Chapter 14 - The Door Between Their Lives
Camille confronted Adrien that evening.
“You bought the apartment next door.”
Adrien paused.
“Yes.”
“You weren’t going to mention it?”
“I was.”
“When?”
He winced.
“Bad choice of words.”
“Very.”
He explained.
The apartment was not for her.
It was for him.
His penthouse was forty minutes from Ardan House in traffic.
He wanted somewhere nearby.
Camille stared.
“You bought an apartment because my job has long hours?”
“Yes.”
“You understand how insane that sounds?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you ask whether I wanted you living next door?”
“Because I haven’t moved in.”
That stopped her.
“I bought the option. I did not make the decision.”
He handed her the key.
“If you hate the idea, I sell it.”
Camille looked at the key.
Old Adrien would have moved in, upgraded security and informed her afterward.
This Adrien waited.
“Show me.”
The apartment was unfinished.
Bare walls.
Empty rooms.
One balcony overlooking Ardan House’s garden.
Camille stood there.
“You really haven’t done anything.”
“I was afraid you’d object to the countertops.”
“I would.”
“I know.”
She laughed.
He stepped beside her.
“I don’t want you to build your life around mine.”
“Good.”
“I want to build mine where yours has room for it.”
Camille looked at him.
For a man feared across Chicago, Adrien Kovac had become astonishingly vulnerable.
She loved him for it.
She was finally ready to say so.
“I love you.”
Adrien went completely still.
Camille smiled.
“That terrified you more than armed men.”
“Yes.”
“I love you,” she repeated.
He touched her cheek.
“I love you too.”
Their kiss was quiet.
No audience.
No dramatic music.
No wedding waiting downstairs.
Just choice.
Six months later, Margot was convicted.
Recovered assets funded restitution.
Petar testified and then disappeared into a peaceful retirement he claimed not to want.
Celeste returned for Ardan House’s anniversary gala with someone new.
A pediatric surgeon named Nathan who looked at her every time she spoke.
Camille noticed.
Of course she did.
Adrien noticed Camille noticing.
“Stop matchmaking.”
“I’m observing.”
“You’re plotting.”
“Possibly.”
Ardan House expanded.
Camille hired a managing director.
She took Sundays off.
Mostly.
Adrien learned to cook three meals.
One was genuinely edible.
They moved between his home and the apartment beside Ardan House until one evening Camille discovered architectural plans on the dining table.
She stared.
Adrien entered.
He stopped.
“That isn’t how you were supposed to find those.”
Camille lifted one sheet.
It showed a doorway.
A simple doorway connecting his apartment to a smaller adjoining space Camille had recently rented as a private residence.
“You designed a connecting door?”
“I considered one.”
“Without asking?”
“I haven’t built it.”
She smiled.
Again, the choice remained hers.
Adrien approached.
“There’s something else.”
“Oh no.”
He removed a small box.
Camille immediately held up one finger.
“Careful.”
“I know.”
“You propose badly, I say no on principle.”
“That seems unreasonable.”
“I learned from you.”
Adrien opened the box.
A ring.
Simple.
Elegant.
Camille’s breath caught.
But Adrien did not kneel.
Not yet.
“I spent most of my life believing love meant keeping people close enough that nothing could take them from me.”
Camille’s eyes filled.
“You taught me that isn’t love.”
He took her hand.
“Love is knowing you can leave and giving you reasons you might choose to stay.”
Then he knelt.
“Camille Arden, will you marry me without becoming anything less than yourself?”
She laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
Adrien exhaled.
“You could have answered faster.”
“I wanted you nervous.”
“You succeeded.”
He placed the ring on her finger.
Camille kissed him.
Then someone knocked at the apartment door.
Adrien frowned.
They were not expecting anyone.
Another knock.
Camille opened it.
A courier handed her a package.
No return address.
Inside was the old KOVAC TRANSITION MANUAL.
She had not seen it since leaving Adrien’s company.
A new page had been inserted at the end.
Camille read it.
Her smile vanished.
“What?” Adrien asked.
She handed it to him.
On the final page, someone had typed:
TRANSITION INCOMPLETE.
Below it was tomorrow’s date.
May you like
And one address.
The cemetery where Viktor Kovac was buried.
