Camille Devile hated being summoned. Especially by family. Not because anyone could force her physically. That had never been possible, not since training, not even as a child. But obligation was a different kind of restraint. It came dressed in silk invitations and her mother's clipped instructions.
Tonight, the Devile estate shimmered with excess. Crystal chandeliers cast sharp, clinical light from the high ceilings, reflecting off the polished marble walls. The orchestra played softly as guests drifted through the hall in outfits that cost more than a small city's infrastructure. They wore diamonds and practiced smiles. Their conversations were hushed, rhythmic, and utterly fake. It felt like a performance. It always had been.
Camille stood near the edge of the room with a flute of champagne she had no intention of drinking. Her scowl was a deliberate barrier, a silent warning to anyone thinking of approaching. Inside, she was counting seconds.
She checked her watch. It was too early to leave.
She checked her phone. No update from
the agency.
A sigh escaped her. She set her flute of champagne on a passing tray and went back to scanning the room. Her presence tonight was mandatory. Patty, her mother's assistant, had been clear. Important guests would be in attendance, and Camille was expected to bolster the family image. The usual excuses.
As if she had ever been anything more than a footnote in that image.
She scanned the room out of instinct. Her eyes mapped exits, security positions, and blind corners. The habit had been carved into her long before she could remember a time without it. Even on a sanctioned break, her mind did not shut down. It simply recalibrated.
"Camille."
Her shoulders stiffened as she turned.
Her brother stood a few feet away, impeccably dressed in a tuxedo. Arnold, the "Golden Child," looked like he had been born into this marble hall. Camille always felt like she had been dropped into it by mistake.
"Arnold." She gave a brief nod.
"You actually showed up." He picked up two flutes of champagne and handed one toward her.
"As requested," she replied, ignoring the drink.
He gave a small smile, dropping the flute on a passing tray. "Mother will be pleased."
"She will be relieved. There is a difference."
He studied her for a moment. "You look… distant."
"I feel accurately represented, then."
He exhaled slowly. "You don't always have to be like this, Camille. Difficult."
"Do you confuse boundaries with hostility, brother?"
His eyes hardened. "You have spent years pushing this family away."
"I was pushed first."
A flicker of discomfort crossed his face, gone almost immediately. "You could still choose differently. A life of appearances instead of… whatever it is you do now."
Camille almost laughed. "You mean a life of pretending I belong to a world that only tolerates me when it's profitable?"
He hesitated. "Mother is trying."
"I am?"
The voice was cold and perfectly modulated. Camille cursed quietly. She hated when Eleanor snuck up on her. Even with years of agency training, her mother had a way of appearing like a ghost in expensive silk.
She turned with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Hello, Mother."
Eleanor Deville was a stunning vision in diamond-studded fabric. She radiated a quiet, terrifying elegance. Her perfume, something sharp and floral, cut through the air. She stared down her nose at Camille with the same look she used for disappointing investments.
"Camille." She gave a sequin smile. "You look… appropriate tonight."
Appropriate. Not beautiful. Not missed.
"I do? Thank you for noticing," Camille replied, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Is there anything else you've assessed? My threat level, perhaps?"
Eleanor's disapproval deepened. "I see your tongue is still your preferred weapon."
Camille felt her spine stiffen as her mother's gaze traveled over her. "You should consider joining the conversations. Guests have asked about you."
"That must be inconvenient for them," Camille said.
"You remain such a mystery, child," Eleanor said grimly.
"Purely intentional, Mother."
Eleanor's gaze sharpened, something colder slipping beneath the surface. "Even to your mother?"
Camille shrugged. "Can't help it."
Eleanor smiled at a passing guest, placed a hand on Arnold's arm, and fixed a final look on her daughter. "Do try not to leave too early. I have people I want you to meet."
Not because she wanted Camille there, but because her absence would be a flaw in the evening's choreography. Camille watched them walk away. She felt nothing. Or perhaps she felt so much that her mind had simply buried the weight of it.
She turned back to the crowd and took a small sip of her champagne. It was warm and cloyingly sweet. She set the glass aside, her thoughts drifting toward her last mission. She cut the memory off before it could take root.
Not tonight.
Her gaze lifted again, scanning the room. That was when she saw him.
He stood near the far wall, an untouched drink in hand. He wasn't talking, though half the women in the room were circling him like sharks. He stood still, eyes roaming the crowd with an expression of pure, unadulterated boredom. He didn't look like the other men who pretended disinterest while fishing for approval. This man was a different breed.
Interesting. Finally.
Their eyes met. Camille did not look away. He didn't either. He cocked his head slightly and lifted his glass in a silent acknowledgment.
She broke eye contact first, turning her back to him as she reached for a fresh glass. A moment passed. Then, the scent of cedar and cold air filled her space. It was a sharp, grounded smell that didn't belong in a room full of flowery perfumes.
