The clock ticked loudly in the stillness of the living room. Camille sat on the couch, the glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The weight of the day pressed on her shoulders like an unbearable burden. When her phone buzzed, its sharp vibration cutting through the silence, she froze. Her eyes landed on the screen: an unknown number.
Her stomach twisted.
“Don’t answer it,” Matthew said firmly from across the room, his voice tight with warning. Noah and Leo looked up from their conversation, their expressions instantly hardening.
Camille hesitated, her hand hovering over the phone. “What if it’s him?” she whispered. “I need to know what he wants.”
“You don’t need to give him the satisfaction,” Leo countered, his jaw tightening. “If it’s Conrad, he’s playing a game. Don’t let him win.”
Noah stood and walked over to her, his voice softer but no less urgent. “Camille, you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to face him by yourself.”
But the phone buzzed again, insistent and unrelenting. Against their advice, Camille hit “accept” and pressed the phone to her ear. The line crackled faintly.
“Camille,” a familiar voice purred, sending an icy chill down her spine. Conrad. His tone was silky, dripping with mockery. “I trust you’ve received my little gift?”
Her grip on the phone tightened. “What do you want?” she demanded, her voice sharper than she felt inside.
A low chuckle rolled through the line. “Oh, my dear Camille. Straight to the point, as always. How very… unladylike of you.”
Matthew moved closer, his expression darkening as he tried to overhear the conversation. Camille turned away slightly, her free hand trembling.
Conrad continued, his words like oil slicking over glass. “What I’ve always wanted, dear niece. Control.”
Camille’s breath caught. The word echoed in her mind, rekindling memories of the way he had dominated her life in the past, reducing her to a shadow of herself. But before she could speak, he went on.
“I must say, I’m quite intrigued by your… unique arrangement,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Three husbands? How quaint. Truly revolutionary. I wonder what the world would say if they knew.”
Her chest tightened, but she forced her voice to remain steady. “I don’t care what people think.”
“Maybe not,” Conrad said smoothly, “but I imagine the courts might. Especially when I petition for custody of your child. After all, I’d hate for your… unconventional lifestyle to create an unstable environment for the little one.”
Camille’s blood ran cold. Her free hand gripped the edge of the couch as she fought to steady her breathing. “You can’t do that,” she said, her voice trembling with both anger and fear. “You don’t have any legal standing.”
Conrad let out a soft, condescending laugh. “Ah, but with the right judge and the right narrative, anything is possible, my dear. You’d be amazed at what money and influence can achieve.”
“No court would grant you custody,” she said, her defiance flaring despite the fear coiling in her gut. “You’re a manipulative liar, and you have no proof of anything.”
“You’d be surprised what proof can be manufactured,” Conrad replied, his tone darkening. “The world is hungry for scandal, Camille. And your little fairytale life is ripe for the picking. Imagine the headlines. ‘Child Rescued from Polygamous Parents in Dangerous Cult-Like Arrangement.’ It practically writes itself.”
Camille’s stomach churned, the vivid picture he painted making her heart pound. “What do you want?” she repeated, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound strong.
Conrad’s voice lowered, the mockery slipping away to reveal something far more sinister. “Meet me tomorrow. Alone. I’ll send you the details.”
“No,” Matthew growled from behind her, loud enough that Conrad must have heard.
Conrad chuckled again. “Ah, the protectors. Always so noble. But this isn’t their choice, is it, Camille? It’s yours. If you care about keeping that baby safe, I suggest you think carefully.”
The line clicked dead before she could respond.