Meeting the enemy

10 years later

"How is he chief judge?" Camellia’s voice crackled with rage as she slapped the photo pinned to the board, her fingers curling in frustration. "The corruption in that man… it’s revolting."

Dan moved closer, trying to calm her. "Cam, take a breath," he said, guiding her to sit on the worn couch. "You can’t let him get to you like this. We’ll bring him down—just give it time."

Silently, Nathan's gaze wandered over the photos on the board—pictures of powerful people, each face a target in their mission. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Are we even getting anywhere with this? Sometimes it feels like we’re just… chasing ghosts."

"Shut up, Nathan," Camellia snapped, her temper flaring. "You’re a coward, just like your father was. My family was burned alive because he was trying to protect your father, you asshole."

Nathan’s face darkened, anger flickering in his eyes. "What? Are you out of your mind?" He stormed toward her, fists clenched, but Dan stepped between them, his voice stern.

"Hey, you two need to stop acting like kids," he scolded, his tone sharp. "Our enemies are only getting stronger. We should be channeling this anger toward them, not each other."

For a moment, the room fell silent, tension thick in the air.

"Whatever," Nathan muttered before turning and striding out, slamming the door behind him.

Camellia slumped back on the couch, rubbing her temples. Dan watched her for a beat before sitting down beside her, a gentleness in his voice. "You know, that was a bit much, Cam. You should apologize."

Camellia looked at him, a weary acceptance in her eyes. "I’m just… tired, Dan. Every day, it feels like life gets harder while they keep winning. Catherine’s hospital bills are piling up, and I don’t even know where to start."

"I get it, Cam," Dan said, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "I wish I could do more, but ever since my dad died that night, I’ve been holding everything together by myself." There was a quiet sadness in his voice.

She offered him a faint, tired smile. The sight of it made Dan’s heart skip, and he leaned in, almost instinctively, wanting to kiss her. But just as his lips drew close, Camellia pulled back, standing abruptly.

"Thanks for being such a good friend," she said, her voice kind but firm, clearly drawing a line. A flash of frustration crossed Dan’s face—she’d kept him in the friend zone all these years, despite his attempts to be something more.

"I should get going. I have to dance tonight," she added, grabbing a few items from her bag and leaving the room without another word.

The moment she stepped into the club, the manager, Desmond, spotted her. "Hey, Camellia," he greeted with a polite nod. "You should get changed—you’re up soon."

"Got it, Desmond." She nodded, hurrying to the dressing room. Inside, she exchanged nods and brief greetings with some of the other dancers, though most were either cold or outright rude. Only one stood out to her, the one she trusted in this whole place—Kassy, her best friend.

"Hey, Kassy," she called as she slipped out of her clothes.

Camellia had a striking beauty; long, silky hair framed her face, her delicate yet powerful features commanding attention. Mischief glinted in her eyes, while her full lips curved with an irresistible allure. Her figure was graceful, with an hourglass silhouette that her tight net bodysuit hugged snugly, revealing her curves and her firm breasts threatening to spill.

Kassy gave her a playful smile. "You look amazing."

Camellia shrugged, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks." She turned to leave, feeling the weight of the job settle over her—a job she despised but needed to support her sister, Catherine, whose body had been scarred by fire, leaving her in constant need of care.

The lights dimmed, signaling her turn. Camellia took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage, her hands gripping the pole with practiced ease. The heavy beat of the music filled her veins, and she began to move, each slow, graceful twist and sway holding the crowd's attention. Her eyes were fierce, daring anyone to look away.

"Shake that ass, baby!" a voice shouted, and wads of cash rained at her feet.

Another man bellowed, his gaze lustful, his hands roaming over his clothes in vulgar excitement. She kept moving, her body in sync with the rhythm, until she finally slowed, descending from the pole with a confident smirk as the crowd erupted in applause.

She made her way to the bar, where Kassy was nursing a drink. "You were on fire out there," Kassy said with a grin, passing her a glass.

Camellia downed it in one gulp. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the message—a text from the nursing home where her sister was recovering.

"Your sister's been throwing tantrums, asking for you." Camellia’s shoulders slumped as she sighed, feeling the crushing weight of responsibility. She was only twenty-three, but instead of living freely, she’d been forced to grow up fast, becoming her sister’s guardian.

"I have to go. Catherine needs me," she said, setting the glass down and standing.

Kassy gave her a supportive nod, but before she could take a step, Desmond appeared, blocking her way. "A client wants a private dance from you," he murmured in a low voice. "And you can’t refuse him."

"I don’t do private dances, Desmond," she replied, a hint of defiance in her tone.

"This isn’t optional," he whispered sharply. "This guy’s powerful—he’s mafia. Behave, and don’t piss him off."

Swallowing her protests, Camellia nodded, reminding herself how much she needed the money. She followed Desmond into a dark, private room, where a shadowed figure lounged on a couch, silent.

"You requested a private dance?" she asked, her voice steady, but he didn’t respond. Sighing, she began her routine, sliding onto his lap and moving her hands down her body, lingering suggestively over her curves. She squeezed her breasts for effect, and he chuckled, satisfied. She turned, pressing herself against his dick and felt his hands grab her ass.

Her eyes widened in shock, heat rushing to her face as anger flared up. "You’re not supposed to touch me," she said, her tone edged with warning, pulling away from him.

A mocking laugh slipped from his lips. "You’re a stripper, aren’t you?"

Seething, Camellia reached for the light switch, flipping it on to confront him. As the room illuminated, her breath caught in her throat. Sitting before her, with a smug, lazy smirk, was the first son of the Blackwood Group—the very man responsible for destroying her family.

But his gaze slid over her face without a hint of recognition. To him, she was just another dancer, a stranger.

He leaned back, chuckling. "Didn’t expect a private dance to be this… intense."

Camellia swallowed hard, her mind racing. He had no idea who she was. Here he was, completely vulnerable, within reach—and the memory of everything he’d taken from her flooded back, a wave of hatred crashing over her.

A plan formed in her mind, dark and dangerous. With a slow, controlled smile, she stepped back toward him, eyes glinting. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”