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I also know I’m not worthy of her. Maybe my methods of keeping her around aren’t conventional, but that was before this new feeling manifested itself. I want to tell her, but there’s a small nagging thought in the back of my head that if I did, I would lose her forever. I need to figure out a way to ease her into everything I’ve done, a way to explain to her that it was never my intention to hurt her. The car. The termination of employment. The cheque.

Camila should’ve been here by now. My stomach twists with the thought that maybe she already knows. Maybe she found out, and she left—

“I heard you boys got yourselves into some shit last night,” a sultry voice floats from behind me. And not one I recognise from previous events.

I spin around, my eyes landing on a tall brunette with deep brown eyes and light olive skin. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, with waves falling to the middle of her back. It swishes behind her as she approaches me with practiced steps, like she commands the space. Her black, glittery gown flows behind her in a tail, heels clicking on the tiled floor, fading out the sound of the band playing.

Her full, red-painted lips quirk up in a smirk as she scrutinises me.

“And who might you be?” I ask, leaning back against the bannister, balancing the glass on the white wood and shoving my hands in my pockets.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy?” she replies, voice slick with amusement as she mimics my stance right next to me.

“I don’t remember inviting the Queen of England to the event.”

A deep but feminine laugh leaves her lips. I watch as her hand confidently comes up to my styled hair, making me tense, and pulls out a single strand that drapes over my forehead. I scowl at the misplaced hair and swiftly put it back in place.

“You’re definitely prettier in real life than you are in pictures,” she comments, as if she’s contemplating my looks.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask again, my voice taking on a low, threatening tone. “I don’t appreciate intruders in my house.”

She smiles, almond eyes sparkling. “Nova Bianchi. But you can call me Nova.”

“Not familiar,” I deadpan.

Her smile drops, just a fraction. “You really are snakelets in this den of vipers.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I grimace, pulling a hand out of my trouser pocket, readying to tug my gun out. I glance behind me at Jac, who’s already taken note of the situation and has positioned himself to where he can see us.

Nova’s eyes fix onto my hand, and her mouth pulls up again.

She sighs. “Save your bullets. I know how to get you out of this mess. Get your men to take me to your office later tonight; I won’t be far from here. If not, I’ll assume you don’t want my help.”

She doesn’t wait for me to reply, just simply saunters out of the ballroom and main doors, hips swaying.

“What the fuck?” I murmur to myself, completely taken off guard by the interaction. I twist towards Jac, who looks just as confused as I do.

But this strange woman has caught my interest, so I wave one of the guards over and instruct them to arrange for Nova to meet in my office after the donations have been made.

A gentle hand lands on my shoulder. I turn instantly, and the breath is knocked out of me.

Camila.

I’ve seen her a thousand times before—she lives in my head, after all. But every time I do, it’s like I’m laying eyes on her for the first time.

Her blonde hair falls in soft waves down to the middle of her back, the same as it usually does. Light make-up covers her face, which complements her features, but it’s not overwhelming. My eyes travel down to the dress. That short emerald dress I had brought for her a few days ago. It hugs her tight at the waist and fans out over her thighs. Possessiveness takes over me as I drink her in—looking completely and utterly mine in the outfit I brought her. I swallow hard. My cock stands to immediate attention from just the sheer sight of her, and I’m kind of wishing I didn’t have to do a speech so I could take her into my office, bend her over my desk, lift up that dress, and fuck her until the entire building hears who she belongs to.

Her eyes ping around the room, teeth nibbling on her nude-painted bottom lip. Her shoulders curl in slightly as she takes in everyone around her.

Grabbing her hand, I pull her into me. One hand on the small of her back, the other reaching up to her chin and lifting it so the only thing she sees is me.

“Hey, you’re perfect,” I murmur, eyes dipping to her lips. She pulls the corner of her bottom lip into her teeth, and my hand fists on her back. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she breathes.

My hand drops to rest on the lower part of her neck, palm splayed out over her chest. Her pulse pounds beneath my hand as I bring my lips to her ear. “Bite your lip again, and I’ll fuck you over this balcony where everyone can watch and see who you belong to.”

Small bumps rise under my palm. Instead of protesting, like I thought she would do, her hand grips my belt, pulling my hips into her. I pull my face away to look at her, a small smirk playing on her lips. Her shoulders pull back, and her chin rises.