Chapter 168

Chapter 168:

His hand found hers, fingers intertwining. “We should eat. The chef prepared lunch before we left the marina.”

“Later,” Camille murmured, pulling him back to her.

This time, there was no hesitation in their kiss, no question—only certainty.

Camille felt something unfurling inside her, not just desire, but a kind of rebirth. The woman who had been broken, who had rebuilt herself into a weapon of revenge, was becoming something else entirely. Someone who could want things for herself, not just the destruction of her enemies.

They moved together below deck, to the master cabin with its wide bed and windows that framed the endless ocean. There, with sunlight streaming across tangled sheets, Camille let herself feel everything she had denied for so long—pleasure, tenderness, hunger, joy.

Afterward, they lay together, her head on Alexander’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The yacht rocked gently beneath them, a lullaby of water against the hull.

“I never expected this,” Camille said quietly. “You. This feeling. Any of it.”

Alexander’s fingers traced patterns along her bare shoulder. “When we first properly met—not counting that hospital room years ago—what did you see?”

“A powerful man who could help me destroy my enemies,” she admitted. “A useful ally. A means to an end.”

“And now?”

Camille raised herself on one elbow, looking into his eyes. “Someone who knows all my broken pieces and doesn’t try to fix them. Someone who sees the woman beneath the revenge, beneath the power. Someone who makes me wonder what might come after all this is over.”

Alexander smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And that terrifies you?”

“Completely,” she agreed.

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“Good,” he said, pulling her back down against him. “Terror means it matters.”

They stayed that way for a long time, the world beyond the yacht forgotten. Eventually, they dressed and made their way back to the deck, where lunch waited—seafood.

And fresh bread, fruit, and cheese—simple pleasures that tasted better here, with the sky vast above them and the city nowhere in sight.

As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, Camille stood at the railing again, watching the light change from gold to amber across the water. Alexander stood behind her, arms encircling her waist, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.

“We should head back soon,” he said, though he made no move to release her. Camille nodded, but remained where she was, memorizing the moment—the warmth of Alexander against her back, the salt spray on her lips, the endless possibility of the horizon.

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