Page 214 of Corrupting Camille
She shakes her head. “You’re also the man who brought me here. Who touches me like I’m precious. Who let Rosa hold me tonight. Who has cousins that tease him and a niece who adores him. You’re more than the violence, Kane.”
I stare at her, at the quiet strength in her eyes, at the soft certainty she holds even when looking at someone like me.
“Maybe,” I say quietly. “But it doesn’t erase the blood.”
She leans in, pressing another soft kiss to my mouth, gentle but firm. “Then I’ll swallow that part of you, too.”
I close my eyes, letting her words sink into my chest. Letting them quiet the demons that scream loudest when I’m alone.
“Camille,” I whisper, voice rough with everything I can’t say clearly. “If you do…”
“I know,” she says softly. “And I’m staying.”
She settles back into me, her body relaxed, warm, safe.
And for the first time in a very long time, I let someone see the truth behind all my scars.
Because it’s her.
Because it’s Camille.
I exhale hard, pulling her closer. My hand cups the back of her head, holding her like something delicate. Like something I don’t deserve.
I press my lips to her ear.
“Te amo, Camille,” I whisper.
Her breath catches.
She doesn’t say it immediately, not like the first time. She leans back instead, her gaze heavy, wet, steady.
Then she smiles, soft and shattering.
“I love you too.”
She says it like its fact.
Like it’s always been true.
Like it will always be true.
Camille
It doesn’t happen all at once.
It happens in pieces, quiet, deliberate, stitched together in moments I barely notice until they’ve already sunk into my bones.
We fall into a rhythm.
Not perfect. Not predictable.
But ours.
Breakfast in the sunlit courtyard, sometimes quiet, sometimes filled with his dry remarks about the headlines he pretends notto read. Late-night chess matches that stretch into something more, mental warfare, subtle flirtation, restraint in its most dangerous form.
We don’t play for checkmate.
We play to see who blinks first.
