Camila’s POV 

I couldn’t sleep. The folder sat on my table like a monster waiting to devour me, its edges sharp even in the dim lamplight. I hadn’t opened it, not yet. My fingers hovered over it countless times, but every time I reached, I pulled back, as if touching it would mean surrender.

I wasn’t going to surrender.

“Camila, you’re pacing again.” Rosa’s groggy voice drifted from the couch. She’d stayed over, refusing to leave me alone after Damian’s visit. Her hair was a messy halo, and her eyes were heavy with sleep.

I froze mid-step. “I can’t… stop thinking. It’s like he knows exactly where to hit.”

Rosa sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest. “Because he does. He knows you, Cam. He was your first everything. You can’t pretend he doesn’t still have power.”

I turned, anger and hurt crashing together. “He shouldn’t! Not after what he did.”

“Maybe not,” Rosa said softly. “But life doesn’t care about what should or shouldn’t be. Look at the bakery. Look at you.”

Her words stung because they were true.

I sat at the table, staring at the contract folder again. My hands shook as I whispered, “If I sign this, Rosa… what does that make me?”

“Someone who chose to survive.”

******************************

The next morning, I tried to go about business as usual. I baked. I decorated cupcakes. I smiled at customers. But every move felt robotic, like I was just going through the motions while my heart warred inside my chest.

By noon, suppliers called, again. One warning me of overdue invoices, another threatening to cut off shipments if payment didn’t come.

By two, the landlord showed up, “just checking in,” though his eyes darted toward my cash register like a vulture circling prey.

And by four, the ovens started to flicker, that familiar sputter that meant expensive repairs were inevitable.

The walls of Hazel & Crumb, my sanctuary, were crumbling around me.

I knew what I had to do.

************************

By five o’clock, I stood once more in the steel-and-glass fortress that was Wolfe Enterprises. The receptionist recognized me this time; she didn’t even ask my name.

“Mr. Wolfe is waiting.”

Of course he was.

The elevator doors opened to his office, and there he was, leaning casually against his desk as if he had all the time in the world.

“You came,” he said, voice calm, but I swore I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he’d won a battle he knew was inevitable.

I didn’t waste time. I slammed the folder down on his desk. “I’ll do it. I’ll sign.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t smirk, didn’t even move. He just watched me, his gaze sharp, intense. “You’re sure?”

“No,” I snapped. “I’m not sure. I’m furious. I hate this. I hate you. But I won’t let Hazel & Crumb die because of my pride.”

He tilted his head, studying me as if I were a puzzle only he could solve. “You think this is about pride?”

My jaw tightened. “Isn’t it? You get to watch me crawl back, admit I need you. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

His lips curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Crawl back? You make it sound like you were ever beneath me. Camila, you’ve never been beneath me. That’s what makes you dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I scoffed. “I’m standing here about to sell myself because I don’t have enough money to fix my ovens. That’s not dangerous, Damian. That’s pathetic.”

His eyes narrowed, sharp as glass. “You don’t see it, do you? That fire in you? Even now, when you’ve backed yourself into a corner, you’re still fighting me. Most people beg when they come into this office. You spit fire instead.”

“Don’t romanticize this,” I bit out. “I’m not here for your admiration. I’m here because I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he countered smoothly. “You could’ve walked away. Let the bakery go under. Moved on. But you didn’t. You came here.”

My throat burned. “Don’t twist this like I came because of you. I came in spite of you.”

His laugh was low, dangerous. “You tell yourself that if it helps you sleep. But we both know you wouldn’t be here if it were anyone else holding that contract.”

I froze. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, stepping forward, his cologne teasing the air between us, “that some part of you still trusts me, whether you want to admit it or not.”

The words hit me like a slap. “Trust you? Damian, you broke me. You left me when I needed you most. Whatever you think is still here, it’s not trust. It’s survival.”

Something flickered in his expression, dark and unreadable. “Maybe or maybe survival is just another way of saying you know I won’t let you fall.”

I shook my head, fury curling in my chest. “You don’t get to rewrite history. You let me fall once, and I’ve been clawing my way back ever since.”

He didn’t respond immediately. He just studied me, so still it unnerved me. Then he said softly, “And yet… you came back to me.”

My hands clenched. “Don’t twist this into fate. It’s not fate, it’s desperation.”

His voice lowered, silk over steel. “Call it whatever you want. But desperation has a way of binding people tighter than love ever could.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse thundering. “You sound proud of that.”

“I’m pragmatic,” he replied. “Love breaks. Contracts don’t.”

The cruel simplicity of it knocked the wind out of me. “You really believe that?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. Then, softer: “Because I’ve lived it.”

Something unspoken lingered in his tone, but I shoved it aside, refusing to let curiosity crack my armor. “You’re heartless.”

“Wrong,” he murmured, his gaze pinning me in place. “I just learned the cost of giving someone everything. And I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Glad to know I’m just a mistake to you,” I hissed.

His jaw tightened. “Don’t put words in my mouth. If you were just a mistake, Camila, I wouldn’t need you now.”

That confession rattled me more than I wanted it to. I forced a scoff. “Need me? You mean you need a warm body to parade around until your board stops breathing down your neck.”

His lips twitched, almost amused. “Parade you around? If that’s all I wanted, I could’ve chosen anyone. You know it. I chose you for a reason.”

I shook my head, refusing to take the bait. “Whatever the reason is, I don’t care. I’ll sign, I’ll play your game, but don’t think for one second this makes us equals again.”

“Again?” he repeated quietly. “Camila, we were never equals. We were fire and fuel. One always consumes the other.”

I refused to let his words sink in. I straightened my spine, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Give me the damn pen.”

Finally, a flicker of something crossed his face. Regret? Relief? It was gone too quickly to read.

“Then sign, Camila.”

I flipped the folder open, the legal pages blurring before me. My hands trembled as I took the pen he handed me. His fingers brushed mine, warm, steady, deliberate, and the contact burned through me like fire.

I signed. My name etched across the line, binding me not just to a contract, but to him.

When the pen dropped, I felt my chest cave in. Like I’d given away something I could never take back.

Damian closed the folder with quiet finality. “It’s done.”

I glared at him, forcing strength into my voice. “Don’t think this means you’ve won.”

He stepped closer, his presence swallowing me whole. “Camila,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine with a weight that made my heart race. “This isn’t about winning. Not yet.”