Chapter 3 The ball and the blade

The invitation lay on Camille's kitchen table, silent and sinister.

Ford International's exclusive founder's gala.

Private access only.

A black-tie affair hosted by the man who'd taken her to bed-and then pretended she didn't exist.

Camille stared at it for the third night in a row, trying to decide whether to go.

Everything about this screamed trap. Or worse-manipulation.

But then again... not going was its own kind of surrender.

And Camille Hart didn't surrender.

Saturday – 8:27 PM

Imperium Hotel, Top Floor Ballroom

Camille stepped out of the elevator, every eye turning toward her.

The ballroom glittered. Chandeliers like galaxies. A string quartet played something slow and haunting. The elite of the city swirled in gowns and custom tuxedos. Waiters passed with champagne flutes balanced like crystal weapons.

And Camille?

She wore a backless midnight gown that shimmered as she moved, hugging every curve with elegance and danger. Her lips were red. Her eyes-untouchable.

Power wasn't always money. Sometimes, it was silence. Sometimes, it was showing up when you were expected to disappear.

She took a glass of champagne and entered the room.

Within minutes, she saw him.

Christian Ford.

Across the ballroom. In a black tailored suit that looked like it had been stitched from secrets. Standing beside a board director and a woman Camille didn't recognize-a model, maybe. Blonde. Perfect.

He didn't look at her. Not once.

Not even when she walked past him with her chin high.

But she felt him watching.

The entire time.

An Hour Later

"Camille Hart," someone said behind her. "You clean up nicely."

She turned.

It was Nathan Ross-Christian's head of security. Tall, broad, with that bodyguard smile that never reached his eyes.

"I didn't know you were on the guest list," he said casually.

"I didn't know you were checking it," she replied.

He chuckled. "You don't miss a beat, huh?"

"No. And neither does Christian, apparently."

Nathan studied her. "You know, when Mr. Ford invited you... some people thought it was a mistake."

"Was it?"

"Guess we'll find out."

She walked away before he could say more.

The Back Terrace – 10:04 PM

Camille stepped outside for air, only to freeze.

Two men stood in the shadows-voices low, clipped.

One was Christian.

The other... she didn't know.

She ducked behind a marble column, heart thudding.

"The numbers don't match, Ford," the man said. "The Singapore budget's short. You think I'm stupid?"

Christian's voice was cold. "I think you're greedy. The memo you buried exposed fraud. You tampered with client data."

"You don't want me talking to investors."

"You won't talk to anyone. You'll resign before Monday. Quietly. Or I'll release the original audit."

Camille's eyes widened.

Fraud? Data tampering?

Christian was covering something up. And she'd been dropped right into the center of it.

Suddenly, a sharp click of heels echoed behind her.

Too late.

"Eavesdropping?" a female voice asked.

Camille turned and saw the blonde woman from earlier.

She was even more stunning up close-icy eyes, a designer gown, and a smirk that could kill.

"I'm sorry," Camille said quickly. "I wasn't-"

"I know who you are," the woman interrupted. "The new assistant. The girl from nowhere."

Camille frowned. "And you are?"

"Vivian." She smiled. "Christian's ex-fiancée."

Oh.

The humiliation hit like a slap.

Vivian stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"Sweetheart, you should know-he always picks someone quiet before the fall. You're just the flavor of his guilt."

Camille's stomach dropped.

Vivian glanced toward the door. "He's not a man you get, darling. He's a man you survive."

She walked off like she'd just gifted Camille a prophecy.

And then Christian appeared.

He saw Camille. Saw her face.

"Snooping?" he asked softly, stepping beside her.

"I overheard-" she began.

"Then you heard nothing," he said sharply. "Not if you want to keep your job."

Camille met his gaze. "What are you hiding, Christian?"

He leaned in, whispering low against her ear.

"You want the truth? Be careful. You won't like who I am when the mask comes off."