Two days after Camille's abrupt departure from my office, I consulted my lawyer and arranged a paternity test to confirm whether I was indeed the father. I had been restless since she left my office that day. I knew that I hadn't used any protection with her that night and that there was the risk of her getting pregnant but I was never bothered about it. I thought maybe I would be lucky for the first time I was careless with a woman. Obviously I was wrong.
The Camille mess had me on edge. If she went to the press, my business and personal life would take a hit. For eight years, I'd run my company without a single scandal. If word got out about her pregnancy, my reputation would be trashed, not just for sleeping with someone like Camille, but for betraying my best friend, Lucas, by sleeping with his fiancée. I knew I had to get this under control fast.
The results came back swiftly, and seventy-two hours later, I found myself seated beside my lawyer in one of my hotels in London. Across the table sat Camille, with her own attorney. We had just reviewed her terms, and I was taken aback by her requests.
Camille's demands were modest: a moderate house in a city of her choosing, titled in her unborn child's name; a monthly stipend to cover the child's basic needs: food, clothing, medical expenses from birth until the child turned eighteen or she remarried, whichever came first; and adjustments for school fees and other necessities as the child grew, with escalations tied to economic changes. Reasonable. Far less than I'd braced for. There was no greed in her proposal, only a focus on her child's future.
I had expected a legal fight, but there was nothing to dispute. Camille was prepared to raise the child alone, and all I had to do was sign. In exchange, she'd vanish from my life, relinquishing any claim to me or my involvement with the child. She made it clear she wanted me nowhere near them— which was fine by me. My life was perfectly organised, and I had no room for the chaos and drama someone like Camille represented.
It wasn't that I opposed the idea of children or marriage. Someday, perhaps a decade from now, I'd choose a partner—someone refined, educated, polished. Someone unlike Camille, whose rough edges and unapologetic demeanor clashed with the glossy future I already have mapped out. Moreover she won't fit into my world.
To protect us both, she agreed to a nondisclosure agreement, ensuring that night in Chicago and my role as the child's father would remain buried. No scandal and no whispers about it to anyone, most especially the press.
Once the documents were signed, I requested a private moment with Camille to settle lingering questions before we parted ways, hopefully forever. Our lawyers exchanged glances, then quietly excused themselves, leaving us alone in the room.
"Does Lucas know you're pregnant?" I asked, leaning back in my chair, studying her.
Camille's eyes flickered, but her voice was steady. "Yes. That's why he ended the engagement."
"Did you tell him....."
"That you're the father?" She cut me off. "No."
I tilted my head, curious despite myself. "What did you tell him?"
She crossed her arms. "Does it matter?"
"No," I admitted, "but I want to know."
"I told him I didn't know." Her words came out clipped, not hiding the fact that she didn't wish to continue this conversation. Her reservations could wait until later, I needed to satisfy my curiousity on the matter.
"Does anyone else know about… what happened?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
My eyes narrowed. "That's not the answer I expect. A simple yes or no should be enough."
Camille crossed her arms, refusing to flinch under my stare. "Well, that's the only one you're getting."
"You might think these questions are unnecessary but I can assure you, they're very important in this matter."
She let out a humorless laugh. "Oh really? Why don't we flip the table, then. Did you tell anyone about what happened in Chicago?"
I looked at her in incredulity."Of course not. Why would I?"
"I don't know." She shrugged. "Maybe to brag to your friends that you managed to sleep with Lucas's fiancée."
My eyes flashed and my jaws tightened. "What the hell do you take me for?"
"A swine?" she shot back without hesitation.
I leaned forward, teeth gritted. "Says the who...."
"Don't even finish that statement," Camille warned, her voice low but trembling with restrained fury. "I'm tired of your judgments, as if you're some kind of saint. There's no point in dragging this out. Nobody knows from my side, and that should be enough. What happened in Chicago is buried and forgotten."
We stared hard at eachother for a while, Camille refusing to back down. I shifted, eager to wrap this up. "When's your flight back to Chicago?"
Her smirk returned, laced with defiance. "Eager to see me gone?"
"Yes," I said bluntly. "Lucas might get suspicious if he hears you've been in London.".
She narrowed her eyes at me. "London is a big city. There's nothing strange about me being here. Regardless of what you may think, the world doesn't revolve around you."
"It's a big city, sure, but it looks odd, you being here now. And Lucas is definitely not stupid, he might put two and two together. Don't you have your receptionist job to get back to?"
Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought she'd fire back. Instead, she exhaled sharply and said, "I plan on leaving Tuesday."
"Do you have a ticket, or should I arrange one?" I asked.
Her eyes narrowed, a spark of indignation flaring. "Funny. You needed a DNA test and legal threats to agree to child support, but now you're offering to buy my plane ticket? I thought you didn't waste money on mercenary women."
I let the jab slide. "The sooner you're gone, the better. I don't want anyone connecting the dots."
"You don't need to worry," she said coolly, rising from her chair. "I want this buried as much as you do. I'll book my own ticket today. After this, you're rid of me."
"Good," I said, my voice flat.
"Good." She grabbed her purse. "Let's not do this again. Have a nice life."