Chapter 31: The Line We Don't Cross
Kelvin
Camilla always knew how to play the game.
Too well.
She was sleek and polished, always two seteps ahead, and had an intuition sharp enough to gut a man with a smile. At first, that's what I liked about her—her confidence, her lack of apologies, the way she never needed me, just wanted me.
But lately, I could feel her claws digging in deeper.
She wasn't playing anymore. She was aiming.
And Anna was her target.
It started subtle—an extra-long kiss outside the building when she knew Anna's department took lunch at noon. A laugh that was just a little too loud during team meetings she sat in on. A lipstick-stained note left on my desk that said, Last night was unforgettable. You're addictive.
But today?
Today, she crossed a line.
I had just stepped out of a department check-in, tired and slightly irritated from the usual financial back-and-forth, when I saw her. Camilla. Standing outside Anna's floor, leaning against the wall like she belonged there.
"Cam," I muttered, glancing at the time. "What are you doing down here?"
She smiled and held up a coffee. "Thought I'd bring you a pick-me-up."
Before I could answer, Anna stepped out of the elevator and froze.
Camilla turned, timing perfect, and offered her the same smile she gave boardroom enemies. "You must be Anna."
Anna stiffened. "Yes?"
"I'm Camilla." She extended her hand, poised, pleasant, fake as hell. "Eli's girlfriend."
Anna didn't blink. She didn't move. Just stared.
And for a heartbeat, no one said a word.
I watched the way Anna's jaw tightened. The way she straightened her spine like she was preparing for a blow. I knew that look—I'd seen it the night she walked away from me. The night she chose silence over chaos.
Camilla turned back to me with a satisfied smirk. "I'll see you tonight, babe. Don't forget, my place at seven."
And just like that, she kissed my cheek and walked away, leaving the smell of her perfume and war behind.
Anna didn't wait.
She turned and walked off without a word, without a glance. Professional, poised… and completely unreachable.
I stood there, pulse hammering.
Camilla had just declared war.
And I let her.
Later that night, I showed up at Camilla's apartment like I said I would. But everything about it felt wrong—the food, the wine, the way she touched me like she was claiming something.
"I think she's finally getting the message," Camilla whispered against my neck.
I pulled back. "What message?"
"That you're not hers anymore."
Her words hit harder than she probably intended. Because the truth was—I was never hers to begin with. Not really.
And I wasn't sure I ever stopped being Anna's.
"I'm not a pawn, Camilla," I said quietly.
She smiled, sliding into my lap like she hadn't heard a word. "No, you're not. You're the king."
I caught her wrist, firm but not cruel. "Don't do that again. Don't go near her."
Camilla's expression flickered—something dark, calculating—but she recovered fast. "You don't get to control who I talk to."
"No. But I get to decide who I let in."
A beat of silence passed. Then she stood, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. "You're still in love with her."
I didn't deny it.
Didn't need to.
She nodded like she expected it. "She's going to ruin you."
"No," I said softly. "I already did that myself."
And just like that, I walked out.
Not because I was choosing Anna.
But because I finally realized using Camilla to forget her wasn't working.
It never would.