The morning after the company meeting, Camilla arrived at the office earlier than usual. Partly because she wanted to avoid the spotlight and partly because she hadn't been able to sleep.
Her thoughts had whirled all night.
She kept reliving the moment Dominic declared their relationship to the board. No hesitation. No shame. Just bold honesty. It had stunned her—made her heart ache in the best and worst ways. She was proud of him. But she also knew that kind of transparency came with a price.
Now, she had to carry the weight of it. The knowing stares. The side glances. The occasional smirk. It was different from being whispered about—this was survival under a microscope.
She settled into her desk, trying to act normal. As normal as someone whose boss—and now public romantic partner—was the CEO of a billion-dollar firm.
But of course, Dominic didn't make it easy.
Not five minutes in, a messenger dropped off a large, matte black box with a crimson bow. No note. No name.
She opened it slowly.
Inside: a sleek pair of red-soled designer heels and a tiny gold card that read:
"Because the world should see you as I do. – D."
Her breath caught in her throat.
He didn't just see her—he watched her. He noticed her discomfort, anticipated her insecurities, and found ways to gently unravel them.
She didn't wear the shoes immediately.
But she touched them. Reverently. Like they were more than just a gift—they were proof of her worth in his eyes.
That afternoon, Dominic had to attend an industry gala. A black-tie charity event with too many cameras and too little sincerity. Camilla assumed she wouldn't be going, and she was fine with that.
Until Lucia called her in.
"Darling," Lucia said with a gleam in her eye, "you're going. Dominic insists."
Camilla blinked. "But that would just cause more speculation."
"Exactly," Lucia replied, her voice dripping with intent. "Control the narrative, or the narrative controls you."
"But I don't have a—"
Lucia stood and handed her a garment bag.
"Courtesy of the man himself. He guessed your size. Probably correctly."
Three hours later, Camilla stood in front of her mirror, stunned.
The dress was pure elegance. Black satin that clung like a second skin, dipping low in the back and just high enough in the front to be suggestive without being scandalous. The slit teased up one thigh, revealing just enough to cause a scene but not enough to be indecent.
And the red heels?
Perfectly matched.
Dominic picked her up in a sleek black car. When she stepped in, he stared at her for a full five seconds before speaking.
"I knew it would look good," he said softly. "But damn, Camilla."
She flushed, smiling. "You clean up okay yourself."
And he did. A black tuxedo, open collar, sharp jawline, and confidence that oozed off him like cologne.
He took her hand and kissed her knuckles.
"Let's show them what they can't ignore."
The event was held in one of Manhattan's most opulent hotels. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne towers. A red carpet lined with press.
Camilla gripped Dominic's hand as they stepped out, and he held her close, as if daring anyone to say a word.
Flashbulbs exploded.
Questions flew.
But Dominic didn't stop.
He walked with her straight through the chaos, nodding at cameras but never releasing her hand.
Inside, people whispered.
But they also watched.
Not because she was a scandal. But because she was radiant.
Dominic leaned in as they reached their table.
"You have no idea how many men have asked about you tonight."
"Really?" she replied, amused.
"Yes," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "And every time, I wanted to break a glass."
She laughed, brushing a hand over his arm. "Possessive much?"
"You have no idea."
As dinner was served, Camilla found herself… glowing.
This wasn't about being arm candy. It was about being chosen.
And not just by anyone. By him.
Later that night, after the speeches, the dancing began.
Dominic stood, extended his hand. "Dance with me?"
She hesitated. "Everyone's watching."
"Let them."
She placed her hand in his.
On the floor, he pulled her in slowly, one hand on her waist, the other clasping hers gently.
They moved to the soft rhythm, bodies close, eyes locked.
"You were made for this," he murmured. "For elegance. For fire. For a little bit of trouble."
"Trouble?" she echoed.
He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "The good kind. The kind that keeps me up at night."
She shivered.
"You're too smooth."
He twirled her once, then pulled her back in. "Only for you."
Their chemistry was electric.
Unspoken promises passed between glances, and in the hush of a well-dressed crowd, their private fire burned quietly but intensely.
After the event, he didn't take her home.
Not right away.
They ended up in the penthouse suite of the hotel—because of course Dominic booked one, "just in case."
Camilla laughed as she kicked off her shoes and fell back onto the king-sized bed.
He poured them wine.
No pressure. No assumptions.
Just comfort. Conversation. Eyes that spoke volumes.
"You really don't care what people say?" she asked softly.
He sat beside her, handing her a glass.
"I care what you say."
She looked at him, heart full.
"What if I said I'm scared?"
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
"Then I'd say… I am too. But I'm still here."
Camilla stared at him for a moment.
Then leaned forward.
Their kiss was soft at first. Like a secret. Then deeper. Like a vow.
And for the first time since the whirlwind began, she allowed herself to believe—
This might not be just attraction.
It might be something more.
By morning, the internet was flooded with pictures from the gala.
Headlines speculated.
Some cruel. Some curious. Some celebratory.
But one thing was consistent across every platform:
Camilla Hart was no longer just the CEO's secretary.
She was the CEO's distraction—and perhaps, the one woman who had him completely undone.