Chapter Twelve: Cam

Shit… Shit… why am I so stupid? Why did I turn around when she asked me to? Why couldn’t I detect that jerk before she did? Did she try to protect me? I hit the steering wheel with my palm. But why did she protect me? I thought all these times she hated me. She was only nice to me in front of my parents, but now there’s no one on the balcony. I glance at her face as I drive the car. Her hair falls slowly over her face and shoulders, so I reach out and tuck it behind her ear with one hand. She shifts slightly when my hand touches her cheek lightly. Is she teasing me?

As I look down at her leg, I notice the handkerchief I tied around it when I laid her down in the seat. Man, this woman will be my death one day—how careless can she be? Plus, what happened to her in the past that made her like this? She didn’t even cry when she got a knife cut; she’s so strange. Most women cry over small cuts, let alone a knife wound.

Soon, we reach the hospital. I carry her inside, and when we reach the reception, I ask her to call Tomas. Not long after, he arrives. When he sees me carrying a girl, he raises an eyebrow. “Dude, who’s she? She’s super sexy. Look at her big... ”

“Drop it, Tomas,” I snap. “She’s my wife. Treat her. No funny business.”

He holds up his hands in mock defense. “Wow… wow… wow, when did this happen?”

I glance at him sharply. “Long story. Treat her. She got stabbed in the thigh. Keep your hands off limits.”

He calls a nurse who was passing by and takes us into his cabin. It doesn’t take long for her to get treated.

“So, what happened to her? She’s sleeping so soundly,” Tomas remarks, scribbling on his notepad.

“I don’t know. First time I’ve seen her sleep so peacefully,” I reply, running my fingers gently through her hair. “Maybe she had a lot to drink?”

Tomas writes out some names of medicines on a note and hands it to me. “So, if she’s your wife, what about Stella?”

I stop mid-thought. Stella. I hadn’t thought about her all night. “It’s complicated,” I answer vaguely, not wanting to get into it with Tomas. I thank him, pick June up in my arms, and head out.

This isn’t the first time I haven’t thought about Stella. Whenever I’m with Miss Luper, I don’t seem to think about Stella much. I glance down at June’s sleeping face—she looks so cute and peaceful. Wait, did I just call her cute? I shake my head.

As I sit in the car, I notice sixty missed calls from Stella. Damn it, this is going to be a nightmare. I try calling her back, but she picks up on the third try, her voice cracking with tears. “Hey baby, I just saw your call. I got occupied with something.” I glance over at June as I say it.

“It took you forever to call back,” she snaps.

I scratch my temple, trying to think of an excuse. “Left my phone in the car. I told you I was going for a party.”

She doesn’t buy it. “Okay, enjoy your party. My mom called and asked me to come over. I’ll be staying here until you decide on a date for us to get married.” She hangs up without waiting for a reply.

I hit the steering wheel in frustration. But when I hear June hum softly, I glance at her. She’s just adjusting herself in the seat comfortably. I smile a little at how cute she looks now. I remove my blazer and place it over her.

When we reach my home, the place is empty. I lay her down on my bed and tuck her in with a blanket. I consider removing her dress but decide to leave it on for now. I walk out of the room and head straight to the kitchen. It seems like the maid didn’t cook anything because I told her I’d be eating out. I guess I’ll have to cook something.

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As I prepare a simple meal, I can’t help but think about June’s strange behavior tonight. It’s as if she has a whole other side to her—one that’s cautious, tough, and fiercely independent. Why did she act like she didn’t need help with the knife wound? I glance back at her, lying on the bed, her brow furrowed as she sleeps soundly. What kind of past did she have that made her this way? It nags at me, but she’s not ready to talk about it. Not yet, at least.

I hear footsteps coming down the hall, and a maid walks in with a tray of food. “Sir, I thought you might be hungry too,” she says, setting the tray down. “Would you like me to leave you two alone?”

“No, stay. I might need some help if she wakes up,” I reply, my attention mostly on June. The maid nods and steps back.

I take a deep breath, feeling a mix of frustration and concern. I haven’t had a proper meal since last night. “I’m going to eat. Make sure she’s comfortable,” I instruct the maid as I sit down at the small dining table in the kitchen.

I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed Matthew. “Yes, sir,” he replied once the call connected.

“Cancel our contracts with the names I’ve sent you in the text and make sure they go bankrupt. I don’t want any of them seeing another morning in their houses,” I commanded sharply.

“Sure, Sir,” Matthew’s voice was calm, professional as always. But then he hesitated before speaking again. “But, Sir, the message you sent me—it has more than ten companies listed.”

“So?” I asked, frustration creeping into my voice. I needed him to move faster to get this done without asking questions.

“Nothing, sir,” Matthew said quickly. “I’ll get to work now.”

“Good,” I replied, hanging up the phone and returning it to my pocket.