Chapter 7 Camilla

• Camila POV
• Shit. Perfect timing, huh?
• A few meters from home, the sky darkens to match my mood. Just as we pass through the estate gate, the rain starts — a full-blown downpour, with wind that rattles the windows and thunder that makes the glass hum. Droplets pound against the glass like a thousand tiny drummers.
• I let out a slow sigh, letting the sound soothe me. Rain has always been my calm — the way it drowns out everything else, like it could wash away my problems too. But as much as I love the sound, I hate the feeling of it on my skin.
• The car stops. I grab the handle, ready to make a dash for the door — only to be blocked by a wall of muscle. Matthew, of course, holding an umbrella in one hand and his other out for me to take.
• I roll my eyes. I’m still seething from earlier. I’d rather get drenched than let him think he’s my knight in shining… whatever.
• I step past him, but before I can make it far, his hand clamps down on my shoulder and pulls me back — straight into his chest.
• Every muscle in my body should be tense, but instead, I feel my bones melting. His chest is hard, solid, and for one dangerous second, I let myself sink into it.
• “Let go of me,” I snap, trying to twist away.
• “Stay still,” he growls, the deep rumble vibrating through me.
• And I hate it — hate that my body reacts to him like this.
• Before I can protest again, his arms hook around my waist, lifting me clean off the ground. I let out a hiss, kicking in the air. “Put me down!”
• He doesn’t. He just walks forward like I weigh nothing, handing the umbrella to the guard as he carries me straight inside.
• Everyone in the living area freezes — my mom, Aunt Ava, even the maids — eyes wide at the sight of Matthew hauling me in like I’m a runaway cat.
• “Mom!” I try, but she and Aunt Ava pretend not to see us, turning and heading right back into the kitchen. Traitors.
• Before I can yell again, a familiar voice cuts through the air.
• “Matthew.”
• Matthew stops, setting me down — though I have to grab his arm for balance when my feet hit the ground.
• “Big Daddy!” I grin, running straight into Uncle Vincenzo’s arms. He’s been away for a week, which is rare, and the sight of him makes something in my chest loosen.
• “You’re back. I missed you.”
• “I’m back now, child,” he says warmly, patting my head. “Matthew isn’t bullying you, is he?”
• I give him my best innocent look and shake my head, though I feel Matthew’s stare burning into the side of my face.
• “Don’t scare the boy,” Aunt Ava calls from the kitchen — though the way Uncle Vincenzo’s gaze instantly locks on her tells me he’s more interested in his wife than in Matthew.
• He pulls her in, and she melts into him like they’ve been apart for months. The sight makes my chest ache — not with jealousy, exactly, but with the quiet realization that I’ve set my bar too high.
• “No smooching, I’m still here,” I call out.
• Aunt Ava laughs, smacks her husband lightly, then turns to me. “How was class today?”
• “Fine,” I mumble, my attention drifting to the doorway. Matthew is gone — slipped away at some point during the distraction.
• But I know him. This isn’t over.
• ---
• Matthew wasn’t in the living room.
• Or the hallway.
• Or anywhere in sight.
• Which should’ve been a relief… except it wasn’t.
• Because with him, silence never means gone. It means he’s waiting.
• I headed upstairs, peeling off my damp cardigan as I went. The rain had cooled the air, making the house smell faintly of wet stone and cedar. I kept telling myself I’d just change, maybe hide in my room for the rest of the night, avoid him until tomorrow.
• The door to my bedroom was cracked open.
• I froze.
• I always lock it.
• My pulse jumped as I nudged it open with my foot — and there he was.
• Leaning against my window like he owned the place, hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed so his dark hair shadowed his eyes.
• “You left pretty fast downstairs,” I said, my tone sharp to cover the fact that my heart was thudding.
• His gaze lifted, pinning me. “You were distracted. I don’t wait for scraps of attention, Camila.”
• I scoffed. “Good. Then stop showing up where you’re not wanted.”
• One corner of his mouth curved — not into a smile, but into something far more dangerous. “That’s the problem. You do want me here.”
• My skin prickled, heat crawling up my neck. “In your dreams, maybe.”
• He pushed off the wall and started walking toward me. Slow. Unhurried. Like a predator who already knows the prey is trapped.
• I stepped back. “Don’t.”
• “You don’t get to run from me,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Not when you disappear without telling me where you’re going. Not when you’re in this family’s crosshairs every second of the day.”
• “I’m not a prisoner,” I snapped. “And I’m definitely not your responsibility.”
• He stopped close enough that I could see the storm in his eyes — that deep, controlled fury he never raised his voice to express. “You’re wrong. You became my responsibility the second I was assigned to protect you. And you became more than that the second you made me want you.”
• The air between us turned heavy, thick. I hated how my breath stuttered, how my fingers itched to grab his shirt and pull him closer.
• “I don’t—” My voice caught. “You’re out of line.”
• He leaned in, his lips just brushing the shell of my ear. “Maybe. But I don’t play by lines, Camila. I erase them.”
• I swallowed hard, fighting not to react, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he was getting to me. “You can’t just—”
• A knock on the door cut me off.
• “Camila,” Aunt Ava’s voice called softly. “Dinner’s ready, sweetheart.”
• I turned toward the door like it was a lifeline. “Coming!”
• When I looked back, Matthew was already moving toward the balcony doors. He stepped outside into the drizzle without another word, disappearing into the night as quietly as he’d appeared.
• But the pounding in my chest didn’t fade.
• If anything, it was worse.
• Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run from him…
• or toward him.