Page 193 of Corrupting Camille
And he’s watching me.
Kane
The laughter dies the instant I step into the kitchen.
Everything freezes.
Leo’s knife hovers mid-air, his eyes flicking up to mine, wide, wary. Camille’s perched casually on the stool, bare feet tucked beneath her, still wrapped in white cotton that clings like innocence I no longer believe. Her head angled back, lips parted, eyes bright with laughter still fading.
She doesn’t belong to innocence.
She belongs to fucking me.
Heat rushes beneath my skin, thick and vicious. Jealousy burns through me like battery acid, dark, poisonous, brutal. I know this feeling well, it’s the shadow always lurking beneath the careful control, the one thing capable of reducing me to nothing more than violence wrapped in expensive suits.
And right now, that shadow is waking up hungry.
I stalk forward slowly, deliberately, letting each step echo cold and harsh on marble tile. Camille’s gaze lifts to meet mine, and for one raw second, I let her see everything raging behind my eyes. I watch her breath catch, watch the softness in her expression sharpen instantly into caution.
Smart girl.
“Leo.” My voice is low, controlled, quiet enough to kill. My eyes never leave Camille.
Leo swallows visibly, quickly setting down the knife. “Mr. Rivera. Good morning.”
“Get out,” I say softly. Deadly. No room for interpretation.
He wipes his hands hastily on a towel, shooting Camille a brief, apologetic look that spikes my rage even higher. I track the movement closely, the subtle concern…the fucking audacity.
He’s out the door a second later, careful to avoid my eyes again.
Camille sits straighter, wary, fingers tight around her glass. “Was that necessary?”
I close the remaining distance, planting my palms flat on the counter, boxing her in. She doesn’t flinch, but her pulse hammers wildly at the hollow of her throat. Good. She’s not stupid enough to think this is casual.
“You’re laughing,” I say quietly. “With a man who isn’t me.”
She raises her chin just enough to meet my gaze, stubborn, strong, goddamn beautiful. “He’s your chef, Kane. He was making a joke.”
“I missed the fucking punchline,” I snap, voice dark, raw. “But clearly you didn’t.”
Her eyes flash. “I’m bored. You’re never here. I have to talk to someone.”
Wrong fucking answer.
“You’re bored?” My voice lowers dangerously. “You want entertainment, Camille? You need attention? Laughs?”
Her breath comes faster, pupils dilating sharply. “That’s not fair…”
“I’m not fair,” I growl. My hand snaps out, gripping her jaw, angling her face up. “I’m selfish. Possessive. Violent. Especially when it comes to you. You’re not new to this.”
Her chest rises rapidly, lips parting softly. I can almost taste her adrenaline. Her fear. Her fucking desire. “He means nothing, Kane.”
“I don’t care what he means,” I murmur coldly. “I care what he sees. What he hears. Your smiles. Your laughter. That’s mine, Camille. Every breath you take belongs to me.”
She shudders beneath my touch, eyes darkening. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m fucking homicidal,” I correct quietly, thumb pressing against her lip, tracing the shape possessively. “Do you understand the difference?”
