Chapter 142: Bad Temper

Meanwhile, not very far from the townhouse of bliss, Callum Sterling was crashing out spectacularly.

His father had just laughed at him.

Victor Sterling had listened to the account of Blackstone, taken in the fact that Callum had spent an obscene amount of money arranging Dorian Heathcliffe’s presence at the forum, only for the evening to end in favour of the couple and embarrassingly for his son. He hadn’t had such a laugh in a long time.

Callum stormed out.

Dorian had made a fool of him.

He had donated, pulled strings, positioned people and made sure the forum gave Dorian exactly the platform he wanted because Callum had been certain it would expose him to Naomi.

Instead, Heathcliffe had somehow walked away looking better.

Son of a bitch.

And Naomi?

That fucking cunt.

Callum’s hands curled into fists. He was going to make sure she regretted every single moment of this insult.

How dare they? How dare either of them treat him with that kind of disdain? He was Callum fucking Sterling. He had been born into rooms people begged to enter. Raised around money, influence and men who moved entire businesses with a phone call. He was supposed to be respected.

Worshipped, if people had any sense. Not swiped onto his ass in front of a crowd.

Callum pushed through the doors and stepped into the mansion’s yard, still burning with humiliation. His driver looked up as he was about to retire for the night.

"Mr. Sterling, you going somewhere again?"

"Get the fuck out of my sight," Callum snarled.

The driver, who really should have known better than to speak to him after witnessing his mood all the way home from the event, said nothing.

He simply stepped back.

"Wait!"

The driver stopped.

Callum turned toward him, anger still crawling beneath his skin. "You’re ex-Marine, right?"

"Yes."

"You have contacts?"

"What kind of contacts?"

"The kind that can get things done."

"That depends on what things."

Callum glanced back toward the mansion, making sure his father wasn’t anywhere nearby. "Maybe roughing someone up. Doing a little damage."

The man replied, "I know some people."

Callum’s mouth curved slightly. "I need to meet those people."

"Is there anything specific you want done?"

"I’ll talk to the necessary people when you bring them to me."

The driver didn’t ask another question. He nodded once. "I’ll see what I can do."

Callum watched him walk away.

Only when the man was safely out of earshot did Callum’s expression darken again.

He could still see Dorian’s face.

That smug bastard standing there like he owned every room he entered.

The man had actually tripped him and acted innocent afterward.

The humiliation.

"Oh, you wait, Heathcliffe. You just wait... I’m going to fuck you up in so many ways, you’ll wish you never met me."

*****

Across town, Camille was having a very different kind of evening. A glass of wine, her laptop and an unhealthy amount of determination.

She sat in the living area of her penthouse, going through everything she could find about Naomi Bennett online.

Every tagged photo. Every old post. Every account connected to her name.

Camille wanted to know her opponent.

More importantly, she needed to understand her. Because Naomi Bennett had somehow managed something Camille never had.

Dorian wanted her.

She had spent years married to Dorian and never once gotten the version of him she had seen tonight.

Public displays had always required strategy with Dorian.

He tolerated them at best.

But with Naomi, there had been no hesitation. And the bitch barely had followers. There had to be something.

Some advantage Naomi had that Camille had missed. So far, she knew one thing for certain.

Dorian had married Naomi in Vegas on the exact day his divorce from Camille had been finalized.

It hadn’t been planned.

He had married Naomi impulsively.

Maybe Dorian had married Naomi to spite her.

Camille was still staring at the screen, trying to make sense of the timeline, when the private elevator chimed. Her entire body stiffened. She knew exactly who it was. Camille quickly got to her feet, smoothing her clothes before clasping her fingers tightly in front of her.

The elevator doors opened.

He didn’t need permission to enter. He was paying for the penthouse anyway.

Alistair stepped out. His eyes landed on her. "You failed." His voice was deep and quiet.

Camille’s stomach dropped. "No. No, I promise I didn’t." She stepped toward him quickly. "This is just a setback. I underestimated the girl."

"I do not pay you what I pay you, keep you in this lifestyle, for you to underestimate anyone. You were never supposed to divorce him in the first place."

Alistair walked farther into the penthouse, looking around at the expensive furniture, the artwork, the view, everything Camille had grown comfortable calling hers.

Then he looked back at her.

"Why did I think an ordinary influencer would be able to keep a man?"

"Alistair..."

"Stop talking. Just stop. This was always supposed to be simple. You marry the man. You stay married to the man. You tell me what he does."

Camille swallowed. "And I did!" she argued. "I married him!"

"And you got comfortable, you fucking bitch! You got comfortable. The money. The name. The access. You thought Dorian had enough money to maintain the lifestyle you wanted, so suddenly you didn’t need me anymore."

"That’s not—"

"How stupid can you be?"

Camille’s jaw trembled.

Alistair had been very clear from the beginning.

Marry Dorian.

Stay close.

Watch him.

Listen.

Report.

Dorian was difficult to read from the outside, but marriage was supposed to give Camille access no one else had.

All she had needed to do was stay useful. Instead, somewhere along the way, Camille had started believing the marriage itself was enough.

That being Mrs. Dorian Heathcliffe meant she had finally arrived. That she no longer needed the man who had put her there.

"I’m sorry," she said quietly.

Alistair laughed. "Sorry?"

"I... I fell in love with him."