“You don’t.”
I thread my fingers into her hair and brace my forearm across her spine, locking her down in a way that says everything without words. Her body arches beneath me—caught between defiance and submission. And my fingers slip to the apex of her thighs, coated in the pleasure that soaks her sweet cunt.
“Cam?” Talia’s harsh use of my name cuts through the tension and with a deep frustrated growl I lift from Nell.
Perfect timing.
56
Nell
I’ve decided—it’s going to be my mission to help Kyla.
Cam’s right. She deserves a second chance. A life that isn’t defined by what was done to her. She deserves happiness. I just hope she doesn’t lose herself chasing after Cam.
Would you even call him her ex now? I’m not sure. They’re tangled in something that feels unfinished.
I drift through the halls, searching for Boomerang. He’s probably busy demolishing another corner of Cam’s furniture. The suede couch has become his personal throne.
Cam and Talia are locked away in his office, voices low and serious, discussing things that fly right over my head. Honestly, I don’t need the details. As long as Cam takes me with him, I don’t care what’s between the lines.
I’ve seen enough. I don’t want the clips, the footage, the screaming stills of what those girls go through. My dreams already burn with it. I don’t need it bleeding into my waking hours too.
Cam helps with that. He’s the reason I’m not afraid of touch anymore—not like I used to be. No one else could ever touch me the way he does. I don’t understand it, but with him… it’s different. Safe.
He chose me.
“There you are,” I smile, spotting Boomerang curled up on one of Cam’s hoodies. White fur clings to the fabric in soft clouds—I’ll clean it off later.
Cam will have an absolute meltdown if he sees it like this, but right now, it’s quiet. And peace is rare.
I’m scrolling aimlessly through my phone, digging through old memories of Darcy. Her laugh in the background of a video. Her smudged mascara in a blurry selfie. Little fragments. Small comforts. Even though she’s not here, they still reach me.
But peace never lasts long in this house.
The sound of Kyla’s uneven footsteps echoes before she enters—sluggish, unpredictable. She slumps into the sofa opposite me, eyes glassy and unfocused. I keep my gaze on the screen, heart ticking like a metronome, waiting, because right now I don’t want to say something that might upset her.
Then she speaks, and every word slices through the quiet.
“So, you’re the little bitch who couldn’t keep her hands off my husband.”
This isn’t grief. This is vengeance.
I understand it, in a way. She came home to find him smiling with someone else, living a life that didn’t wait for her.The dream she’d clung to through chains and suffering—it’s shattered now.
“I’m not the enemy, Kyla,” I say evenly. “We’re on the same team.”
Look at me—playing the adult. But tension thickens the air like smoke, bitter and unrelenting. The kind that sticks to skin.
Kyla leans forward, her mouth twisting around every syllable.
“You,” she hisses, lips curled in fury—lips that were probably beautiful, once. “You don’t get to take him. He’s mine. My husband. I didn’t survive hell for some little girl to tear us apart.”
I get it now. Why Cam moved on. If Kyla was like this before… God only knows how he endured her for so long.
“Sure, Kyla. Whatever you say,” I snap back, letting the sarcasm coat my words. Cam wouldn’t want me bickering with her—but I’m not a saint.
I tried. I really did. Tried to be kind. To make space for healing. But if she’s not interested in peace, then fine. No love lost.
