Page 165 of Corrupting Camille
The woman lowers her voice further, savoring the secret. “I’m a pedophile.”
The room spins, my vision narrows. My champagne flute shakes violently, spilling over my knuckles, glass clinking ominously.
“Camille?” Clara touches my elbow softly, her voice distant, muted by the roaring in my ears. “Are you alright? You’ve gone pale…”
“Y-yes,” I choke, shoving through the crowd, stumbling blindly to the terrace doors. Cold night air slams into me, icy needles puncturing my skin, but it doesn’t ease the suffocating pressure in my chest. It doesn’t silence the relentless, agonizing truth carving itself through me.
Kane.
You don’t need to heal. You don’t need to forgive. You need a fucking monster.
This has his signature written in blood…every cruel, deliberate detail screaming his name.
I devour. I break. I end.
He’d promised it in a whisper, in a kiss, in blood and breath and darkness.
I summoned him, my monster, and now he’s delivered.
This has Kane Rivera’s signature carved into every brutal detail, every precise, violent slash, every twisted trophy left behind.
His devotion is deep. Savage. Terrifying.
And now, undeniably…soaked in blood.
I grip the cold railing of the terrace, fingers numb against iron, chest heaving violently as I drag air deep into starving lungs. My heart pounds brutally, a wild, savage rhythm that matches the violence he carved into Douglas Everheart’s skin.
I know I should be horrified.
Disgusted.
Terrified.
But instead, a sick, twisted relief pours through me, washing away years of silence, shame, and hollow smiles. For the first time since I was ten years old, drowning beneath that dark water, I breathe deep…real, unfiltered, painfully honest breaths that shred my lungs.
Kane gave me this.
This ugly, vicious gift. A love as monstrous as it is beautiful, as cruel as it is healing. And now, beneath the terror, beneath the violence, beneath the raw truth branded deep into my bones…
I want more.
I want him.
Every twisted, brutal, unforgivable piece of him. Every scar, every sin, every dark corner of his monstrous heart. I crave the darkness in him, the violent protector, the relentless avenger who would rip apart anyone who dared to touch me.
I want to sit at his feet.
My monster. My nightmare. My salvation.
The realization rips through me, savage and beautiful, and I don’t fight it, I can’t. I don’t have the strength to lie anymore, to deny the twisted, visceral truth that coils around my heart.
I was never afraid of monsters.
I was afraid of living without one.
“Kane,” I whisper into the biting darkness, my voice raw, aching, filled with something terrifyingly close to worship.
I close my eyes, the city lights bleeding together, tears hot on my frozen cheeks, and for the first time in years, I’m not drowning.
