Chapter Twenty Aftertaste of Doubt
Chapter Twenty: Aftertaste of Doubt
The silence in the car felt heavier the closer they got home.
Camille sat beside Adrian with her hands folded neatly in her lap, staring out of the window like the world outside mattered more than anything he had just seen happen inside that restaurant.
That calmness was starting to get under his skin.
---
“You seemed comfortable,” Adrian said finally, breaking the silence.
Camille didn’t look at him. “With what?”
“With him,” he said more sharply than intended. “With Mikhail.”
A pause.
Then she finally turned her head slightly. “We’re friends.”
The answer came too quickly. Too clean.
---
Adrian let out a short, humorless laugh.
“Friends don’t look at each other like that.”
Camille’s expression didn’t change. “Like what?”
That again. That calm deflection.
It made something in him tighten.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
“No,” she replied quietly. “I don’t think I do.”
---
The car stopped at a red light, but Adrian barely noticed it.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened.
“You didn’t behave like my wife tonight,” he said.
The words hung between them instantly.
Camille finally turned fully toward him now. Slowly.
“And what does your wife behave like, Adrian?”
Her voice was soft, but it wasn’t gentle.
It was controlled. Measured.
Almost distant.
---
“That’s not the point,” he snapped.
“It is,” she said. “Because I haven’t changed.”
“You have,” he shot back.
A beat of silence.
Then Camille exhaled slowly, like she was holding something in.
“No,” she said. “What changed is what you’re choosing to see.”
---
That hit something deeper than he expected.
The light turned green, but he didn’t move immediately.
“Stop talking like I’m imagining things,” Adrian said.
“I didn’t say you were imagining,” she replied. “I said you’re interpreting.”
---
The car started moving again.
But the tension inside it only grew.
---
By the time they pulled into the driveway, Adrian’s jaw was clenched so tight it hurt.
He turned off the engine but didn’t get out immediately.
“You’re really going to work for him,” he said again.
“Yes,” Camille replied simply.
No hesitation. No softness.
Just certainty.
---
That was when it snapped.
“So that’s it?” Adrian said, turning toward her fully. “You just make decisions like this without even thinking about how it looks?”
“I thought about it,” she said.
“Not enough.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly now.
“Or maybe you just don’t like that I made a decision you can’t control.”
The words landed cleanly.
---
Adrian let out a breath, almost shaking his head.
“This isn’t about control,” he said. “This is about respect.”
Camille looked at him for a long moment.
Then she spoke quietly.
“I’ve respected you in every version of myself you’ve preferred.”
That silence after was sharp.
Heavy.
Final in a way neither of them were admitting yet.
---
Adrian stepped out of the car first, slamming the door harder than he meant to.
Camille followed slower, her movements still composed, still controlled—like nothing inside her had shifted at all.
But something had.
Because when she reached the door beside him, she said something softer.
Not angry. Not loud.
Just precise.
“You’re not losing me, Adrian.”
A pause.
Then—
“You’re just realising you never had all of me in the first place.”
---
And for the first time that night, Adrian didn’t have a reply.