She arrives at his office at 8:47 PM.
The building is mostly empty. Security waves her through—she's been here enough times that they know her now. The elevator ride to the forty-seventh floor feels like climbing toward her own destruction.
She's been rehearsing this conversation all day. In the shower. In the car. In the mirror of her apartment bathroom. But now that she's here, every word disappears.
Cameron is at his desk when she enters. He's still in his suit from this morning. His tie is loosened. His hair is disheveled like he's been running his hands through it. He looks up at her, and she watches his body go rigid.
"We need to talk about Victoria," Scarlett says before she loses her nerve.
Cameron sets down his pen slowly. "It's late, Scarlett. Go home."
"No," she says. She closes the office door behind her. "We're done pretending. We're done dancing around it. We're talking about this now."
"There's nothing to discuss," Cameron says coldly.
"Exactly," Scarlett says. The word comes out sharp. "Nothing to discuss. But everything to hide. That's the problem, Cameron. You help her with everything. You laugh with her. You remember her coffee order. You stand up when she walks in the room. You become someone warm and real and present. But with me?"
She walks closer to his desk. She doesn't stop until she's standing directly in front of him.
"With me, I'm a contract you fulfill. I'm a schedule you manage. I'm a performance you execute. You agreed to be fake-engaged to me, but you won't even pretend to actually see me. I signed up to lie to the world about us, but I didn't sign up to be invisible in the real moments. The private moments. The moments when no one is watching."
"You're not invisible," Cameron says, but his voice is flat. Dead.
"Then why do you only touch me when cameras are watching?" Scarlett's voice breaks. "Why did you need me to tell you I was cold before you gave me your jacket? Why does she get your warmth and I get your distance? Why can't you look at me like you look at her?"
Cameron stands. His chair scrapes back loudly.
"Because I can't," he says, and the words are raw. "I can't do what you're asking."
"I'm not asking for much," Scarlett says. "I'm asking you to treat me like I matter. Like I'm not just filling a role until you can move on to someone better. I deserve better than being second choice, Cameron. I deserve better than crumbs."
He turns away from her. He walks to the windows. London spreads out below them. A city full of people who have real relationships. Real love. Real futures.
"You don't understand what you're asking," he says.
"Then explain it to me," Scarlett says. She follows him to the window. "Explain why you can be open with her but not with me. Explain why you're keeping me at a distance. Explain why you're protecting yourself from me like I'm a threat."
"Because you are," he snaps, and he finally turns to face her. His eyes are wild. Desperate. "You are exactly the threat I was afraid of, Scarlett. Because every time I try to keep distance, you pull it apart. Every time I tell myself this is temporary, you make it real. Every time I build walls, you see through them. And I can't let you do that."
"Why not," she whispers.
"Because I'm poison," he says harshly. "I destroy people. My father destroyed my mother with his love. Victoria destroyed me. And if I let you in, if I actually care about you the way I'm starting to, I will destroy you too. And I can't do that. I won't do that."
Scarlett feels her heart break for him. Not for herself. For him.
"You're not poison," she says.
"You don't know me," Cameron says.
"I know you bring weather warnings to someone you claim to be indifferent to. I know you remember my coffee order when you've never asked me how I take it. I know you position yourself between me and the world like you're trying to protect me from something. I know you cried out in your sleep the night I covered you with a blanket. I know you're terrified. And I know it's not because of what you'll do to me. It's because of what I make you feel."
"Don't," he says, and it's a plea.
"You said that at my apartment," Scarlett says. "Don't care about me. Don't make this real. But it's already real. You made it real the moment you remembered my coffee order. You made it real when you defended me at the gala. You made it real when you admitted you were falling for me in the car."
Cameron's jaw clenches so hard she thinks it might break.
"This arrangement has an end date," he says. "Six months. That's all we get. And at the end of it, you move on and have a real life with someone who isn't broken. Someone who doesn't think love is a weapon. Someone who can give you what you deserve."
"What if I don't want that," Scarlett says.
"Then you're a fool," Cameron says coldly.
The words hit like a slap.
"If you can't handle the arrangement, leave," he continues, and his voice is ice again. Ice and distance and walls. "Go home. Stop coming here. Stop making this harder than it needs to be. We shake hands at the end of six months and we both move on. That's the only way this works."
Scarlett feels tears burn her eyes. She wants to argue. She wants to fight. She wants to make him see that he's wrong about what he is. But maybe Elle was right. Maybe she's already lost this battle.
She walks toward the door.
That's when she hears it.
Cameron's breath. Heavy and broken. Like it physically hurts him to breathe. Like he's drowning on dry land.
She pauses with her hand on the door handle. She doesn't turn around, but she listens.
His breathing is ragged. Almost like a sob. Almost like the sound of a man breaking in real time.
She waits for him to say something. To call her back. To tell her he didn't mean it. To finally choose her over his fear.
But he doesn't.
The silence stretches between them. The distance he's built becomes physical. She's at the door. He's at the window. They're in the same room but worlds apart.
"Scarlett," he says finally, and his voice is so broken she almost doesn't recognize it.
She turns back to him.
He's standing at the window still. His shoulders are shaking. His face is turned away from her. And she realizes something that terrifies her.
He's not protecting himself from her. He's protecting her from him. And he's suffering for it.
He's suffering because he already cares too much.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."
But he doesn't walk toward her. He doesn't close the distance. He stays at the window like it's a barrier between them. Like stepping away from it would mean admitting something he can't admit.
"I don't know how to do this," he says. "I don't know how to be what you need."
"You already are," Scarlett says. "You're just too afraid to admit it."
She leaves before he can respond. Before he can pull her back in. Before she loses the strength to walk away.
As the elevator descends, she thinks about the sound of his breathing. The way his shoulders shook. The desperation in his voice when he said her name.
He's breaking. Just like she's breaking.
But they're breaking separately. Alone. Protected by distance that's supposed to save them but is instead destroying them both.
And she finally understands why he's suffering.
It's not because he loves Victoria.
It's because he loves her. And he thinks that love will destroy her.
And he's terrified that he's already right.