Chapter 371

Elvis had already taken care of the two foreigners, along with their useless bodyguards who were no match for him. He left them battered and bruised, noses bleeding, faces swollen, locked inside the restroom stall with a "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging outside.

Pathetic.

They barely gave him a warm-up.

But he couldn’t afford to make a scene. This was Elmsworth, not overseas. Given his position, he had to keep things low-key.

As he stepped out of the nightclub, his phone buzzed—Arnold calling.

"All done," Elvis said, stifling a yawn. "You can relax and enjoy your time with your girlfriend now. They won’t be bothering her again."

"She’s not my girlfriend," Arnold snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

Elvis smirked. "Oh, please. The way you swooped in like some knight in shining armor? The way she knew your name and practically threw herself into your arms? Don’t insult my intelligence."

He whistled. "What’s the big deal? Dating isn’t a crime. Or are you planning to stay single until you’re forty and officially labeled an old bachelor?"

"Elvis," Arnold growled, taking a deep breath. "Do me a favor."

"Name it."

"Dig into those two guys who harassed Camille tonight. We only handled half the problem. I don’t want them coming after her again."

"Already on it," Elvis said. "They’re just high-ranking execs from some foreign construction company. Not exactly big players in Elmsworth."

"Construction company?"

"Yeah. Your girlfriend sure knows how to pick her acquaintances."

Elvis chuckled. "Evadne’s going to love this juicy gossip."

Arnold’s voice turned icy. "If you care about Evadne’s peace of mind, don’t breathe a word of this to her."

A pause.

"Camille is her best friend," Arnold continued, his tone softening slightly. "If she finds out, she’ll lose sleep over it."

Elvis blinked. "Well, well. Small world."

"Shut up. I’m hanging up."

And just like that, the line went dead.

Elvis grinned, then pulled out his sleek, ultra-thin laptop—a piece of cutting-edge tech standard for senior agents like him. With a few taps, he pulled up the license plate of the luxury car from earlier.

The results flashed on screen.

"Chambers Group?" He arched a brow. "Interesting."

His gaze darkened as he thought of that face—so eerily similar to Evadne’s.

"Ms. Archer," he murmured. "Whose side are you really on? Matthew’s? Byron’s? Or Avery’s?"

Arnold brought Camille back to his apartment in Elmsworth.

For the prestigious heir of the Ashbourne family, his place was surprisingly modest—simple, clean, nothing extravagant.

Camille blinked, taking it in.

"You can stay here tonight," Arnold said, leading her to a guest room. "There’s a bathroom inside, and some spare pajamas in the closet. If you don’t mind wearing them."

Camille sighed. "Why are you so stubborn?"

Arnold crossed his arms. "Because you’re Evadne’s best friend. I can’t just walk away."

"About her—"

"Don’t worry," he cut in. "I won’t tell Evadne. I don’t want her worrying any more than you do."

Camille exhaled, relieved.

Evadne wasn’t just the person who’d saved her years ago—she was family. The last thing Camille wanted was to burden her.

Then her phone rang.

Her face paled as she glanced at the screen, fingers tightening around the device.

Arnold sensed the shift in her mood. Without a word, he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

But he didn’t leave.

He lingered, listening.

It wasn’t right, he knew. But something about Camille—something broken and guarded—made him want to protect her.

And despite his questions, she hadn’t told him the full truth.

As a prosecutor, he could spot evasion a mile away.

Inside the room, Camille took a shaky breath before answering.

"Dad."

"What the hell happened tonight?" Mr. Evert’s voice was cold, sharp with accusation.

"There was... an incident. The dinner ended early." Her voice was hoarse.

"What kind of incident? Do you have any idea how important this was?"

Mrs. Evert’s shrill voice cut in. "I told you she’d ruin everything! She’s useless!"

Camille’s fists clenched, her knuckles white.

One secret even Evadne didn’t know—Camille was the illegitimate daughter of the Evert Group’s CEO. Unacknowledged. Unwanted.

At sixteen, she’d nearly been raped by her uncle. Her mother, in a fit of rage, had stabbed him to death. The Everts, desperate to avoid scandal, had pulled strings—her mother was declared mentally unstable, locked away in an institution.

For years, they’d controlled Camille. Even now, as a successful designer, they held power over her.

Mrs. Evert had two golden children—a son, the heir, and a daughter, her pride.

Camille? She was nothing.

"Where are you?" Mr. Evert demanded.

"At a friend’s place."

"Tomorrow, you will come with me to apologize to those executives!"

Camille’s stomach twisted. The memory of their hands on her, their leering faces—

"No." Her voice was steel. "I won’t go."

"What did you say?!"

"You heard me. If you want to grovel, do it yourself."

Mrs. Evert sneered. "Do you have any idea what you’ve cost us? Thirty million dollars, Camille! How do you plan to repay that? With your pathetic little designs?"

"I’ll find a way to cover the loss."

"With what? Your sewing money?"

A laugh echoed in the background—her half-sister, Eunice.

"Come home now," Mr. Evert ordered.

"No." Camille’s voice cracked. "Did you know? Did you know what they were going to do to me?"

Silence.

Then, softer but no less cruel: "Camille, the family is in trouble. Sacrifices have to be made. Your sister is marrying into the Ger family for this very reason."

Tears burned her eyes. "You knew. And you sent me there anyway."

No answer.

Camille’s voice broke. "Is this what family does? Throw their own daughter into the fire?"

Arnold, standing outside, caught enough to piece it together.

His blood boiled.

What kind of monsters were these people?

A soft thud came from inside.

Worried, he knocked. No answer.

He pushed the door open—

"Camille?!"

She lay on the floor, unconscious, her face deathly pale.

Arnold dropped to his knees, checking her pulse.

Nothing.

Fear spiked through him.

"Stay with me!"

He started CPR, counting under his breath.

No response.

"Camille!"

Her lips were turning blue. Without hesitation, he leaned down, sealing his mouth over hers, breathing life back into her.

One breath. Two.

Her chest rose—then she gasped, eyes fluttering open.

Dazed, her hand reached up, brushing his cheek.

Arnold froze.

Then—

She pulled him down.

Their lips met.

Soft. Warm.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she deepened the kiss, her breath sweet with lingering alcohol.

Arnold’s restraint shattered.

He kissed her back, hard, his hands gripping her waist.

He didn’t know how they’d gotten here.

But one thing was certain—

He didn’t want to stop.