Chapter Six

Heart Over Hostage

Julian’s penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of silence that settles in a house where control lives in every crevice, breathing down your neck like invisible hands.

I sat curled on the edge of the massive sofa, staring at my phone. My heart beat like a drum beneath my ribs as I hovered over a name I hadn’t dared call in months.

Elijah.

My ex.

My one true… almost.

He was kind. Safe. Everything Julian wasn’t.

We broke up after my life crumbled, after my internship ended in scandal and my reputation was blacklisted by invisible hands I now recognized far too well.

I’d let Julian consume me. But Elijah had always been a flicker of something real. Something human. Something mine.

I pressed call.

It rang once. Twice. And then—

“Hello?”

His voice. Just as warm. Just as soft.

“Elijah,” I whispered. “It’s me.”

“Camille?”

Silence bloomed between us for a second too long. Then: “Are you okay?”

No. Not even close.

“I needed to hear a voice that didn’t belong to a liar,” I said, closing my eyes.

He exhaled slowly. “Where are you?”

I hesitated. “Somewhere gilded. Somewhere I don’t belong.”

“You’re with him, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

“Elijah, I—can we meet?”

A pause.

“I’m working tonight,” he said gently. “Waitering at La Vienne. Come by after hours. I can sneak you in through the back.”

My chest tightened. Hope was a dangerous drug. But I nodded anyway. “Okay.”

The restaurant was quiet when I arrived.

Elijah met me in the alley, his white uniform shirt stained with wine, his curls a little longer than I remembered. His smile, though, was exactly the same.

God, I’d missed that smile.

“You look like a girl who made a deal with the devil and got stuck in his penthouse,” he teased softly.

I laughed, even as tears stung my eyes. “You’re not wrong.”

We walked into the back room, sat in a corner booth, lights dim, his shift long over. I told him everything. About Julian. The contract. The manipulation. The threats. The woman who disappeared. Tasha’s attack. The anonymous message.

His face changed slowly. From disbelief… to fury.

“That man’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“Then leave.”

“I can’t. Every time I try… something bad happens.”

He reached across the table, took my hand. “Let me help you.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I shouldn’t have come to you. Now you’re in his line of fire.”

He shook his head. “If anything happens to you, Camille… I’ll never forgive myself.”

The moment was fragile. Soft. Real.

And then a shadow moved outside the window.

I tensed.

“Elijah,” I whispered. “Do you feel like we’re being watched?”

He turned his head—but nothing was there.

I chalked it up to paranoia.

I wish I’d been right.

The next morning, I woke to screams.

Julian’s staff. Running. Yelling. Something was wrong.

I threw on a robe and ran downstairs.

“Maria!” I called, grabbing her arm. “What happened?”

Her face was pale. “It’s the waiter. Elijah. They took him this morning. Homeland Security. He’s being deported.”

“What?!” I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Mr. Thorne made a call. Said Elijah was in the country illegally. Something about expired student paperwork.”

I stumbled backward.

“No,” I breathed.

But even as I said it, I knew it was true.

Julian had found out.

He always found out.

And he’d retaliated the only way he knew how—with absolute power.

I ran toward his office, stormed in without knocking.

He stood behind his desk, buttoning his cufflinks like it was any normal morning.

“You bastard,” I hissed.

He didn’t look surprised to see me. Of course he didn’t.

“What exactly are you accusing me of this time?” he asked coolly.

“You know what you did!”

He sighed, stepping toward me. “He was a threat.”

“No. He was a person. A good one. He didn’t deserve this.”

“He disrespected our agreement.”

“Our agreement?” I laughed bitterly. “You mean your contract? Your ownership of me?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re mine, Camille.”

“I’m not a damn watch, Julian!”

“You ran to another man—”

“Because he’s not you!”

That stopped him.

We stood there, breathing heavily, staring at each other like enemies on the edge of war.

“You think this is love?” I whispered. “This isn’t protection. This is prison.”

“I’ve given you everything.”

“No. You’ve taken everything.”

Julian’s jaw tightened. “You still don’t understand, do you?”

“Enlighten me,” I spat.

“I don’t hurt the people I care about. I remove threats before they become a problem. You may not see it now, but I saved you from that waiter.”

“He saved me from you!” I screamed.

Silence. Thick. Sharp.

And then I did it.

I slapped him.

Hard.

My hand stung. His face turned.

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

He just looked at me.

And something cracked.

Not just in him.

In me.

Because a second later, I was grabbing his collar.

And kissing him.

Hard. Furious. Desperate.

I hated him.

I needed him.

His hands caught my waist, dragging me into him like gravity, like punishment. My lips bruised against his, our breath ragged, everything wrong and yet right in the worst possible way.

When we finally broke apart, both of us trembling, he whispered hoarsely:

“You’re going to destroy me, Camille.”

I stared up at him.

And whispered back, “Then take me down with you.”

Camille slaps Julian in a rage over Elijah’s deportation—but instead of ending things, she kisses him. Are they spiraling into obsession… or destruction?