Chapter 26 What madness is this?
She didn’t move. She hadn’t moved for hours. Not since Camille Lustrelle had kissed her and vanished out of her office, leaving behind a trail of heat and chaos that refused to dissipate. The room had grown darker around her, the evening bleeding through the glass walls, painting the office in muted shadows. She hadn’t even bothered to flick on the lights. She didn’t trust her legs. She didn’t trust her hands. She didn’t trust herself. The strength, the iron will that had carried her through years of command, had evaporated the moment Camille had pulled her forward, reckless and insistent, and kissed her.
Her hand lifted almost on its own, trembling, brushed her lips, tracing the echo of the heat that still lingered there. Her eyes closed, shutting out the dim office, the growing darkness, and the world outside. She relived it again: the tilt of Camille’s head, the soft daring press of her lips, the fire that shot through her chest and pooled low, impossible to ignore. The memory looped, relentless, and Holland let it.
Camille.
The name carried the memory like a pulse she could not contain. Camille Lustrelle had infiltrated her mind from the first encounter, weeks ago, in that coffee line. The Lustrelle girl had been bright, reckless, alive in a way that had grated against Holland’s control, and now… now she had kissed her. Bold. Unrestrained. Insistent. And Holland had kissed back. That fact alone should have shocked her more, and yet it did. Her chest tightened at the realization, at the audacity, at the fire Camille had ignited.
Her eyes stayed closed as the memory replayed, and the tight knot in her stomach deepened. She had never imagined, never allowed herself to imagine, that the young woman would cross boundaries in that way, that she herself would respond. And yet, she had. Every careful rule, every brick she had built around herself, had crumbled, leaving only heat and a dizzying, unsettling confusion.
The drunken phone call, the confrontation that followed… it all made sense in one sense, and yet, it made none at all. How their words had spiraled, collided, flared into that kiss, still escaped her understanding. That she had kissed Camille back, that she had let herself be pulled in, what madness was that?
Why?
A shiver traveled down her spine. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it escaped in a long, soft sigh. The tingling of her lips, the warmth that lingered like embers, made her pulse hammer against her ears. Every nerve hummed, alive, untethered. She had never imagined, never allowed herself to imagine, responding in kind. And yet she had. Every careful boundary, every measure of restraint, had fallen away.
Holland opened her eyes slowly.
The city outside was alive, glowing, whole. Lights twinkled like distant stars along the streets, reflecting off glass towers, painting everything in gold and silver. The world seemed impossibly beautiful, impossibly calm, as if nothing inside her life had ever shaken her foundation, as if nothing inside her office had just exploded into chaos. Her pulse throbbed against that incongruity. How could the world remain so complete while her carefully structured life, her carefully maintained self, had been torn open by a single, audacious kiss?
She exhaled softly, shoulders sagging, allowing herself a pause she had never given herself. Her phone buzzed somewhere on the desk, the persistent hum calling out to her, but she ignored it. She didn’t care about time, didn’t care about the clock or the stack of files she hadn’t touched since Camille had kissed her. She didn’t know what time it was, but she knew she had been sitting here for hours, unmoving, trapped in the aftermath of what had just happened.
Oliver would be looking for her. He probably already had. His presence lately was only growing and feeling more like a weight than support. He could wait. He could wait while she wrestled with the storm in her mind, while she sorted through the chaos Camille had unleashed, while she tried to find some thread of control in a world that had suddenly tipped sideways.
Her eyes drifted back to the window, to the darkness beyond, and she let herself sink into it. Not into fear, not yet, but into the memory itself. She closed her eyes again and let the image of Camille’s lips press to hers fill her mind, occupying every thought, every nerve. The warmth of the moment, the recklessness, consuming heat, pressed into her memory as though branding itself there.
Holland allowed herself to be accosted by the memory, to surrender for just a moment to the sensation that had upended her so completely. She could almost feel the brush of Camille’s hands, the heat of her presence pressing against her, the weight of the kiss, soft yet demanding. She let herself feel it fully, without restraint, without judgment.
