Chapter 220: Bad Timing

Dorian didn’t step into the bedroom. He remained exactly where he was, one hand still on the doorframe, his expression so flat that it should have warned her she had badly miscalculated. "You get dressed and get the hell out of my house right now, or the cops will be escorting you out, and I will make it as public as I can."

Camille did not look particularly concerned.

If anything, she seemed amused by the threat.

She slid off the bed and rose to her feet, completely unfazed by the fact that she was standing half naked in another woman’s bedroom, then started walking toward him.

"Don’t make me do this." His voice hardened. "Don’t make me put you out cold. If you move any closer toward me, that’s what’s going to happen, Camille."

That finally put a halt in her steps. She had a face to protect.

"Naomi isn’t here, Dorian. You don’t have to pretend."

Dorian stared at her.

Pretend.

Of all the possible things she could have said.

Camille took another cautious step, still wearing that maddening expression of confidence. "I know you still want me."

Dorian’s mouth twitched with disbelief. He glanced briefly around the room.

The way she had staged her belongings through the house, the shirt in the elevator, the fact that she had deliberately placed herself in his bed wearing almost nothing—it all felt too deliberate to be only about seduction.

Camille liked spectacle.

"I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that there is a camera somewhere in this room. But just in case your followers need a reminder, I have never wanted you, never touched you, and honestly, with this latest show of your staggering lack of self-worth, I am quite certain you, Camille, are the biggest mistake of my life."

She looked slighted but Dorian was beyond caring.

He had spent far too long tolerating Camille because she was an ex-wife, and because there had once been reasons to avoid escalating things unnecessarily. "I’m calling the cops." Dorian stepped backward into the hall. "Better get dressed before they get in here!"

"Dorian! Wait, please... I miss you, truly. And I realise just how much I took us for granted."

Dorian started typing on his phone.

Camille made no effort to move.

That bothered him almost as much as finding her in his bed. The call connected.

"911, what’s your emergency?"

Dorian’s thumb hovered over the screen, when he suddenly realised something. Camille wouldn’t make a spectacle of herself unless there was a reason for it. Of others sure, but she would never embarrass herself. He hung up and looked at Camille again.

The underwear.

The trail through the house.

None of it made sense if her only goal was to seduce him.

Camille wasn’t stupid enough to think she could stroll into his bedroom half naked and get him into bed. She had done it severally and never led anywhere. She was becoming increasingly delusional, perhaps. But she had to know this performance had no chance of working on him.

Which meant maybe it wasn’t meant for him.

Dorian’s expression changed. "This isn’t about me, is it?"

Camille frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Cut the act! This performance isn’t for me. Answer me!"

"Dorian, you always assume there is a conspiracy somewhere. There isn’t!" Camille shot back. "I miss you... I love you. Don’t you know that by now?"

His eyes moved briefly toward the hallway. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." His mind started working fast. "You want my wife to see this." He stepped forward. "Or you want her to know you were here. You..."

"I don’t give a damn about her!" Camille snapped. "This was our house! We could have tried better! We could have fought for each other."

He would have laughed but the situation didn’t feel funny anymore. "Camille... get the fuck out of my house right now!" He stepped forward and grabbed her by the arm, intending to get her moving toward the elevator.

Camille seized the opportunity.

Before Dorian could anticipate what she was doing, she launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs locking around his waist.

"What the fuck—Camille, get off me!" Dorian immediately grabbed at her, trying to pull her away without giving her anything that could later be twisted into something else, or touching a part of her body that would be misinterpreted.

She clung tighter.

"Get off!" He struggled to pry her legs loose.

And then the elevator dinged.

Dorian froze.

The elevator doors slid open.

Naomi was standing there.

In one hand, she held Camille’s shirt. The same shirt Camille had deliberately left inside the elevator.

Dorian stared at his wife.

Then at the shirt. Then at Camille wrapped around him.

Fucking breadcrumbs....

"Naomi..." Dorian whispered, his stomach dropping.

For the first time, Dorian saw true, raw, completely unfiltered rage on Naomi’s face.

Camille leaned down and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s neck.

That was the exact moment his brain finally caught up with the disaster unfolding around him.

This is not good.

He tore Camille off him and dropped her to the floor. "Naomi... I swear to God... I swear..."

"What’s the point, Dorian?" Camille said from behind him. "She was going to find out she isn’t fit for you at some point."

Dorian didn’t even look at her. His attention stayed completely on Naomi.

Every tiny twitch in her face. The way her mouth tightened. The way her eyes seemed almost too calm despite the fury pouring out of them.

Dorian started toward her. "Babe—"

But Naomi was already moving.

She threw her bag aside.

Then the shirt. Without saying a word, she reached up and began removing her earrings as she walked.

Dorian stopped. His brain refused to process what he was seeing. He looked.... confused.

The earrings came off.

Naomi flung them away without even looking.

"Babe?"

"Move."

The word came out as a snarl.

He suddenly realised getting between Naomi and Camille would be a deeply stupid life choice.

Naomi walked past him without breaking eye contact with Camille. She looked like a woman who was completely done.

Done with people deciding she was too soft, too ordinary, too undeserving. And Camille, somehow, still hadn’t realised it.

"Listen, Naomi..." Camille began. "The longer you fight this..."