Chapter 6 - The Golden Cage
Three days later, Camille Hunt became Camille Moretti.
There were no white roses, no grand cathedral, and no three hundred guests. The ceremony took place in the private study of a corrupt municipal judge who signed the marriage license with hands that shook slightly under Valentin’s silent gaze.
Camille wore a simple, elegant dark green silk dress instead of white. When Valentin slipped a heavy, flawless diamond ring onto her left finger, his fingers were warm, steady, and surprising gentle.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Moretti," he whispered as the judge stamped the official seal. His breath brushed against her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
She was moved into the east wing of the estate that very evening. Her rooms were vast—larger than her entire previous apartment—complete with a private terrace overlooking the dark forest, a marble fireplace, and a walk-in closet filled with brand-new, designer clothing that had been delivered before her arrival.
She spent her first three days in a state of quiet shock, wandering the polished halls of the fortress.
The estate was heavily guarded. Men in tailored black suits stood at every entrance, their hands resting near hidden holsters. Yet, no one stopped her from moving freely within the house. The staff treated her with a polite, absolute deference that made her feel more like a queen than a prisoner.
Valentin was rarely home during the day. He left before dawn for the docks or his downtown offices and returned late into the night.
On her fourth evening, unable to sleep, Camille walked down to the estate’s grand library looking for a book.
The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of embers dying in the hearth. As she reached for a leather-bound volume on the shelf, a low voice spoke from the leather armchair near the fire.
"You should be sleeping, Camille."
She jumped, pressing her back against the bookshelf. Valentin sat in the dim light, a crystal glass of amber liquid held casually in his hand. He looked exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes made his sharp features look even harder, and his tie was thrown loosely over the arm of the chair.
"I couldn't sleep," she said softly, easing her hold on the book. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You don't disturb me," Valentin said, gesturing toward the seat across from him. "Sit."
Camille hesitated for a second, then walked over and sat down on the edge of the leather armchair. The firelight played across his face, highlighting the faint, white scar that ran along his jawline—a mark she hadn't noticed during their first cold meeting.
"Where did you get that scar?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could filter it.
Valentin looked at her, lifting his glass to his lips before answering. "Chicago. Ten years ago. A reminder that trusting the wrong person usually leaves a mark."
Camille looked down at her hands, tracing the heavy diamond on her finger. "I suppose I have my own scars now. Just not on my face."
Valentin watched her in silence for a long moment. The coldness that usually defined his expression seemed to soften slightly in the warm light of the fire.
"Trevor was a fool," Valentin said quietly, his voice lacking its usual sharp edge. "He had something precious in his hands and he treated it like cheap glass."
Camille looked up, surprised by the sudden softness in his tone. "You don't even know me, Valentin."
May you like
"I know enough," Valentin replied, leaning his head back against the leather cushion. "I know a woman who didn't cry when her world fell apart. A woman who stood in my office and demanded terms instead of begging for mercy. You are far stronger than you give yourself credit for, Camille."
For the first time since the ultrasound fell out of Trevor's coat, Camille felt a strange, quiet warmth bloom in her chest.