Her hands trembled at her sides, fingers brushing the edge of the desk, gripping lightly. She let herself inhale and exhale slowly, methodically, letting the rhythm of her body try to match the rhythm of the memory. She wasn’t moving, couldn’t move, not yet. She only let herself feel. Only let herself remember. Only let herself confront the raw, unnameable stirrings that Camille Lustrelle had awakened inside her.
She let herself think of Camille’s voice, low, daring, the way she had leaned in, the way her eyes had caught Holland’s gaze and held it. The boldness, the fire, the fearless edge, everything Camille had been, all in that kiss. Holland let the image wash over her, letting the pulse of it sink into her bones.
Her lips tingled, still warm from the memory. Her chest rose and fell too fast, unevenly, and she realized she had been holding her breath, letting the world blur around her while she remained locked in that singular, defiant, electric moment.
Outside, the city still moved, oblivious to the war inside her mind, oblivious to the storm Camille had ignited. And Holland remained seated, hips pressed to the edge of her chair, back straight yet heavy with the weight of her own thoughts. Minutes, hours… it didn’t matter. She was suspended in the aftermath, in the echo of that kiss, and in the unrelenting pull of a young woman she shouldn’t have imagined herself let happen, but couldn’t stop thinking about.
Silence pressed against her, heavy, intimate. It carried every word unsaid, every rule she had broken, every line she had crossed in her own mind. She let it fill her, let it roll over her like a tide she could not fight. Her fingers lifted once more to her lips, tracing lightly, brushing, confirming the reality that had happened, daring herself to believe it.
Her mind flickered, unwillingly, through the events that had led here. The phone call, slurred and reckless. The confrontation, sharp, tense, charged. Her control, her discipline, each fragment of herself that had been meticulously maintained… all had unraveled. And yet, there had been no regret, only a thrill, a confusion, and the undeniable, raw pull toward the woman who had done this to her.
Holland closed her eyes, finally letting herself collapse inward, letting the walls she had built crumble for a moment. She let herself remember every second, every brush of lips, every daring press, every chaotic surge of desire and fear. She let herself be consumed by the memory, letting it thread through her blood, through her chest, through her very bones. Only when she did that did she believe she could begin to make sense of it, could begin to untangle the mess of heat and longing and confusion.
Her eyes opened again, drawn to the window, to the darkened world outside. The sky had deepened to indigo, scattered with lights from the streets below. It was calm, whole, unbroken. And she… she was anything but. Her world, her mind, her carefully ordered existence, had been shaken, turned over, flooded with something raw and unyielding that she had never anticipated.
Her office now felt smaller, tighter, more intimate, as if the space itself were shrinking under the weight of what had transpired. Shadows clung to corners and glass. Every object, every chair, every stack of paper seemed to hum with the echo of what had occurred. She let herself touch the memory again, fingers tracing lips, chest rising fast, the tingling warmth still vivid. Every detail returned, relentless, vivid, demanding acknowledgment.
A sigh escaped her, long, soft, unguarded. She let it pass over her, letting the air fill her chest and leave her, letting herself sink further into the memory of that moment, that kiss. She ignored her phone's buzzing again, allowing herself to be still. Just for a moment, she let herself feel, unrestrained and unashamed.
Oliver could wait. Everything else could wait. Right now, there was only this: the fire Camille had started inside her, the storm she could not yet name, and the echo of lips pressed against hers.
Holland closed her eyes once more, letting herself be carried by the memory fully. Letting the weight of it sink in, letting herself taste it again, feel it again, live it again. Only then, only once she had surrendered to it, did she believe she could confront the world again, could regain control, could find a solution to the chaos Camille had left in her wake.
Only then.
She let herself linger there, in the dark, in the aftermath, in the memory that refused to fade, letting it pull her apart and put her back together in ways she could not yet understand.
Only then could she imagine moving forward.