Reborn From Oblivion (Nellie and Cameron) novel Chapter 189

Seeing the fire in Cameron's eyes, Nathan couldn't help but crack a smile, which was more dazzling than roses open overnight in spring. But to Cameron, it was just plain annoying. Nathan always seemed like a sly fox to him.

Out of the camera's view, Cameron grabbed Nathan by the collar and slammed him against the wall with a force that only seasoned strength could muster. Eyes bloodshot, he barked, "I knew it! Ever since Nellie got back, she's been acting different. Did you put her up to divorcing me?"

Nathan started off with a playful, harmless demeanor, but it shifted quicker than a summer storm. His handsome face took on a dark, menacing edge.

Before Cameron knew what hit him, he felt a cold grip around his neck, like he'd been caught in a vice. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. In a flash, Nathan had him on the ground, his foot firm on Cameron's chest.

Cameron stared up in disbelief. "You're quite the fighter!"

In their world, competition was fierce. Everyone knew who aced their grades, who was the martial arts king, and who had the sharpest mind. They knew each other's strengths like the back of their hands.

Cameron had never heard of Nathan being exceptional at anything, but Nathan's display just now left him stunned, like he'd stumbled upon a shocking meme.

In their circles, Jake was the martial arts champ, but even he might not hold a candle to Nathan's skills.

Nathan crouched down, eyes as cold as a snowstorm. "Cameron, I don't like being touched. Try it again, and it won't end with just a fall."

Nathan's handsome face twitched. "Cameron—" he started to retort, but was cut off by the director's call.

"Nathan, Cameron, it's time to gather."

The recording dragged on into the night, and the weather took a nasty turn, unleashing a raging storm. The show's guests found themselves stuck on the mountain.

The mountain's harsh climate was unforgiving, with temperatures taking a nosedive at night. Clad in just thin shirts, the guests shivered in the cold. The farmhouse accommodations were basic at best, with drafty windows and simple meals—a far cry from what these rich guys, pampered and allergic to dust mites, were used to. They all counted the minutes until they could head back down the mountain.