Chapter 9 - The House With Her Name on It
Camille was out of her seat before the applause ended.
Adrien followed.
“What happened?”
“Noah says someone's inside my office.”
They reached Ardan House twenty minutes later.
Noah waited outside with building security.
“No forced entry,” he said.
“Who is it?” Camille asked.
Noah hesitated.
“Victor Soren.”
Adrien's expression turned cold.
Camille touched his arm.
“No.”
“I haven't done anything.”
“You're thinking loudly.”
Police had already been called.
Victor was not armed.
He had entered using an old contractor access code and was sitting inside Camille's office.
When officers brought him out, he looked diminished.
Not powerful.
Not frightening.
Just desperate.
He stopped when he saw Adrien.
“You destroyed everything.”
Adrien didn't respond.
Victor looked at Camille.
“You did.”
Camille's voice remained calm.
“No. You made choices.”
Victor laughed bitterly.
“You think he changed because of you?”
“No.”
That surprised everyone.
Camille continued.
“He changed because he chose to.”
Adrien looked at her.
Victor was escorted away.
The retention contract remained on Camille's desk.
She picked it up.
For years, that document had represented everything she feared becoming.
Trapped.
Useful.
Owned by expectations.
She tore it once.
Then again.
Adrien watched.
“Feel better?”
“A little.”
“You could have shredded it.”
“That lacks drama.”
He smiled.
Noah excused himself.
Adrien looked after him.
Camille noticed.
“For the record, Noah is married.”
Adrien turned.
“I didn't ask.”
“You desperately wanted to.”
“No.”
“Terrible liar.”
“To whom?”
“His husband, Michael.”
Adrien nodded with exaggerated neutrality.
“Good for Noah.”
Camille laughed.
There was something liberating about it.
Months earlier, this conversation would have terrified her.
Now it didn't.
Because Adrien wasn't her employer.
She wasn't his assistant.
Nothing required either of them to remain.
That made staying mean something.
Camille sat on the edge of her desk.
“Take me to dinner.”
Adrien stared.
“What?”
“Dinner.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Are you feverish again?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Offer withdrawn.”
“No.”
He stepped forward.
“Absolutely not.”
Her smile appeared.
“Then dinner.”
“Dinner.”
They went somewhere Camille chose.
A tiny Italian restaurant with twelve tables.
No private room.
No security sweep.
No reservation under another name.
Adrien looked uncomfortable for the first ten minutes.
Camille enjoyed every second.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're smiling.”
“I've never seen you wait for a table.”
“I have waited for things.”
“Name one.”
He looked at her.
“You.”
Her smile disappeared.
Adrien immediately softened.
“Too much?”
“No.”
“Camille.”
“No. It was…”
She searched for the word.
“Nice.”
He smiled.
Dinner lasted three hours.
They talked about things they had never discussed.
Not schedules.
Not board meetings.
Not weddings.
Camille told him why she loved old houses.
Her father had renovated homes when she was a child. He had died when she was twenty-six, leaving behind notebooks filled with sketches.
Ardan House was named partly for him.
Arden became Ardan because her father had once misspelled their surname on a handmade sign and refused to correct it.
Adrien laughed.
Camille told him she kept the sign.
Adrien told her why he hated hospitals.
Why he avoided birthdays.
Why he'd nearly left Kovac Holdings at thirty.
Why he stayed.
For the first time, Camille wasn't gathering information so she could take care of him.
She was simply learning him.
There was a difference.
Outside the restaurant, snow had begun falling.
Adrien walked her home.
At her door, he stopped.
“Thank you.”
“For dinner?”
“For asking.”
Camille looked at him.
“You really have changed.”
“Somewhat.”
“Still arrogant.”
“Extremely.”
“Controlling.”
“Improving.”
“Terrible at ordering pasta.”
“That was one incident.”
“It was catastrophic.”
He smiled.
Then neither spoke.
Adrien could have kissed her.
Camille knew it.
He knew she knew.
But he didn't.
“Good night, Camille.”
He turned.
“Adrien.”
He stopped.
She stepped forward.
Then she kissed him.
Softly.
Briefly.
Adrien didn't move until she pulled back.
His expression was almost comically stunned.
Camille smiled.
“That was for waiting.”
He looked at her.
“Can I—”
“Yes.”
The second kiss was different.
Still gentle.
But six years lived inside it.
When they separated, Adrien rested his forehead against hers.
“No promises tonight,” Camille whispered.
“No promises.”
“No wedding conversations.”
“God, no.”
She laughed.
“No business deals.”
“I'm offended.”
“No five-year plans.”
“Camille.”
“Yes?”
“I understood after the first condition.”
“I like clarity.”
“I know.”
She kissed him once more.
Then went inside.
Their relationship grew slowly.
Painfully slowly by Adrien's standards.
Perfectly by Camille's.
They dated.
They argued.
They learned.
Adrien discovered Camille hated being driven everywhere.
Camille discovered Adrien secretly watched terrible cooking competitions.
He learned to ask before helping.
She learned to believe that asking did not automatically mean surrendering independence.
Ardan House flourished.
Within a year, Camille employed fourteen people.
She opened a second location.
Adrien never invested.
She never asked.
He was proud of that too.
One evening, almost eighteen months after the canceled wedding, Adrien attended a dinner at Ardan House.
Afterward, Camille found him in the original front room.
The old corkboard still hung there.
Most of the plans had been replaced by photographs.
Opening night.
The team.
Clients.
Her father.
Sophie.
Even one photograph of Adrien eating disastrously chosen pasta.
He pointed.
“Remove that.”
“Never.”
Then he noticed something else.
A calendar.
Camille followed his gaze.
He walked closer.
A date three weeks away was circled in blue.
His heart accelerated.
Beside it, Camille had written:
ASK HIM.
Adrien turned slowly.
Camille had gone pale.
“What am I not supposed to see this time?”
She crossed the room.
“Nothing.”
“Camille.”
She ripped the calendar from the wall.
“Forget it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Adrien.”
“Ask me what?”
She stared at him.
For once, Camille Arden—the woman with an answer for everything—had none.
Then someone knocked on the front door.
Camille looked toward it.
Adrien did too.
The building was closed.
Another knock came.
Three slow knocks.
Camille walked toward the door.
She opened it.
Celeste Laurent stood outside holding a white envelope.
She looked at Camille, then Adrien.
May you like
And said:
“I think it's time you both learned what was supposed to happen on your wedding day.”
