THREE

CAMILLA

I had no idea what came over me. One second, I was completely lost in the music—hips rolling, body moving on pure instinct, every beat flowing through me. The lights, the bass, the whispers of the crowd, it was all a blur. My hands felt like they belonged to someone else, my legs carrying me across the stage without thought.

Then, out of nowhere, my eyes flicked up to the VIP section. And there he was. August Childe. Sitting like he owned the whole damn world, which, I guess, he pretty much did. 

Dark suit, tall, broad shoulders, the kind of presence that made everything else fade into the background. Beside him, Daniel Beaumont laughed at something I couldn’t hear, carefree and loud. And Rico—oh, Rico—hovered just like the sleazy shadow he always was, cigar dangling, watching us like we were his property.

Something snapped inside me. 

I hated them. All of them. The way they sat there, so comfortable, draped in money and power. They could buy anything. And here I was, dancing for tips, counting down every second until I could vanish with Monty, leaving all of this behind for good.

So yeah, I glared. Hard. Directly at him. And then I turned away and poured everything I had into the rest of the performance. Every spin, every sway, every curve of my body screamed: I wasn’t impressed. I was better than all of them. I could make myself feel free even while chained to this stage.

The song ended. The crowd roared, and I gave one last slow, deliberate spin, head high, chest lifted. My legs shook under me, but I kept my smile in place until I slipped behind the curtain.

Backstage, Gianna was waiting. She threw her arms around me the second I appeared.

“You killed it, girl,” she whispered, holding me tight.

Then her voice dropped lower, urgent. “Monty said to meet him at the back in ten minutes. The getaway car will be here by then.”

Ten minutes. Freedom was ten minutes away. My chest tightened with a mix of exhilaration and fear. I hugged her harder, as if my life depended on feeling her warmth, her steady presence.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”

She pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. “Go. Be happy. I’ll be okay.”

I nodded, throat tight, and darted toward the changing room. Fingers tugging at the straps of my outfit, loosening, undoing, ripping myself out of the glittering cage I’d worn for years. I needed jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers. Something ordinary. Something normal. Something that didn’t scream, look at me.

I barely made it inside when the door slammed open behind me.

“Get out, everyone!” Rico barked.

The girls froze mid-motion, makeup brushes hovering in the air, half-dressed bodies twisted in surprise.

Rico stood in the doorway, face like stone. And right behind him… August Childe.

My stomach dropped so fast I thought it would leave me hollow.

The girls scrambled past, purses snatched, heels clicking frantically. They shot worried glances in my direction as they filed out. I started to follow, heart racing, adrenaline spilling through my veins.

“Everyone except you, Camilla,” Rico said.

I stopped dead. Turned slowly. “What do you want, Rico?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze flicked to August. “She’s all yours, sir. I’ll be outside.”

Then he left. Just like that. Door clicking shut. Leaving me alone with the man I had glared at onstage like he was the devil himself.

August stepped forward. Tall. Broad shoulders filling the small space like a shadow that belonged to no one else. Dark suit tailored so perfectly it probably cost more than I’d made in ten years. His eyes locked on mine, calm, intense, unyielding.

I took a step back. Then another. My calves hit the edge of a chair. Nowhere left to go.

He stopped a few feet away. Tilted his head slightly, studying me. “I thought you were going to kill me when you saw me up there,” he said. His voice was low, calm, and almost amused. “Given the look you gave me while you were performing.”

“I wasn’t looking at you, sir,” I said quickly.

He scoffed, a sound like velvet over steel. “You liar. We both know you looked. Glared. Then looked away.”

I lifted my chin. “What are you going to do about it?”

The words came sharper than I meant them to. My pulse was racing. Four minutes gone already. Monty was waiting. Every second here felt like a second closer to getting caught.

August’s lips curved, just slightly. Not a smile. Not yet. More like a predator deciding how to play. “What I’ll do about it?” he murmured. “I’ll teach you a lesson. I want you to know why people don’t ignore August Childe.”

He raised his voice just enough to command attention. “Rico!”

The door swung open instantly. Rico practically tripped over himself rushing back in. “What do you need, sir?”

August didn’t even glance at him. His eyes returned to me, slow, thorough, like I was something he was considering… evaluating, calculating, owning before we even touched.

“I want you to let her go,” he said, calm, cold.

My mouth fell open. Rico blinked, stunned.

“But… but sir,” Rico stammered. “Her uncle owes me money. That’s why she’s here.”

I glared at Rico so hard I thought I might burn holes through him with my eyes.

“But I’ve paid you back, Rico. Every damn cent,” I said.

Rico turned on me, rage flaring. “You—”

“Don’t you dare finish that,” August said, quietly, deadly.

Rico snapped his mouth shut, silent. August didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to. His presence filled the room. “I want her. And you will give her to me.”

I stared at him, stunned. “The… fuck?”

“She… her uncle owes me two million,” Rico finally squeaked, voice trembling.

August scoffed, pulling a sleek black card from his pocket. He held it out like it was a weapon and a promise all in one. “I’ll give you twenty.”

My eyes went wide. Rico’s did too.

“Twenty… million?” he whispered.

“Contact the number on the card,” August said evenly. “You’ll have it by morning.”

Rico’s hands shook as he took it, careful as if it might shatter in his fingers. “She’s yours, sir.”

I looked up at August. Heart hammering against my ribs. “What the hell are you doing?”

He smirked. Actually smirked. That cold, confident curve of his lips. “You asked me what I was going to do about it?” He stepped closer, every movement controlled, measured. “I’m going to make you mine, Camilla. You’ll dance for me. Perform for me. And you’ll always look at me. Just me. With the most grateful eyes.”

I took a step back instinctively. He moved closer anyway. Close enough that I could smell the scent of his cologne—clean, expensive, dangerous.

He leaned down until his mouth was near my ear. “Do you understand?”

Fear crashed over me like icy water. Real fear. Not the stage kind, not the fear of handsy men or the fear of falling, or slipping up in front of the crowd. This was different. This was him. A man who could ruin me with a phone call. Or save me. Or destroy everything I had planned in one breath.

I swallowed hard, chest tight, and nodded fast.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He straightened, tall and imposing, a victorious glint in his eyes. Smiled like he’d just claimed something precious. “Let’s go home.”