Page 116 of Corrupting Camille
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
My mother’s voice is clean, precise, ruthless. I freeze, fingers curled over the polished chess pieces, trapped mid-move. Slowly, carefully, I lower the pawn, but I don’t look up. Not yet.
“No, I haven’t,” I lie softly.
She steps into the study, closing the door with a sharp click. Her heels sink soundlessly into the carpet as she approaches, each step perfectly measured. Always controlled.
“You’ve been avoiding everyone.” Her tone is clipped, irritated beneath its practiced gentleness. “Preston. Your father. Clara. Especially Clara. She’s worried sick.”
“I’m fine.” My voice stays flat, quiet, numb. “Everything’s fine.”
“Don’t lie to me, Camille.” Her words are cold, but beneath the ice is a barely restrained temper, one I learned long ago never to ignite.
Slowly, I lift my gaze to hers, meeting those sharp, accusing eyes. “What do you want?”
She tilts her head slightly, like she’s inspecting a flaw in fine crystal. “The truth. Why did you run from your own engagement party? And why are you barely wearing your ring?”
I swallow, the heavy diamond a lead weight around my finger. “I panicked. It was… overwhelming.”
“You embarrassed Preston,” she whispers, deadly quiet. “You embarrassed your father.”
Something ugly and bitter twists inside me, curling tighter. “I embarrassed them?”
“Yes,” she snaps softly, leaning closer, her voice a brutal caress. “You made a scene, Camille. You know better. You had people talking.”
My chest aches, anger simmering beneath a lifetime of polished manners. “People always talk.”
“Not about us,” she says, voice hardening like tempered glass. “Appearances matter. Appearances are everything.”
I stare at her, the rage tightening in my throat, burning behind my eyes. “Is that all we are? Appearances?”
She leans in closer, her voice sharpening dangerously. “Appearances are power. Prestige. Protection. Sinclair women never run from what’s expected.”
“Expected?” I breathe bitterly, fingers trembling now. “Or sacrificed?”
Her eyes flash, a crack in her perfect facade, something dark and unspoken lurking beneath. “Sacrifice is part of this life. You know that.”
“Oh, believe me,” I rasp harshly, emotion bleeding through every strained word. “I know better than anyone.”
She watches me silently, gaze heavy, probing. Calculating. Finally, she speaks again, voice low and careful. “I’ve heard things.”
My pulse stutters, breath hitching slightly. “Things?”
Her eyes narrow slightly, razor-sharp perception pinning me in place. “About Kane Rivera. The way he looks at you. And the way you look back.”
Heat flushes my neck, anger warring with humiliation. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t insult me.” She leans even closer, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You can’t afford to be reckless, Camille. Not now. Especially not with him.”
I grip the chess piece so hard it bites painfully into my palm, then set it down, loudly.
“Let me ease your worries, mother, I haven’t done anything reckless with Kane Rivera.”Recently.
“You think you’re special, Camille? You think you’re the first woman tempted to throw away everything for a man who’s nothing but a distraction?” Her gaze rakes over me slowly, deliberately. “Women like us don’t chase passion. We chase security. We build legacies.”
I bite back a bitter laugh, my throat tightening painfully. “Legacies? Or lies?”
She tilts her head, eyes glittering dangerously. “They’re the same thing, sweetheart. Marriages like ours, like yours will be built on silence. You let him do what he wants, whoever he wants, as long as he comes home at night. As long as no one whispers your name with pity.”
