For the first time, Cameron laughed—a real laugh, low and rich.
“Already like her,” he said.
Later, during the dance, Cameron invited Simone onto the floor anyway. He stayed in the wheelchair, his hands resting lightly on her waist as they swayed.
Then he asked, “Did you agree to this?”
Simone gave him the truth. “I needed a way out. The Harts promised me an apartment and money if I went through with it.”
He nodded slowly. “Honest. I appreciate that.”
“And you?”
“I needed a wife,” he said. “And you seemed uncomplicated. You’re not here for my money. You’re here to escape them. That makes you the most trustworthy person in the room.”
It was a strange compliment. Still, she accepted it.
That night, in the SUV taking them to his downtown penthouse, Cameron made one odd request.
“Take off the glasses.”
Simone tensed. “Why?”
“Because they’re fake.”
Slowly, she removed them.
Cameron stared at her for a long moment.
Without the frames, she was transformed—sharp cheekbones, wide amber-brown eyes, full lips.
“Beautiful,” he said quietly.
She looked away at once. “Don’t.”
“What? Tell the truth?”
“Don’t pretend to care.”
His expression changed.
“Fair enough,” he said.
The penthouse overlooked Lake Michigan, all glass and steel and black-and-white elegance. Cameron had already had clothes delivered for her—beautiful, simple, perfectly chosen. For the first time in years, Simone cried.
Not from sadness.
From release.
She was free.
The next morning, Cameron laid out the rules.
