Chapter Two.
Kyomi's POV.
The apartment was cold and lifeless. Not physically, but emotionally. Like all the warmth had been sucked out, leaving only emptiness behind.
I stood in the middle of the living room still in my wet blue gown, my hands trembling and mascara streaking down my cheeks like war paint. My chest ached and my throat burned from screaming silently into the void, but it wasn't over.
I grabbed my phone and dialed the one number I thought would bring me comfort.
"Mom," I croaked when she picked up. "Can I come over?"
***
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting stiffly on the leather couch in my parents' palatial home, trying to stay upright while my world spun. My mother sat opposite me with arms folded tightly, while my father leaned against the wall, his expression unreadable.
"But I don't understand," I began, my voice hollow. "How could you not tell me? How long have you known about Kia and Darren?"
My mother exchanged a look with my father, then sighed. "Kyomi…it wasn't our place to say anything."
I blinked at her, stunned into a momentary silence. "Wasn't your place? He's my husband. She's my sister. You're my mother, mom! You knew and said nothing?"
"They're in love," my father cut in. "And youhave to understand that love doesn't always follow the rules."
"Love?" I choked on a bitter laugh. "Are you really justifying this right now? They betrayed me!"
"Kia came to us first," my mother said, her tone clipped. "She was heartbroken, and she never meant for it to happen, but feelings developed. We couldn't turn our backs on our own daughter."
"And what about me?" I whispered. "Am I not your daughter too?"
My parents stared back at me in silence.
It hit me harder than a slap, as their silence said it all.
My mother looked away. "You've always been the strong one, Kyomi. We thought you'd have handled it better."
I staggered to my feet, heart pounding so loudly I couldn't hear anything else. "You didn't think of me at all. That's the truth, isn't it?"
"Don't be dramatic," my father said, waving his hand dismissively.
I turned without another word and walked out of the house, biting down the scream fighting to leave my throat.
It started to rain. Again.
Of course it did, I chuckled to myself.
I wandered through the city streets for hours. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't care. My heels ached, my dress was soaked and my heart was in ruins. Everything I'd believed in: family, love, loyalty—it was all a lie.
Eventually, I found myself in a hotel bar, the kind that reeked of old money and new secrets. A quiet hum of jazz filled the space, and the bartender gave me a pitying look as he handed over a glass of something amber and sharp.
I downed it in one gulp, savoring the burn if the whiskey as it poured down my throat, settling warm and heady in my stomach.
Then I drank another glass. And another.
Somewhere between the third and fourth drink, he appeared.
Tall and wearing a sharp suit, with a pair of moldering green eyes and inky dark locks that looked like they were messed up on purpose. He had an aura about him, calm dangerous and confident, a little bored. Like he owned the world, and he was tired of waiting for it to amuse him.
"Rough night?" he asked, sliding onto the barstool beside me.
I turned to him slowly, managing a broken smile. "You could say that."
He eyed my ruined mascara, the disheveled hair, the limp gown clinging to my skin, yet he showed no visible reaction to my disheveled state.
"Want to talk about it?" he offered.
"No," I said, reaching for another drink. "But I wouldn't mind forgetting it."
He smiled, and it was like a bright flash, like lightning cutting through a storm.
"I can help with that."
His voice was deep and smooth—something about it curled around my spine and settled there.
I should've walked away, should've told him I wasn't that kind of girl.
But I didn't.
I was tired of being the good girl, tired of being betrayed for following the rules.
So I leaned in, lips barely brushing his ear. "Then help me forget."
***
The penthouse suite was quiet when I woke up, sunlight pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows. I blinked, confused by the sheer size and elegance of the space. The sheets were silk, the scent of the room unfamiliar but intoxicating–spicy cologne, expensive and masculine.
And then I remembered.
I turned my head.
He was already awake, and he lounged shirtless in a chair by the window, holding a glass of whiskey in his hand. Not a trace of shame marred his handsome face, just a lazy smirk stood in place.
"Morning, beautiful," he said. "Sleep well?"
Panic seized me.
"Did we…did we do anything last night?"
He quirked an eyebrow, "You really want the answer to that?"
I sat up, clutching the sheets. "This can't be happening! I don't even know your name!"
He rose, walking toward me with that same smooth, predatory grace. He stopped at the foot of the bed, his eyes darkening as they met mine.
"Camden," he said simply, like he expected me to recognise him by name alone. "Camden Brown."
The name didn't register at first, and I thought harder.
Until it did.
And when it did, my blood ran cold.
Camden Brown.
The name splashed across magazines, whispered in boardrooms, envied in socialite circles. Billionaire. Heir to the Brown Empire. Known womanizer. Ruthless investor. A man whose name alone moved stock prices and closed deals.
And I just had a one night stand with him.
My jaw dropped. "You're Camden Brown? THE CAMDEN BROWN? "
He gave a lazy nod, like it meant nothing.
I wanted to scream.
Before I could, his phone buzzed. He picked it up, read something, then gave me a look that made the pit of my stomach twist.
"What?" I asked warily.
He tossed the phone onto the bed beside me.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw the screen.
A tabloid article, published just minutes ago, the headline bold and brutal:
"Wife Crashes Twin Sister's Wedding to Husband–Love Triangle Exposed!"
And there, front and center, was a photo of me– with my tear-streaked face, screaming and clutching the divorce papers. Darren and Kia stood smugly in the background.
I felt my soul leave my body.
"You're trending," Camden said with a smirk. "Quite the scandal."
My throat was dry. "You knew?"
"No," he said honestly. "But this… this is going to be interesting."
He sat back down, his gaze unreadable now.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice trembling.
His smile widened. "I think the better question, Kyomi, is–what do you want?"
And that was when it hit me.
This man… he could destroy Darren and Kia's perfect little life with a snap of his fingers.
And for the first time in days, a seed of power bloomed in my chest.
But I had no idea just how dangerous Camden Brown truly was.