Chapter 153
Chapter 153
Camille crouched beneath a table with three young women in evening gowns, all sobbing in terror. The second explosion had blocked their path to the main exit with burning debris.
“Listen to me,” Camille said firmly, her voice cutting through their panic. “There’s another way out. Through the service corridor. But we need to stay low and move fast.”
The women nodded, their faces streaked with tears and soot.
“Follow me,” Camille ordered. “Stay close. Cover your mouth with your dress if you can.”
They crawled from under the table into the thickening smoke. Camille led them along the perimeter of the room, away from the worst of the flames. Her eyes burned. Her lungs screamed for clean air. But she pushed forward, guiding the terrified women toward safety.
The service door appeared through the smoke, its outline barely visible. Camille reached it first, pulling it open to reveal a relatively clear corridor beyond.
Go!” she urged the women. “Straight ahead. You’ll reach an exit in thirty seconds.”
As the last woman stumbled through, Camille turned back to the ballroom. Were there others still trapped? Anyone she had missed?
A third explosion rocked the building, this one closer than the others. The force of it sent Camille flying backward into the wall. Pain exploded across her back and shoulder. Her vision blurred.
When it cleared, she saw the ceiling directly above her beginning to crack. In seconds, it would collapse.
Camille tried to move, but her body refused to respond. The smoke was too thick now. Each breath brought more pain than air.
So this was how it would end. Not in victory over Rose, but buried beneath the rubble of her triumph.
As consciousness began to fade, Camille thought she heard someone calling her name. A familiar voice, desperate and determined.
“Alexander?” she whispered, the word lost in the roar of the flames.
Then strong arms were around her, lifting her from the floor. A voice close to her ear saying, “I’ve got you. Stay with me.”
Alexander had found her. Even through the smoke and flames and chaos, he had found her.
As he carried her toward safety, Camille’s last thought before darkness claimed her was that Rose had failed again. Failed to destroy what mattered most.
Because even in this moment of destruction, she was not alone.
Victoria watched from her car as flames engulfed the west wing of the Grand Plaza Hotel. Emergency vehicles surrounded the building, their lights painting the night in flashes of red and blue. Paramedics treated injured guests on the plaza. Police officers established a perimeter. Firefighters battled the blaze with seemingly little effect.
And still, no sign of Carnille or Alexander.
Victoria’s hand gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles had turned white. She had called Alexander seventeen times. No answer.
“Curtis,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “If you don’t let me out of this car right now, I will ensure you never work in security again. Anywhere. Ever.”
Before Curtis could respond, Victoria’s driver pointed toward the hotel’s side entrance. “Look!”
Through the smoke emerged a figure carrying what appeared to be a body. As they moved closer, Victoria recognized Alexander, his face blackened with soot, his clothing torn and burned. In his arms lay Camille, motionless.
Victoria’s heart stopped.
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“Move!” she ordered, pushing past Curtis to open the car door herself.
She stumbled onto the plaza, her legs weaker than she would ever admit, and hurried toward Alexander. As she approached, she saw Camille’s eyes flutter open. Relief flooded through her with such force she nearly collapsed.
“She’s alive,” Alexander gasped as Victoria reached them. “Smoke inhalation. Some burns. Maybe a concussion from debris.”
Victoria touched Camille’s face with trembling fingers. “Camille? Can you hear me?”
Camille’s eyes focused on Victoria, recognition dawning. “You… should be… in the car,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from smoke.
A laugh that was half sob escaped Victoria’s lips. “And you should have followed me out. We both disobeyed orders.”
Paramedics rushed forward with a stretcher. Alexander gently placed Camille on it, reluctant to let her go even for a moment.
“Stay with her,” Victoria told him. “I’ll follow in the car.”
Alexander nodded, his eyes never leaving Camille as the paramedics began treating her.
Victoria turned back toward her vehicle, suddenly aware of the weight of her own exhaustion. The excitement, the fear, the relief, all of it came crashing down at once. Her vision swam. Her chest felt tight.
She took one step, then another. The third step never came.
Instead, Victoria felt her knees buckle. Darkness edged her vision. The last thing she heard was Curtis shouting for a medic.
