The call connects before it even fully rings once.
Lena’s face explodes onto my screen in a whirlwind of motion-blurred chaos typical. She’s clearly mid-routine, towel wrapped precariously around her body, one hand waving a mascara wand dangerously close to her eye, the other trying and failing to angle the camera correctly.
“Camille Sinclair, I swear on my Brazilian wax if you’re FaceTiming me to casually gloat from your mafia-sugar-daddy’s yacht again…”
“It was one time,” I interrupt with a laugh, shifting against the plush leather couch cushions and pulling my bare legs beneath me. “And he’s not mafia.”
“Oh, excuse me,” she snarks, rolling her eyes. “Cartel. How dare I mix up my criminal enterprises. So careless of me.”
She leans closer to the screen, squinting suspiciously. “You look suspiciously happy. Like, suspiciously fucked-up-and-down happy. What’s happening?”
“Why are you always so vulgar?”
“Because it’s a personality trait, babe. Now spill the tea.”
I smile softly. “I want you to come down to Miami.”
She freezes, mascara wand held mid-air like a weapon. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
She stares at me like I’ve grown another head. “Camille, are you okay? Blink twice if Kane Rivera’s holding you hostage and forcing you to lure me into some kind of fabulous human trafficking operation.”
“No trafficking.” I laugh. “Promise.”
She arches one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Then explain.”
“I just miss you. I want you here.”
“You want me there, in your super-secure druglord fortress, with your infamously ruthless, emotionally constipatedbillionaire overlord lover?” She blinks slowly, considering. “Honestly? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late, bestie.” Lena’s lips twist into a wicked smirk. “So, does Kane know you’re importing chaos directly to his doorstep? Because this feels like it might ruin his whole scary-daddy-kingpin aesthetic.”
“He knows,” I reply softly, biting my lip to suppress a smile. “He agreed. He’s even sending the jet.”
Lena’s mouth drops open dramatically. “Shut the actual fuck up. You mean he’s willing to unleash my loudmouth and flawless tits onto his fortress of solitude via private jet?” She fans herself dramatically. “You’re right…this is true love. You better be pregnant or getting married or something equally soap-opera-worthy.”
My heart jolts in my chest, but I keep my face neutral. “Just pack a bag, Lena.”
“Already mentally doing it, babe. Tell your man I need the jet stocked with tequila, an iPhone charger, and some of those little pillow mints. Also, I’d appreciate a hot bodyguard named something like Javier. No…Javi. He should have tattoos and questionable morals.”
I smile slyly. “Funnily enough, Javi’s already down here.”
She gasps theatrically. “Shut your face. You’re living my fanfiction right now, Camille. Unfair.”
“Just hurry up. Kane’s jet will pick you up whenever you’re ready. No delays.”
“Wow,” she drawls, eyes wide. “Your sugar daddy’s so organized. Does he have spreadsheets to schedule his daily violence too?”
“Lena,” I sigh dramatically, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I swear…”
“Don’t even try to act exasperated. You love my chaos. But fine. I’ll pack tonight. My vibrator, pepper spray, questionable lingerie…all the essentials.”
“I can’t wait,” I say softly, truthfully.
Her gaze softens, the playful snark fading just a fraction. “Hey…are you sure you’re okay, Cami? You look...soft. Like you’re gonna cry or burst into a Broadway song or something equally traumatic.”
