Chapter 4: The First Red Flag
Camille had always believed silence could be comforting.
But that morning, silence felt like an unfinished sentence.
She sat at her kitchen counter, picking apart a croissant with fingers that wouldn’t stop twitching. The fridge hummed now — Daniel must’ve adjusted the dial. The light inside was fine too. But she couldn’t shake that moment of flicker. That split-second feeling of... something.
Maybe she was just being weird.
Maybe everything really was okay.
Maybe love, when it’s real, feels like a trick until you learn to trust it.
At 9:42 a.m., Daniel texted:
“On my way back. Don’t fall in love with anyone while I’m gone.”
She smiled.
“Too late. The croissants won me over.”
“Then I’ve lost you to flaky carbs. Brutal.”
“Ruthless.”
When he arrived, he looked exactly the same — perfectly pressed coat, warm smile, that relaxed, effortless confidence she was slowly getting addicted to.
He kissed her forehead. “Miss me?”
Camille leaned into him. “Depends. What did you bring besides carbs?”
Daniel held up a brown paper bag. “Egg sandwiches. You’re not just dating a man — you’re dating a full-service breakfast solution.”
She laughed. “Do you always charm women with food?”
He shrugged. “Only the ones who matter.”
They spent the rest of the morning curled on her couch, watching old crime documentaries. She didn’t expect him to like them — but he did.
Or at least, he said he did.
At one point, she glanced at him and caught him staring at the screen, face oddly still. Blank. Like he wasn’t watching, but remembering.
“You okay?” she asked.
He blinked. “Yeah. Just… zoned out.”
She paused the show. “You sure? You looked… I don’t know. Far away.”
He smiled quickly. “Sorry. Just reminded me of something.”
“What?”
“An old case. A guy I used to know went through something like that. Murdered his girlfriend. Claimed it was an accident.”
Camille sat up a little straighter. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. Messed up, right?”
“Was it someone close to you?”
Daniel shrugged. “Not really.”
Camille waited for him to say more.
He didn’t.
Later, while folding the blanket they’d used, she asked, “Where did you grow up?”
Daniel, who had just reached for his coat, hesitated.
“Uh—upstate. Near Albany.”
“Big family?”
“Not really.”
He moved too quickly through the answers. Like he’d practiced them.
Camille tilted her head. “You don’t talk about them much.”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
Daniel flashed that same perfect smile. “Some people are just better off forgotten, Camille. I focus on now.”
She tried to brush it off. But something itched at her.
That night, as they lay in bed, she tried again.
“What was your mom like?”
Daniel’s arm tensed around her.
“She was... complicated.”
“How so?”
“She loved hard. Hurt hard. We didn’t end well.”
Camille turned her head. “She passed away?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Silence fell again.
Camille stared at the ceiling. “Do you have any pictures of her?”
Daniel didn’t answer for a few seconds.
“I don’t keep a lot of photos.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like looking back.”
His voice had changed.
Not angry. Not cold.
Just final.
Camille knew when to back off.
But that night, after he fell asleep beside her, she lay awake.
Listening to his breathing. Watching the rise and fall of his chest.
There was something about the way he slept — arms folded like he was guarding something, even in dreams.
The next morning, Camille met Lena for coffee.
“You look... suspicious,” Lena said, sliding into the booth.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re doing that thing with your mouth.”
“What thing?”
“The tight smile. Like your brain is whispering ‘something’s off’ and your heart’s like ‘shut up, he’s hot.’”
Camille laughed. “It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“He’s perfect. Too perfect.”
Lena narrowed her eyes. “No such thing. Everyone’s got a weird uncle or a karaoke horror story.”
“I don’t know anything about his family. He avoids every question.”
“Red flag,” Lena said, sipping her drink.
“Is it though?”
“Yes. It’s not like he has to give you his birth certificate, but come on. If a man can't tell you where he grew up without looking like he’s solving a math problem, that’s sketchy.”
Camille bit her lip. “What if he’s just private?”
Lena leaned in. “Girl. Privacy is fine. Mystery is hot. But deflection? That’s another game.”
That night, Camille brought it up again. Carefully.
They were sitting on his couch this time. Jazz playing softly in the background. She was watching him pour wine.
“Do you ever think about your childhood?” she asked.
Daniel didn’t look up. “Why?”
“Just curious. I think about mine a lot.”
He handed her a glass, sat down. “Nothing good comes from digging through ashes.”
Camille sipped her wine. “You think it’s all ashes?”
“For me? Yeah.”
“Did something happen?”
He stared at her, smile gone. “I thought we were having a good night.”
“We are. I just... I want to know you.”
He leaned forward. “You do know me.”
“But I don’t know anything real. Not about your family. Or high school. Or even how you got into design. It’s like—there’s a whole life before me that doesn’t exist.”
Daniel’s eyes darkened.
“I told you, Camille. I don’t like talking about the past.”
She looked down. “I’m not trying to push.”
“You are.”
“No. I just—”
“You want stories. I get it. People like narratives. They want to make sense of things. But what if I don’t?”
Camille went quiet.
He reached over, took her hand. “I like this. Us. Here. Now. Isn’t that enough?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess.”
Daniel kissed her forehead. “Good.”
But that night, as he showered, Camille sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his wallet, sitting half-open on the nightstand.
She didn’t touch it.
But she wanted to.
She really, really wanted to.
Instead, she picked up her phone and googled: Daniel Cross design firm NYC.
Nothing came up.
She tried again. Daniel Cross architect New York.
Still nothing.
She checked Instagram. Facebook. LinkedIn.
It was like he didn’t exist.
Or he didn’t want to be found.
When he came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, water dripping down his chest, he smiled like nothing had changed.
“Miss me?”
Camille closed her phone screen.
And smiled back.
“Always.”
But her heart thudded a little too fast.
And something in her gut whispered a warning.
One she chose to ignore.
For now.
