I stared at the glowing sign through the tinted glass. My stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot.
Cameron didn't offer an explanation. He didn't even look at me. He simply adjusted his expensive cuffs and opened the door.
"Take my wife home," he ordered the driver.
Then he stepped out into the night, walking through the glass doors to meet the woman who had left me bleeding in the street.
"Ma'am?" the driver asked softly. "To the penthouse?"
"No," I whispered, my voice hollow. "Take me back to City General."
I spent the rest of the night sitting in a hard plastic chair outside the ICU. I watched the monitors beep, keeping my mother tethered to this world. By dawn, a small miracle happened. Professor Valle’s assistant called my name. There had been a cancellation. I finally secured a consultation slot for her surgery.
Relief washed over me, but it was heavy and exhausting. I needed coffee. I needed a moment to breathe.
I walked down the hall and stepped into the empty elevator, pressing the button for the lobby.
The metal doors were sliding shut when a manicured hand shot out, catching the sensor.
The doors slid open.
Camille stepped in, bringing the scent of expensive Parisian perfume with her. Right behind her was Cameron.
I immediately shrank into the back corner. I pulled the collar of my trench coat up and lowered my head, letting my hair fall over the bandage on my forehead.
Camille didn't even glance at me. To her, I was just a stranger. A peasant in the corner.
She leaned heavily into Cameron’s side, wrapping her arms around his bicep.
"Thank you so much, Cam," she cooed, her voice echoing loudly in the small metal box. "I know mom was just a little stressed and exhausted from the flight, but using your influence to get her that VIP neurological suite... you really spoil us. The nurses are waiting on her hand and foot."
My nails dug so hard into my palms they broke the skin.
A little stressed.
My mother was on life support in a crowded, noisy ward downstairs because Camille's mother needed a quiet place to nap.
I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I acted like a ghost.
Cameron murmured a low response to Camille, but as the elevator descended, his eyes flicked up to the mirrored ceiling.
His gaze locked onto my reflection.
I saw his body go completely rigid. He recognized the coat. He recognized me.
For three agonizing floors, we stared at each other in the mirror. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and intensely focused on me. I stared back with dead, empty eyes. I didn't look away until the doors pinged open at the lobby.
I slipped out before them, disappearing into the crowd without a backward glance.
That night, I didn't go back to the penthouse. The thought of being in his space, smelling his cologne, sleeping in a bed he bought—it made me physically sick.
Instead, I walked three blocks from the hospital and booked a fifty-dollar motel room. The wallpaper was peeling, and the mattress was hard, but it was mine. It was safe.
At exactly midnight, my shattered phone buzzed on the cheap nightstand.
Cameron.
I stared at it for a long time before answering.
"Where are you?" His voice was low, tight, and demanding. It vibrated through the speaker, filling the tiny room.
"I'm out," I said flatly.
"It's midnight, Vina. The gala is over. Come home. Now."
"No."
I hung up. I turned the phone on silent and stared at the water-stained ceiling until the sun came up.
When I woke up the next morning, there were fourteen missed calls.
As I was packing my small bag to head back to the hospital, he called again. This time, I answered.
"Why were you at City General yesterday?" he demanded immediately. The anger in his voice was barely contained. "You were in the elevator. Don't lie to me."
He was probing. He wanted to know my secrets, even though he refused to share his. He wanted to know if I was spying on him, or worse, if I was going to be a problem.
"I had a minor checkup," I lied smoothly.
"A checkup for what?"
"Nothing that concerns you, Cameron." I kept my voice perfectly level, enforcing the very rules he created. "As per our contract, I am making no emotional demands, and I expect absolute secrecy regarding my personal life in return."
Silence stretched over the line. I could hear his heavy breathing.
"I don't need your help," I added coldly. "I don't need anything from you anymore."
Before he could say another word, I ended the call.
I shoved the shattered phone into my pocket, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the cheap motel. I headed straight back to City General. I needed to see my mother.
I needed to finalize the surgery details with Professor Valle.
As I pushed through the revolving doors of the hospital lobby, my fractured ribs throbbed. I kept my head down, rushing toward the ICU wing.
Suddenly, someone stepped directly into my path.
"Oh my goodness, I am so incredibly sorry!" a soft, melodic voice gasped.
I froze. I knew that voice.
hands. She stood up, holding them out to me with a warm, apologetic smile.
Camille.
"I wasn't watching where I was going," Camille said, her eyes filled with genuine, sickeningly sweet concern. She glanced at the thick bandage on my forehead, her brow furrowing slightly. "Are you alright? You look a little pale."
Before I could snatch my papers from her hands, heavy, familiar footsteps echoed behind her.
"Camille. What's taking so long?"
Camille’s face lit up. She spun around. "Sorry, Cam! I just bumped into this poor woman."
Cameron stepped up beside her. He looked down.
His eyes hit mine.
The color instantly drained from his face. His entire body went rigid. He saw the bruises on my neck. He saw the medical files in Camille's hands. He saw his secret wife standing inches away from his first love.
Camille tilted her head, looking back and forth between us, her smile completely innocent.
"Cam?" she asked, her voice echoing in the sudden, dead silence. "Do you two know each other?"
