’s obvious something did.”
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Camille leaned back slightly against the counter.
Relaxed.
Unbothered.
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“We had dinner, Adrian.”
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“With him,” he pressed. “After years of barely speaking. And suddenly you’re… what? Close again?”
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Camille tilted her head slightly.
Considering him.
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“We used to be friends,” she said simply.
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“Used to,” he repeated.
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“And now we’re talking again.”
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“That’s not all it looked like.”
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There was something sharp in his tone now.
Something almost—
Possessive.
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Camille noticed.
And for a brief second—
Something cold settled deeper inside her.
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“Oh?” she said softly. “What did it look like?”
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Adrian stepped closer.
Not aggressively.
But enough to close the distance.
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“You were… different,” he said. “With him.”
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Camille held his gaze.
Calm.
Steady.
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“Different how?”
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He hesitated.
Just for a second.
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Then—
“I don’t know,” he admitted, frustrated. “You were looking at him. He was looking at you. It was—”
He stopped himself.
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Camille’s lips curved slightly.
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“It was what?” she asked quietly.
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Adrian exhaled sharply.
“Forget it.”
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Silence stretched between them.
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Then—
Camille straightened.
Pushing off the counter.
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“You’re overthinking it,” she said lightly, brushing past him.
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He turned immediately.
“I don’t think I am.”
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She paused.
Just for a second.
Then looked back at him.
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For the first time—
She let a hint of something real show.
Not everything.
Just enough.
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“Why does it matter?” she asked.
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The question caught him off guard.
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“What?”
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Camille held his gaze.
Unblinking.
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“Why does it matter who I talk to?” she continued. “Or how I act with them?”
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A pause.
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Adrian frowned. “Because you’re my wife.”
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There it was.
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Camille smiled.
Soft.
Polite.
Almost the same as before—
But not quite.
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“Then you should trust me,” she said gently.
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The words landed clean.
Carefully placed.
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Adrian studied her.
Searching for something.
Anything.
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“You’re acting strange,” he said finally.
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Camille turned away again.
Calm.
Collected.
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“Or maybe,” she said, picking up her glass, “you’re just noticing me for the first time in a while.”
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That hit.
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She didn’t wait for a response.
Didn’t give him time to recover.
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“Goodnight, Adrian.”
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And just like that—
She walked away.
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Leaving him standing there.
Confused.
Unsettled.
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And for the first time—
Unsure.
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Camille closed the bedroom door behind her softly.
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The moment it clicked shut—
Her expression changed.
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The calm slipped.
Just slightly.
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She leaned back against the door, exhaling slowly.
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Her heart was steady.
Her hands didn’t shake.
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But something inside her—
Something quiet and powerful—
Had fully awakened.
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“They noticed,” she murmured to herself.
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Good.
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She reached for her phone.
Her fingers moving without hesitation this time.
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Opened her messages.
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And tapped his name.
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Camille: They’re already questioning it.
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The reply came faster than she expected.
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Mikhail: Good.
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She stared at the screen for a second.
Then typed—
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Camille: We need to push a little more.
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A pause.
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Then—
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Mikhail: Tomorrow.
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Her lips curved slightly.
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Camille: Tomorrow.
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She locked her phone.
Set it aside.
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And for the first time since everything began—
Camille allowed herself to close her eyes.
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Not to rest.
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But to prepare.