The mansion felt a lot bigger without him.
I wandered through the halls barefoot, the marble cold against my skin, my reflection catching in the glass walls like a ghost I didn't recognize. The house was quiet... oppressively so. Once upon a time, that quiet was our kind of peace. Micheal and I used to curl up on the leather sofa in the study, listening to nothing but the crackle of the fireplace and the sound of each other breathing.
Now silence was a punishment.
It had been two days since the tape. Two days since my world shattered. Two days since Micheal looked at me like I was complete filth.
And he hadn't said a word to me since.
I hadn't seen him yet... not properly, anyway. He left before dawn, returned after midnight. Always in his suits, always pristine, his expression unreadable. I heard him moving in his wing of the house, but when I tried to approach, doors clicked shut.
The Micheal I loved- the Micheal who once kissed me on the bridge when we were seventeen and said, "We'll build forever together, Milla"- that Micheal was gone.
All that was left was a stranger who wore his face.
I sat at the edge of the bed we used to share, my hands curled in the sheets. His scent lingered faintly in the pillows- cologne and soap and something distinctly him. I buried my face in it and broke down again, quietly, because I had to.
The world thought I was strong and untouchable. The glossy magazines had painted me as the perfect wife: elegant, poised, the woman who'd captured the city's most eligible bachelor. And once upon a time, I believed it too.
But in the dark, stripped of cameras and lights, I was just a girl who'd lost everything.
The door creaked open.
I looked up, hope ricocheting in my chest.
Micheal stood in the doorway. Still in his suit, his tie loosened but not by much. His eyes were unreadable shadows.
"Dinner," he said flatly.
It was more of an order than an invitation.
I swallowed the huge lump in my throat. "You're…you're joining me?"
His jaw ticked slightly. "You'll join me. Downstairs. Ten minutes."
And then he was gone again, leaving the door wide open.
I pressed my palms to my thighs, forcing myself up. My reflection in the mirror stopped me halfway across the room. My eyes were swollen from crying. My cheeks blotchy. My hair a tangled mess.
He'd hate me more if he saw me like this.
So I did what I could. Washed my face. Brushed out my hair. Put on the silk slip dress he'd once bought me on a trip to Milan. I remembered the way he'd looked at me in it back then, heat sparking in his gaze, laughter on his lips.
I wondered what he'd see now.
The dining room felt like a courtroom.
He was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of whiskey in hand, his phone on the table beside him. He didn't look up when I entered.
I slid into the chair opposite him, my hands trembling in my lap.
The maids brought in food... steak, asparagus, roasted potatoes. I forced myself to eat but I couldn't taste any of it.
The silence was thick and heavy.
Finally, I forced words past my throat. "Mikey…"
He didn't glance up. He cut into his steak with precise, practiced movements.
"I need you to believe me," I whispered. "That night... what you saw... it wasn't what it looked like."
His knife hit the plate with a sharp clang.
I flinched slightly.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze and said just one word, "Don't."
I forced my voice, "Don't what? Don't try to tell you the truth?"
"Don't speak to me as if I'm a child... as if I don't know what I saw." His words were low and emotionless.
I leaned forward, desperate. "Micheal, I can't breathe with you looking at me like this. Please, just... just hear me out. One chance. If you still hate me after, fine, but just-"
"Hate you?" His laugh was humorless. "You think hate is the problem?"
My heart raced. "Then what is?"
He didn't answer. He downed the rest of his whiskey, set the glass down hard enough to make me jump, and stood.
"I'll never forgive you," he said coldly. "Not in this lifetime."
I rose, trembling. "Why? Why won't you even let me explain?"
"Because explanations don't erase what's burned into my memory." His voice sharpened, rising for the first time. "I close my eyes, and I see it. I hear it. You think words will change that? You think your mouth can undo what your body did?"
I felt like he'd slapped me. "Mikey…"
"Don't call me that." His breathing was heavy now, his chest rising and falling as he glared at me.
Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You ruined us. And the cruelest part, Camilla? I still want you. And I hate myself for it."
My stomach twisted. His words lodged deep in my chest.
He shoved back from the table, storming out without another glance.
The door slammed behind him.
I collapsed back into my chair, shaking violently, my breath ragged.
I pressed my fists to my mouth to keep from screaming.
I couldn't tell him the truth even if I wanted to. Not yet, at least. Not when Vincent Calder still owned me.
But one day.
One day he would know.
And when that day came, he'd realize I destroyed myself to save him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay in the cold bed staring at the ceiling, my body aching with loneliness.
At some point, I dragged myself to the study.
I pulled out the journal I kept hidden under the floorboard. The one I hadn't touched since he gave it to me as a gift one random Sunday night because he knew my previous one was full.
My hands shook as I opened it, pen hovering over the page.
The words spilled anyway.
Journal entry 1:
Dear Nobody,
I'm stuck in a pit I dug myself and I can't seem to find a way out. I wish I could tell him the truth, Nobody. I wish I could open my mouth and let all the words I'm desperately holding in fall out. I wish he somehow knew that I sold myself to protect him. That every second of that tape was a sacrifice, not a betrayal. But I can't. Not when the man who made me do it is still watching us. Still threatening everything Micheal and I built. If I told him now, he'd go after them. He'd burn for me. And I can't let him burn.
A tear splashed onto the page, smearing the ink. So I closed it before it got any more ruined.
I pressed the journal to my chest and rocked myself back and forth, whispering into the empty room.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Only empty silence answered back.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure I'd survive it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The next morning, Micheal's voice jolted me awake.
"Get ready and meet me downstairs in 20 minutes."
I blinked, sitting up on the couch where I'd fallen asleep. "What?"
He stood in the doorway in a clean, black, crisp suit, unreadable expression. "We're leaving. There's a gala tonight. You'll be on my arm. You'll smile, you'll laugh and you'll convince the world we're fine."
I opened my mouth then closed it. And simply nodded.
But as he turned to leave, I whispered so softly I wasn't sure he heard me:
"One day, you'll know the truth."
He froze. Just for a second. His back stiffened.
Then he walked away.
Leaving me with hope I wasn't sure I deserved.