Chapter 13

Vivian’s Betrayal

Camille stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of Julian’s penthouse, watching the city’s glittering skyline. The night air was heavy, and so was the weight in her chest. She had thought she understood the players in this dangerous game — but tonight, the mask of loyalty had slipped from someone she trusted.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she replayed the conversation she had overheard at the gala.

“Julian Blackwood thinks he’s untouchable,” Vivian’s voice had purred, dripping with venom. “But soon, he’ll be nothing but a memory. Tell Alistair everything’s on track.”

Camille had frozen behind the thick velvet curtain, heart pounding so loud she was sure they’d hear it. Alistair Crane — Julian’s most ruthless rival. A man who had tried and failed for years to bring Julian down. And Vivian — her friend, her confidante — was helping him.

Why? The question gnawed at Camille as she turned from the window and began pacing the penthouse. The city’s lights blinked like warning signals. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one darker than the last.

Could Vivian have been working with Alistair from the start? Was everything — the support, the whispered encouragement, the promises of help in escaping Julian’s grip — all a carefully spun lie?

Camille sank into the leather sofa, her pulse racing. Memories flooded back: the late-night talks where Vivian had urged her to be brave, to find a way out of Julian’s world. The coded notes she’d slipped into Camille’s bag. The burner phone. The plane tickets.

All of it — a setup?

She buried her face in her hands, the reality sinking in. If Vivian was working with Alistair, then everything Camille had shared with her was now in the hands of Julian’s enemy. Plans. Weaknesses. Secrets. Julian’s secrets.

The thought made her stomach twist. Julian had manipulated her, controlled her, kept her caged in his golden world — but he had also, in his own twisted way, protected her. And now she held in her hands the power to either save him… or destroy him.

A knock at the door jolted her upright. Camille hesitated, heart hammering. Was it Julian? Had he sensed her turmoil? Or worse — had Vivian come to finish what she’d started?

Cautiously, she opened the door to find Marcel, Julian’s ever-loyal bodyguard. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked to her pale face and narrowed slightly.

“Mr. Blackwood is asking for you,” Marcel said. His voice was low, as if aware of unseen ears. “He’s in the study.”

Camille swallowed hard. “I’ll be right there.”

As Marcel disappeared down the hall, she shut the door and leaned against it. She had to pull herself together. Whatever she chose to do next, she had to be certain.

Julian was standing by the bar when she entered the study, swirling amber liquid in a glass. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his tie loosened — the picture of a man at ease. But Camille knew better. His calm exterior masked a storm.

He turned, his piercing gaze meeting hers. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Camille forced a smile. “Just tired. The gala was… a lot.”

He studied her, as if weighing her words. “Vivian left early. Did you notice?”

She nodded, her throat dry. Left early to scheme behind your back.

Julian set down his glass and walked toward her, each step deliberate, predatory. When he was close enough to touch, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek.

“I don’t trust easily, Camille,” he said quietly. “But I trust you. Don’t make me regret that.”

His words were a warning — or perhaps a plea. And they only deepened her conflict. How could she warn him, after everything? How could she let him fall, knowing Vivian’s betrayal could mean ruin, or even death?

Later that night, unable to sleep, Camille slipped out of the penthouse and into the city. The cool air cleared her mind as she walked, trying to think, to feel what was right.

She found herself outside a quiet café, lights dimmed, chairs stacked. And there, as if fate had arranged it, sat Vivian — alone, beneath a flickering streetlamp, speaking into a phone.

Camille ducked behind a parked car, straining to hear.

“Yes, I have everything,” Vivian said, voice low but urgent. “The account numbers, the list of assets. Julian won’t know what hit him. Alistair will bleed him dry by morning.”

A pause.

“No, she doesn’t suspect. Camille’s too busy playing the victim to see what’s right in front of her.”

Camille’s blood ran cold. Every word felt like a blade. She had been a pawn, played by both Vivian and Julian — but now she saw who the real enemy was.

Vivian ended the call and stood, smoothing her coat, the picture of elegance and deception. Camille stepped out from her hiding place, fury blazing in her eyes.

“Planning your victory speech, Vivian?”

Vivian froze, then slowly turned. For a heartbeat, shock flickered across her face — then it was gone, replaced by that familiar, false warmth.

“Camille! What are you doing out here?”

“Listening,” Camille said. “Hearing the truth for once. How could you? I trusted you.”

Vivian sighed, as if Camille were the one who’d disappointed her. “Oh, darling. You were never anything but a means to an end. Julian deserves what’s coming. You should thank me — I’m giving you your freedom.”

“My freedom? By betraying him? By using me?”

Vivian stepped closer. “Wake up, Camille. Julian isn’t your savior. He’s your jailer. Alistair will finish what you couldn’t. Let him. Walk away from this.”

Camille stared at her, heart thundering. Was Vivian right? Or was this just another manipulation?

Back at the penthouse, Camille stood once more at the window, city lights flickering below. Her mind raced.

If she warned Julian, she’d be protecting the man who had stolen her life, her choices, her heart — a man who might never let her go.

If she stayed silent, Alistair would ruin him. Julian’s empire would crumble. The man who haunted her nights would be gone. And maybe — just maybe — she could finally be free.

But at what cost?

The door behind her creaked open. Julian’s reflection appeared in the glass, his gaze dark and questioning.

“Camille,” he said softly. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

She turned, caught between two storms. Her lips parted — but the words wouldn’t come.

And then, the shrill ring of Julian’s private line shattered the silence.

He answered, his face hardening as he listened. “What do you mean the Singapore accounts are empty? Who authorized that transfer?!”

He slammed down the phone, his fury barely contained. His eyes locked onto hers.

“Camille… what’s happening?”

And in that breathless, electric moment, Camille realized this was it. Her choice would change everything.

Warn him… or let him fall?

Camille drew in a shaky breath, the city’s heartbeat pounding in her ears — and opened her mouth to speak.