Page 281 of Corrupting Camille
He kisses me then, slowly, achingly, as if the world around us might shatter if we move too quickly. I taste his grief, his pain, his love and I kiss him back, pouring every ounce of devotion and forgiveness and hope I have left inside me into him.
When he finally pulls back, our foreheads still touching, his breath is shaky and uneven. His eyes close, a tear slipping silently down his cheek, catching me completely off guard.
“I’m scared,” he admits quietly, voice stripped bare. “I don’t know how to do this. How to build something good when all I’ve ever known is how to burn.”
I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, pulling him close, whispering softly against his ear. “You start by letting me hold you. You start by breathing, by letting yourself feel this loss. You start by believing that we deserve something good.”
He nods slowly, carefully, finally surrendering fully, letting me pull him into the safety and shelter of my arms. I hold him there, his head tucked against my shoulder, my fingers threading gently through his hair as I listen to the slow, steadying rhythm of his heartbeat.
The moonlight bathes us gently, forgivingly, as if promising us something beautiful still exists beyond the violence and grief we’ve known.
Slowly, he lifts his head, eyes meeting mine again, vulnerable yet steady.
“Come inside,” I whisper once more.
This time, he nods.
We walk hand in hand through the quiet halls of the compound, toward our bedroom, toward our future. The world outside these walls is still dangerous, still unpredictable, but we’re here, together, alive.
Tonight, we don’t just bury the past. Tonight, we finally choose a future.
And maybe, for the first time, we’re brave enough to let ourselves believe we can have it.
Epilogue
Camille
The house feels different now.
There’s still security everywhere, sharp eyes and loaded guns, Javi stalking hallways like he’s still training warriors instead of guards. But something’s changed beneath the surface. There’s laughter here now. Warmth. Life. A tentative, fragile peace woven through walls that once only knew violence.
There are still scars.
But now, there’s sunlight too.
It’s early evening. Golden light slips through the windows, painting long, lazy shadows across polished floors that once ran with blood and grief. Rosa is out in the courtyard, lavender heavy and sweet in the warm air as she trims and hums softly, a melody she hasn’t sung in months. Lucia kneels beside her, older now, stronger. Her face still carries echoes of that night, a shadow she’ll always wear quietly, but she smiles more oftennow. She helps Rosa cook, whispers she prefers basil to algebra, lets laughter slowly find her again.
Marisol and Reina are sprawled across lounge chairs nearby, arguing over baby names and whose turn it is to finish painting the nursery. They’ve found their voices again, strong and loud, grounded firmly to us, to Rosa and Lucia, to family they never expected to need so fiercely.
Because somehow, in the middle of all the ruins, we’ve built something real. Something we won’t let go of again.
And Lena?
She never left.
She still jokes that she never intended to stay, never even unpacked that first week but one night, she found me sobbing over nursery paint samples, marched into the living room, dropped her duffel bag on Kane’s pristine floors and announced, “Guess I live here now. Call me Tía Bitch.”
She’s chaos, still. Black crop tops, eyeliner sharp enough to cut, wicked humor that sets Kane’s men on edge, but she’s comfort, too. The strange, fierce guardian I never knew I’d need. She keeps me sane. Keeps me smiling.
And me?
I’m enormous.
Gloriously, breathtakingly pregnant eight and a half months in, every inch of my body aching, stretched, swollen. Yet Kane touches me like I’m made of spun glass, as if the faintest breath could shatter me. He worships every new curve, every exhausted sigh, every stretch mark as something sacred.
Weeks ago, we found out…it’s a boy.
Kane didn’t speak when the ultrasound technician pointed to the screen, when the heartbeat filled the room. He just stared, jaw clenched so tight I thought he might break, hands trembling slightly on my thigh.
