"I just wanted to know if you have a girlfriend," I ask, my voice small, unsure, as if the very question is stupid–It probably is though.
Camden bursts into laughter, the sound deep and genuine, but I feel small under the weight of it. "Absolutely not."
I blink, my chest tightening. "Really? You don't?"
He shrugs, still grinning. "You know about my reputation, Kendall. You know that I don't do relationships."
I hum softly, unsure how to respond. "Doesn't mean you don't have a girl who'd get mad if she knew you said that," I tease, but the uncertainty lingers. I need to know.
"Maybe," he says with a grin. "But I don't. Not right now." His gaze turns intense, locking with mine. "What about you? Do you have someone at home?"
"Don't you think Elora would have told you about it?" I say, trying to deflect the question, but my voice wavers.
He shrugs again. "She keeps your secrets."
"She does? News to me," I mutter under my breath, unsure if I believe that. Camden's eyes are still fixed on me, sharp and insistent.
"You didn't answer my question."
I bite my lip, unsure how to explain what I'm feeling. "You really think I have a boyfriend? Me?"
His gaze softens, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Why wouldn't you? Looking the way you do." There's something almost tender in his voice.
"I don't," I say simply. "Not in a really long time."
Camden's eyes never leave mine. There's a quiet intensity there, something raw that makes my heart skip a beat. "Good," he mutters, his voice low.
"Why do you ask, Mr. Andretti?" I tease, trying to lighten the mood, but the words feel heavy in the air. "Would you be jealous?"
"Very," he admits, his voice rough with something I can't place. He looks away for a moment, as if embarrassed by the admission. "Guess I'm territorial."
"Me too," I say, my voice soft, matching his intensity. "That's why I wanted to know."
"Well, there's only you, principessa," he says softly, and my heart stutters. The words are like a promise, a balm for my racing thoughts. "At least for now."
The way he says it, so casually, sends a shiver down my spine.
For now.
I try to fight the frown that pulls at my lips, but it's there, deep inside. I know this can't last. I know he'll leave, and I'll be left with nothing but memories of this strange, dangerous time.
"I'm not feeling too well," I say, the lie slipping off my tongue so easily. "Think I'll skip dessert."
Camden frowns, his concern written across his face. "But I bought your weird birthday cake ice cream."
I smile at him weakly, though it doesn't reach my eyes. "Maybe tomorrow."
I walk toward the bedroom, my body heavy with the weight of unspoken words, unspoken fears. I change into the nightie I bought earlier, a delicate, lace-trimmed thing that feels too fragile against the storm brewing inside me.
When Camden finally joins me in bed, he wraps his arms around me as if I'm the only thing keeping him grounded to the world. His fingers trace the lace of my nightie, his touch soft, almost reverent.
He hums a tune against my hair, and his lips press a gentle kiss to the crown of my head. The comfort of it washes over me, and finally, I fall into a deep, restless sleep.
----
Camden stands at the end of the bed, staring at me, his figure a dark shape against the blackness of the room. The shadows hide his face, covering it in a way that makes my skin crawl. I can't quite make out his expression, but I feel his eyes on me, heavy, unblinking.
"What are you doing up?" I ask, my voice weak, as I stretch and sit up, the covers tangled around my legs. The air feels colder now, the kind of cold that seeps deep into your bones. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"Couldn't sleep," he mutters, but there's something wrong with the way the words come out, like they aren't his. Something thick, liquid, in his voice makes my stomach twist.
"Camden?" I call, my voice cracking, panic rising in my throat. Suddenly, the darkness feels suffocating. I rub my arms with my hands, trying to warm myself, but it doesn't help. Goosebumps cover my skin, and an icy tremor spreads to my fingertips. My heart hammers in my chest, too fast, too hard.
"Go back to sleep. It'll be easier that way," he says, his voice low and dangerous, as he steps closer. The floor creaks under his weight, each step slow, deliberate, like he's enjoying this.
I swallow, trying to steady my breath, but then my eyes lock onto his face as the moonlight breaks through the window, casting a sickly glow across the room.
It's not Camden standing there.
It's Marco.
His eyes-those cold, unnatural blue eyes-stare down at me, empty and dead, replacing Camden's sea-green ones. My blood turns to ice, my whole body stiffening, as if the world has shifted, throwing me off balance. But that's not even the worst part.
The worst part is the blood.
A dark, thick line trails from his forehead, dripping down his face, slick and red. It runs in streams, like it's been there for hours, maybe days. The blood pools in his eye, turning it into a dark, sickening puddle of red, blurring the blue until nothing's left but a watery, twisted mess.
The sight is so wrong, so unnatural, that my breath catches in my throat. The blood-his blood-fills the space between us, a bridge to something too horrible to understand.
I want to scream. I want to run. But I can't. My body freezes, my mind unable to make sense of what's happening.
Marco's lips curl into a slow, wicked smile that doesn't belong on his face, and every ounce of fear I've ever felt floods my veins all at once, overwhelming me. All I can do is tremble, waiting for him to come closer.