Chapter 5 A Friend in the Shadows

Camille's point of view

I wasn't used to being watched. Not like this.

It wasn't just the guards stationed near the elevator or the blinking red lights of the security cameras tucked in the corners of the penthouse, it was the quiet scrutiny, the sense that even when I was alone, my every step echoed in someone else's ear.

I used to be invisible. Now I was the center of attention in a world I didn't ask to enter.

Everything felt stiff. Formal breakfasts with polished silverware and dishes I couldn't pronounce. A wardrobe curated by Sebastian's assistant,tailored, expensive, and suffocating. Reporters lurking near every building entrance, whispering my name with sneers curled into their lips.

And Sebastian?

He was ice in human form. Cold glances. Brushed-off conversations. A shadow that moved with control and precision, and whose presence could silence a room or ignite it depending on his mood.

This wasn't a marriage. It was a carefully curated illusion.

I wandered through the East Wing of the penthouse, fingers brushing across the spines of books in the massive library. I wasn't expecting anyone to be here-until I heard the soft rustle of movement and turned.

"Didn't mean to spook you," said a voice, smooth as silk and laced with warmth.

I turned to see a man leaning against one of the mahogany shelves, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Tall. Striking. Tousled brown hair, eyes like melted honey. The kind of man you instinctively trusted,and probably shouldn't.

"You must be Camille," he said, offering a hand. "Ethan Ward. Sebastian's friend. And unfortunately, his business partner."

I blinked. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

He laughed, and the tension in my shoulders eased just a little. "Only when he gets broody, which, let's face it, is ninety percent of the time."

I smiled in spite of myself. Ethan had an effortless charm that put me at ease, like he saw past the headlines and pitying whispers. He didn't look at me like I was a scandal waiting to happen. Just a person.

We sat in the library for almost an hour, sipping espresso from porcelain cups and talking about everything and nothing. I told him about my favorite books. He told me about boarding school pranks he and Sebastian pulled,though, according to Ethan, Sebastian had always been "the more dangerous kind of clever."

He grew quiet for a moment, swirling his cup. "Vanessa's been busy, by the way."

I stiffened.

"She's the type who doesn't take rejection well," he continued. "And she certainly doesn't like losing. You need to be careful."

"I already figured that out," I muttered.

Ethan gave me a long look. "You may think you're just playing a role here, Camille, but this world... it has sharp teeth. And not everyone plays fair."

Before I could ask what he meant, a notification buzzed on my phone.

I opened it.

The video started playing before I even realized what I was watching.

It was me,sitting in the garden with the housekeeper, talking about how overwhelming this life was. But the audio was clipped, edited. My words stitched together in a way that made it sound like I'd schemed to seduce Sebastian, to marry into wealth.

"God," I whispered, bile rising to my throat. "She leaked this."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "She's desperate. But she crossed a line."

I ran from the library, my heart pounding. I barely made it to the living room when the front door slammed open.

Sebastian strode in, laptop in hand, his expression a storm waiting to break.

Without a word, he slammed the laptop on the glass coffee table and turned the screen to me.

My face flickered on the screen. My voice. Twisted. Manipulated.

"You did this?" His voice was low, dangerous.

"What? No! It's fake. She edited it-"

"Then why were you talking about seduction and inheritance in the first place?" he snapped.

"I wasn't! Sebastian, you have to believe me-"

He shut the laptop with a snap and looked away. "You're staying inside. Until this dies down."

"What?"

"No events. No appearances. No speaking to the press. Not until I can control this."

"You don't get to control me," I shot back, my voice cracking with disbelief.

He turned sharply. "You're my wife, Camille. That means your mess is my mess, whether I like it or not."

"You made me your wife," I hissed. "You picked me. Threw me into this goldfish bowl of lies and cameras, and now you want to shut me away like a shameful secret?"

His jaw ticked. "It's damage control."

"It's prison!"

We stared at each other, fury hanging between us like a blade.

He didn't say anything else. He just turned and walked out, the door closing behind him like a final sentence.

Later that night, I couldn't sleep.

The city lights outside blinked like the world was mocking me. I paced the study, fingers running across expensive furniture and cold marble.

That's when I saw it.

An envelope on the desk. Not sealed in a drawer. Just left there.

It was thick, the paper crisp and official. A line of golden embossing marked the top.

"Inheritance Clause , Confidential: Marriage Requirement."

My fingers trembled as I picked it up.

The flap wasn't sealed.

And suddenly, I knew this wasn't just about a contract or saving face.

This marriage was the key to something much bigger.