CAMILA’S POV
When I came back home, I was met with the sound of André screwing Genevieve.
It was supposed to be a quiet night.
I had taken my time coming back from the city, stopped to pick up some wine, even rehearsed the softness in my voice I’d use when I greeted him. I wasn’t expecting romance I knew better but I had hoped for some kind of warmth. Some acknowledgment. Maybe even a little affection.
Instead, I stepped into a goddamn performance.
The moment the front door creaked open, it hit me like a slap in the face the raw, unmistakable sounds of sex drifting down the staircase. The creaking of the bed frame, rhythmic and merciless. The hush of skin against skin. And then her. That voice. Genevieve.
High-pitched and breathy, soft with submission. Like she was made to be fucked.
Like she wanted him to break her.
I froze just inside the doorway, the door still hanging open behind me like it didn’t matter anymore. My purse slipped from my shoulder but I caught it before it could hi
