Camile woke slowly this time. She had fallen into a deep sleep, and for a few seconds, she didn’t know where she was—or maybe she did.
The unfamiliar ceiling above her, the different scent of the sheets, and the light streaming through the enormous windows gradually brought her memory back.
She thought: “Shit! She was still feeling the effects of the alcohol, and she remembered the bar, the music, Victor’s provocations, and the rough sex that had left her body aching.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
There was no regret. At least, not yet. When she turned her head to the side, she saw Victor sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her.
“Were you already dressed?”
He didn’t answer.
He seemed completely different from the man who, only a few hours earlier, had held her by the waist while the two of them forgot the rest of the world.
Camile propped herself up on her elbows.
“Good morning, rude bastard!”
Victor didn’t answer again.
He finished adjusting his watch before looking at her.
His face was closed off and strange.
There was no trace of the smile that had appeared so many times during the night.
Camile frowned slightly.
“Is everything okay?”
“It is.”
The answer came out dry.
She watched him for a few seconds.
“It doesn’t look like it.”
Victor stood up.
“You don’t need to worry.”
Camile sat up in bed and pulled the sheet over her body.
“I’m not worried.”
“Great.”
The word fell between them strangely.
She had expected something different. Maybe a comment about the night.
A joke or even a polite goodbye.
But Victor seemed determined to erase every trace of what had happened.
Camile looked at the clock on the nightstand.
“What time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
“Right.”
She began looking for her dress.
Victor walked over to the closet.
“The bathroom is on the left.”
Camile stopped.
“I know where it is.”
He opened a drawer.
“I’m just saying.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He didn’t answer.
Camile picked up her dress and stood.
There was still something strange about the situation, and it wasn’t the fact that they had spent the night together.
She didn’t regret that. The problem was the sudden change.
Victor had been provocative, funny, and even kind during the night.
Now he seemed to want to get rid of her as quickly as possible.
Camile walked to the bathroom.
Before she closed the door, she heard:
“Camile.”
She turned.
“Yes?”
Victor had his back to her.
“When you’re done, you can get your things and leave.”
She stood still for a second.
Then she answered:
“I was already planning to leave.”
She closed the door.
Alone, she stared at her reflection. She wasn’t hurt, but she was irritated.
Because she didn’t understand the change. But she also wouldn’t ask or chase after explanations.
She wouldn’t do that.
She was Camile Victoria.
She didn’t need answers from any man.
Ten minutes later, she left the bathroom fully dressed.
Her hair was pinned up.
Her makeup had been redone.
Her expression was controlled.
Victor was in the living room.
He was holding a cup of coffee.
Camile walked over to her purse.
“Where are my shoes?”
“By the sofa.”
She picked up her heels.
She sat down for a few seconds to put them on.
Victor remained standing.
There was no attempt at conversation, no courtesy, nothing but arrogance. It began to bother her in a way that hurt—not because she expected affection, but because the situation was becoming disrespectful.
She stood.
“Thank you for the night.”
Victor looked at her.
And it was in that instant that Camile realized something was wrong.
All trace of desire had vanished from his eyes.
It was as if she were a stranger—or a whore.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
She frowned.
“Right.”
She picked up her purse.
Victor took a sip of coffee.
“It was one night.”
Camile stopped.
“I know.”
“Then don’t turn it into something more.”
She let out a small, humorless laugh.
“I’m not turning it into anything.”
“Great.”
“Victor...”
“What?”
She hesitated.
She didn’t want to ask.
Even so, she did:
“Why are you acting like this?”
He set the cup on the counter.
“Like what?”
“As if something went wrong.”
Victor crossed his arms.
“Nothing went wrong.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
He watched her for a few seconds.
Then he said:
“Women who go to bed on the first date usually expect something afterward.”
Camile stood motionless.
He hadn’t said it jokingly.
There was no provocation.
It was raw, direct judgment.
She felt the blow.
But she didn’t show it.
Victor continued:
“But let me make this clear... I don’t repeat mistakes.”
Her chest tightened.
It was quick.
Almost imperceptible.
Camile would never let him see it.
Not after that night.
Not after she had lowered her guard, even if only for a few hours.
She lifted her chin.
“I understand.”
Victor seemed to expect a different reaction.
Maybe anger, tears, and an argument.
He got none of that.
Camile simply kept looking at him.
Her serenity seemed to bother him.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing.”
“Then we agree.”
She took a step toward the door.
Victor spoke again:
“You don’t have to make that face.”
Camile stopped.
“What face?”
“Like I did something to you.”
She turned slowly.
“You just called me a mistake.”
