Camile left the bathroom with her hair still damp. She was wearing nothing but a comfortable set, barefoot, her face completely clean. Without the armor she usually wore to face the world.
She stopped in front of the bedroom window and stared out at the city.
It was early. The activity below was beginning to pick up, but inside the apartment, everything remained quiet.
She liked that silence.
Normally, this was when she organized her thoughts before starting the day.
That morning, however, she couldn't organize a single thing.
The sentence remained there, insistently and cruelly.
*I don't repeat mistakes.*
Camile closed her eyes.
—What an idiot asshole. He doesn't even know how to fuck right. He was like a damn horse, that's what.
She said it aloud.
—What the hell was I thinking, going to bed with such a rough bastard?
That statement should have been enough.
But it wasn't.
She walked over to the vanity and sat down.
She picked up a brush and slowly began combing her hair.
Her reflection appeared in the mirror.
She stared at it.
—What's your problem?
She asked herself.
—You don't even like him.
It was true.
She didn't like Victor. She barely knew him, having only seen his personality for a few hours.
And, honestly, those hours had been enough to show her that he was arrogant, cocky, and utterly convinced the world revolved around him.
So why had it hurt?
Camile dropped the brush onto the vanity.
Because he had managed to do something no other man had ever done.
He had made her feel disposable, and that was a new sensation.
A sensation she hated.
For years, Camile had built a reputation.
She was known for her firm posture, objectivity, and control. For her ability to walk into a meeting surrounded by powerful men and quickly make every one of them understand that she wasn't there to play.
She didn't need to shout, threaten, or prove anything—her presence was enough. And with men especially, she had learned not to create expectations.
Desire was one thing, and feelings were another. She could want someone without wanting a relationship.
And she could spend one night with a man and continue living her life the next day as if nothing had happened.
It had always worked that way.
So why, that morning, did it feel as if Victor had turned the rules upside down?
Camile stood up.
She went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and drank straight from it.
Then she leaned against the counter.
—You didn't win.
The words came out firmly.
—You were just rude.
She took a deep breath.
—That doesn't mean you won.
But her pride didn't seem convinced.
Camile closed her eyes.
The memory of the door closing behind her returned.
The way Victor had said:
*You can leave.*
As if she had been bothering him.
As if she were just another woman.
As if the night had been a favor he had granted her.
She squeezed the bottle.
—Son of a bitch.
The bottle nearly crumpled in her hand.
Camile set it on the counter before her anger made her do something worse.
Her phone vibrated.
Nicole.
**Are you alive?**
Camile looked at the message.
**Unfortunately.**
The reply came immediately.
**So can I come over?**
Camile smiled.
**No.**
**That means something happened.**
**Nothing happened.**
**Camile.**
She knew that friend.
She knew she wouldn't be able to run from her for long.
**He was an asshole.**
The reply took a few seconds.
**What did he do?**
Camile started typing.
She stopped.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
**Nothing important.**
Nicole replied:
**If it wasn't important, you wouldn't have answered so fast.**
Camile let out a sigh.
She didn't answer.
She locked the screen.
She tossed the phone onto the couch.
She didn't want to talk.
She didn't want to hear advice.
She didn't want anyone telling her that she had chosen wrong. Because the truth was, she didn't regret the night. If she could go back a few hours, she would probably do it all over again.
The problem hadn't been sleeping with Victor. It was that she had allowed him to turn it into a reason to judge her.
Camile ran a hand through her hair.
—Never again.
This time, the promise was serious.
Never again with that man.
Across town, Victor Ventura was having breakfast as if that morning were completely normal.
The table was neatly arranged. He had an important hearing that day and a packed schedule besides.
He should have been focused.
But he wasn't.
His eyes moved across the news without really absorbing a single word.
The image of Camile appeared in his mind.
The black dress.
The provocative smile.
The way she stood up to him.
The way she never looked away.
Victor closed the newspaper.
It was irritating.
He had met beautiful women before.
Many of them.
Interesting women, too.
But none had managed to stay in his head like that.
And the worst part was that Camile hadn't made any effort to do so.
Maybe that was exactly the point.
She hadn't tried to impress him.
She hadn't asked who he was.
She hadn't melted when she learned his profession.
She hadn't been impressed by the apartment.
She hadn't asked how much he made.
Nothing.
She had simply been there.
As if he were just a man.
Victor picked up his coffee.
He took a sip.
He grimaced.
It was cold.
—Damn it.
He stood up.
He went to the window.
The memory of their goodbye returned.