"Are you always this disengaged at events like these?"
His voice was a low, steady rumble. It didn't wash over her; it anchored her. Camille did not startle. She turned slowly and looked up at him.
He was taller than she had expected. Her eyes trailed down his face to his broad chest, and for a split second, her professional guard wavered. His dark hair was immaculately styled, revealing a face that looked like it was carved from granite: beautiful, but lethal.
"Are you always this comfortable approaching strangers?" she asked.
"Only the ones who look like they're planning an escape."
"And what makes you think I am?"
He considered her. "Are you?"
Camille stared at him over the rim of her flute. "I am, but that doesn't mean I'm not curious."
He chuckled, a dry sound that made her pulse jump. "You don't strike me as the type of woman to waste her energy on offense."
"Indeed," she said. "What is your name?"
"Kade."
"Just that?"
He smirked. "Just that."
"What about you?" Kade asked.
She hesitated. Two can play at this game. "Camille," she said finally. Not Devile. Just Camille.
"Camille." He said it slowly, as if testing the weight of the name. "You look like you would rather be anywhere else."
Camille gave a faint smile. "Are you here alone?"
"I am." Kade made a show of looking around.
"Looking for someone?"
He shrugged. "Just checking to see if any beau is going to come for my head."
She snorted. "Trust me, there's no one coming."
Kade moved into her personal space, forcing her to tilt her head back. "You won't mind dancing with me then."
She blinked. "That wasn't a question."
"No."
She had spent the entire evening suffocating. This was the first moment that felt unscripted. "Fine. One song."
The dance floor swallowed them. Camille felt his hand settle on the small of her back while the other drew her in. He moved with a predatory elegance, effortless and controlled. She followed him easily.
Her mind registered the closeness before her body did. She should have stepped back. She didn't. She caught sight of her mother staring from the top of the stairs, a silent silhouette of disapproval. Camille didn't care.
Her eyes settled back on his. They were grey, circled by rings of black, looking like polished smoke. Her gaze flitted to his lips, and a sudden, unbidden warmth spread through her.
"Enjoying the view?" His voice was a vibration against her ear.
She stroked his shoulder, her fingers grazing the expensive fabric of his jacket. "I am. The view is very nice."
He chuckled lowly and brushed her hair away from her neck. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, his proximity sending a sharp electric charge through her. Camille gripped his shoulder. Why was he having this effect on her?
He twirled her once, then brought her back against his chest, her back to him. "You smell divine."
"I know I do," she purred.
His lips brushed the shell of her ear. Camille shivered, the anticipation thick in her throat. The song ended, but neither moved. Camille rested her head against his chest for a heartbeat.
"Shall we go to the balcony for some air?" he whispered.
"Sure."
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her toward the glass doors. The air outside was cool and sharp. The balcony was dim, granting them a temporary sanctuary. Camille leaned against the railing, looking out at the dark grounds. Kade stood a few paces behind her.
She turned, cocking her head. "Are you just going to stand there, Kade?"
"My name sounds different coming from your mouth." He stepped forward, his hands in his pockets.
"Does it?"
"Yeah." His gaze dropped to her lips. "I noticed you looking earlier."
"Maybe I was just being curious."
He stepped closer. Camille felt the shift in the air. Heavy and dangerous. She knew she should move. She didn't.
Kade trailed his lips along her neck, a slow, deliberate path that felt like a brand. Camille arched her neck, a soft sound escaping her.
He brushed his lips against hers. "I hope to satisfy your curiosity."
The kiss was slow, a test of her reaction. Her body's first instinct was to tense, then it gave way to a sudden, intense force. She leaned into him as he deepened the kiss, his fingertips skimming her arm. For a moment, she allowed herself to exist in the sensation, but her training was a loud, persistent voice in the back of her head.
She pulled back, taking a sharp breath. "This is where I stop," she said quietly.
Kade's hand came up, his thumb brushing just beneath her jaw. "My kiss overwhelms you?"
She snorted. "You're so full of yourself."
"Indeed, I am." He smirked, his thumb grazing her lower lip.
Her pulse spiked. Camille caught his wrist, stopping the motion. Their eyes locked. His shone with a hunger that was almost honest, but she forced her guard back into place.
"Careful," she said.
His lips curved. For a second, she almost let go. She didn't. She stepped back, and he didn't reach for her again. He simply watched her.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I do not lose control with strangers."
"And yet you did," he said softly.
"No. I chose to." She held his gaze, reached out to slowly wipe the trace of her lipstick from his mouth, and then turned.
She walked away without looking back. Camille didn't see the way his eyes tracked her. She didn't know this was the start of something that would dismantle her life. She only knew that she had just walked away from the most intriguing man she had ever met, and the feeling was more unsettling than anything else that night.