“I said I wouldn’t repeat it.”
“I heard you.”
“Then that’s that.”
She remained silent for a few seconds.
The urge to answer was enormous.
She could destroy him with a few words.
She could tell him he wasn’t as special as he thought.
That the night had been her choice.
That men like him were easily replaceable.
But something made her swallow it all.
She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
She wouldn’t let him know he had managed to hurt her.
Camile took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, Victor.”
He stared at her.
“I’m not expecting absolutely anything from you.”
He didn’t answer.
She continued:
“You don’t need to worry about phone calls. Or messages. Or demands.”
Victor remained motionless.
“I know.”
Camile smiled.
A small smile.
Without joy.
“Great.”
She picked up her purse.
She walked to the door.
Then she heard his final words.
“You can leave.”
Her hand rested on the doorknob.
For an instant, everything inside her burned.
Not from sadness.
From humiliation.
It was the first time in a long while that someone had managed to make her feel as if she had made a mistake simply by choosing something for herself.
She closed her eyes for a second.
When she opened them, the woman reflected in the hallway mirror looked exactly the same as always.
Camile opened the door.
“Goodbye, Victor.”
“Goodbye.”
She left.
The door closed behind her.
In the elevator, Camile remained motionless.
The building seemed far too quiet.
She stared at the numbers descending on the panel.
Twenty-four.
Twenty-three.
Twenty-two.
Each number seemed to put more distance between her and that apartment.
When she reached the tenth floor, her phone vibrated.
It was Nicole.
**Did you get there okay?**
Camile looked at the message.
She began typing.
**Yes.**
She deleted it.
She typed again.
**I’m on my way home.**
She sent it.
The reply came almost immediately.
**So???**
Camile smiled without meaning to.
**So what?**
**Don’t play dumb.**
She put her phone away.
She didn’t want to talk about it.
Not yet.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, she walked toward the exit.
The security guard opened the door.
Camile crossed the lobby with the same impeccable posture she had carried when she entered that night.
But inside, something was different.
A small wound.
Hidden.
Not because she liked Victor.
She didn’t even know him well.
What hurt was something else.
She had chosen that night.
Chosen that man.
Without fear.
Without guilt.
Without depending on anyone.
And yet he had managed to turn her choice into a reason to belittle her.
That, she would not accept.
Outside, the driver she had called was already waiting.
Camile got into the car.
As soon as the door closed, she let out the breath she seemed to have been holding for several minutes.
Her phone vibrated again.
Nicole.
This time, it was a call.
Camile answered.
“Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
She looked out the window.
“I am.”
“You sound weird.”
“I’m tired.”
Nicole was silent for a few seconds.
“Did he do something?”
Camile closed her eyes.
“No.”
“Then why are you like this?”
“Because I discovered that arrogant men are still arrogant men in the morning.”
Nicole sighed.
“Was he an asshole?”
Camile looked at her own hand.
“He was.”
“Want me to come to you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
Nicole didn’t insist.
“Then come to my place.”
“Not today.”
“Camile...”
“I just want to shower, sleep for a few hours, and forget this night.”
“You don’t need to forget.”
She stayed quiet.
Nicole finished:
“You just need to remember that you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Camile swallowed hard.
“I know.”
But at that moment, she still needed to convince herself.
When she got home, she left her purse on the counter and walked straight to the bedroom.
Every movement was automatic.
In front of the mirror, she spent a few seconds staring at her reflection.
The woman she saw there looked exactly the same.
But something had changed.
Camile picked up her phone.
She opened her conversation with Nicole.
She typed:
**He called me a mistake.**
She stared at those words.
She didn’t send them.
She deleted them.
She placed the phone on the bed.
Then she laughed at herself.
“Ridiculous.”
She wouldn’t cry.
Not for him.
Not for anyone.
She had never needed a man to validate her choices.
She wouldn’t start now.
Camile went into the bathroom.
She turned on the shower.
The hot water fell over her shoulders.
And for the first time that morning, she allowed herself to feel the anger.
The humiliation.
The frustration.
Everything she hadn’t shown him.
But one certainty was growing inside her.
Victor Ventura would not get a second chance.
There would be no other night.
No other conversation.
He wouldn’t even get the chance to discover that the woman he had sent away as if she were disposable wasn’t someone he could simply erase from his memory.
Camile closed her eyes.
She still didn’t know who Victor Ventura really was.
But she knew exactly who she was.
And that was enough.
That morning, she decided that night would be nothing more than a mistake.
A mistake that would never be repeated.
Or at least, that was what she believed.
Because fate wasn’t finished playing with the two of them yet.