*I'm not expecting absolutely anything from you.*
Victor frowned.
For some reason, it had bothered him.
He should have liked it.
It was exactly what he wanted to hear.
No demands. No drama. No promises.
So why did that sentence sound like a provocation?
Maybe because she had said it with such conviction.
Maybe because, for the first time, he wasn't sure whether a woman truly wanted nothing from him.
Victor rubbed the back of his neck.
—She's strange.
And, against his will, he smiled.
Camile opened her laptop.
She had a meeting that afternoon and needed to review some documents.
It was the best remedy. Things that didn't confuse her head.
She opened the first report. Read one page. Then another.
By the third, she realized she hadn't absorbed a single thing.
She closed her eyes.
Victor again.
—Enough.
She stood up.
She went out onto the balcony.
The wind touched her face.
She rested her hands on the railing.
The city was enormous.
Her world was enormous.
Her life was full of important things.
One night shouldn't take up so much space.
One man shouldn't take up so much space.
And Victor wouldn't.
She wouldn't allow it.
Camile went back inside.
She picked up her phone.
She opened her calendar.
She began organizing her day.
Meeting at eleven.
Lunch with investors.
Presentation at three.
Dinner with the company directors.
That was it.
That was her life.
Not Victor.
Victor got into the car a few hours later.
The driver asked:
—To the company?
—No. The courthouse.
He put his phone in his pocket.
He tried to focus on work.
But before reaching his destination, he asked:
—Do you know a bar called Bellagio?
The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
—I do.
Victor fell silent.
—Forget it.
The driver nodded.
Victor looked out the window.
This was ridiculous.
Why did he want to know about the bar?
Why did he want to remember where he had met that woman?
It made no sense.
He had decided not to see her again.
The end.
Camile, meanwhile, was already ready to leave.
She put on an impeccable pantsuit.
She pinned up her hair.
She put on understated earrings.
She grabbed her purse.
Before leaving, she stopped in front of the mirror.
She studied her own face.
There were no more tears.
Only determination.
—You are not going to turn this into a wound.
She spoke to herself.
—You're going to turn it into a lesson.
She picked up her keys.
Before she left, her phone vibrated.
A message from Nicole.
**Dinner tonight?**
Camile replied:
**Yes. I need to get out.**
**No men?**
Camile smiled.
**Especially no men.**
She put her phone away.
But as she closed the door, she couldn't stop one last memory from surfacing.
Victor's eyes.
That smile.
That voice.
That arrogance.
She shook her head.
—Forget it.
She went downstairs.
That same afternoon, Victor finished a hearing.
He left the courthouse accompanied by two colleagues.
One of them commented on some woman who had appeared at an event the night before.
Victor answered automatically.
But he wasn't really listening.
His thoughts were somewhere else.
On a woman whose last name he didn't even know.
That irritated him.
He had always known exactly where every relationship ended.
There had never been any difficulty.
But this story had ended in a strange way.
Victor believed he had put Camile in her place.
At least, that's what he told himself.
But if he had won...
Why did he keep thinking about her?
Why did he want to know who she was?
Why did he have the feeling there was something he wasn't understanding?
He got into the car.
He closed the door.
He rested his head against the seat.
—Who are you, anyway?
The question came out softly.
There was no answer.
That night, Camile entered the restaurant where she was meeting her friends.
She was impeccable again.
As if the morning had never happened.
Nicole watched her arrive.
—Now that's more like it.
Camile sat down.
—More like what?
—My friend is back.
Camile smiled.
—She never left.
Nicole held her hand for a few seconds.
She didn't ask about Victor.
She didn't need to.
Camile silently thanked her.
Because she still didn't want to talk about it.
She still needed to recover something inside herself.
Not her heart.
That was intact.
It was her pride.
That part of her that had always believed it was impossible to hurt her.
Victor had found exactly the opening.
But he would be making a mistake if he believed a wound meant defeat.
Camile Victoria might have cried alone.
She might even have felt ashamed.
She might even have spent a few hours questioning her own choice.
But she wouldn't stay down.
Never.
And Victor would still find that out.
Maybe sooner than he imagined.
Because fate was preparing a reunion.
And when Camile and Victor saw each other again, he wouldn't find the woman who had quietly left his apartment.
He would find a CEO.
A powerful woman.
A woman who didn't need him.
And, above all, a woman who hadn't forgotten the humiliation.
Victor believed he had ended that story that morning.
Camile did too.
There was only one detail neither of them knew.
The war hadn't even begun yet.