Then nothing.
Camille regained consciousness in the ambulance, oxygen mask covering her face, monitors beeping steadily around her. Alexander sat beside her, holding her hand, his face a mask of worry and relief.
“Victoria?” Camille asked, pulling the mask aside.
Alexander hesitated. “They’re taking her to the hospital.”
Camille tried to sit up, panic giving her strength. “What happened? Is she hurt?”
“Easy,” Alexander said, gently pushing her back down. “She collapsed after seeing you were safe. Could be exhaustion, could be smoke inhalation, could be…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
It could be the cancer. The disease that was already killing her, now accelerated by tonight’s trauma.
“I need to be with her,” Camille insisted, trying again to rise.
This time, Alexander didn’t stop her. “The ambulances are heading to the same hospital. We’ll find her as soon as we arrive.”
Camille nodded, settling back but keeping hold of Alexander’s hand. “How bad was it? The hotel?”
“Bad,” Alexander admitted. “At least three bombs detonated. Maybe more. The west wing is destroyed. The ballroom… there’s not much left.”
“Casualties?” Camille asked, dreading the answer.
“Unknown yet. Many injured, but most guests got out before the first explosion.”
Camille closed her eyes, picturing the beautiful ballroom in flames, the charity gala turned to ash, all her hard work destroyed in minutes. Rose had won this round.
But Rose hadn’t taken what mattered
Victoria had to survive too. She had to.
Camille was alive. Alexander was alive. And Victoria…
The ambulance swerved suddenly, throwing them sideways. Camille heard the driver curse, then the squeal of brakes. They had stopped.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
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Alexander moved to the front, spoke briefly with the driver, then returned. His expression was grim.
“There’s been a multi–car accident ahead. All lanes blocked. They’re finding an alternate route, but it’s going to delay us.”
“And Victoria?” Camille’s voice rose with panic. “Is she stuck too?”
“Her ambulance went ahead of us. It should have reached the hospital by now.”
Camille felt cold fear wrap around her heart. Every minute mattered with Victoria’s condition. Any delay could be fatal.
“We need to get there,” she whispered. “Now.”
Alexander squeezed her hand. “We will. I promise.”
But promises weren’t enough. Not when Victoria’s life hung in the balance. Not when the woman who had saved Camille, who had become a mother to her, who had shown her how to rise from the ashes of her old life, might be taking her last breaths alone in a hospital room.
Camille closed her eyes, silently pleading with whatever power might be listening.
Not yet. Please, not yet. Not like this. Not because of Rose.
The ambulance finally began moving again, sirens wailing as it sought a path through the chaos of the city. But to Camille, it felt as though they were barely crawling.
And with each passing second, the distance between her and Victoria seemed to grow, a gulf she feared might become permanent before she had the chance to cross it one last time.
***
Victoria Kane lay on a hospital gurney, oxygen mask covering her pale face, as doctors worked frantically around her. Her body, already weakened by cancer and treatment, struggled to process the smoke she had inhaled, the shock she had endured.
“Blood pressure dropping,” a nurse called out. “Oxygen levels at 84 percent.”
“Push another milligram of epinephrine,” the doctor ordered. “And get me her full medical records. Now.”
Victoria heard their voices as though from a great distance. She tried to speak, to ask about Camille, but no sound emerged. Her body felt disconnected, floating, drifting away from the pain and noise of the emergency room.
Somewhere deep in her mind, Victoria knew this might be the end. Not the dignified, prepared death she had planned, but a chaotic scramble in an emergency room, surrounded by strangers.
She had told Camille there would be time. Time for proper goodbyes. Time for final instructions. Time for one last moment together.
Now, that promise might be broken.
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As consciousness slipped further away, Victoria held onto one thought, one image: Camille’s face when she had opened her eyes in Alexander’s arms. Alive. Safe. Strong enough to continue without Victoria.
That would have to be enough.
The emergency room doors burst open as new trauma patients arrived from the hotel explosion. Doctors shouted orders. Machines beeped urgently. And Victoria Kane, one of the most powerful women in the world, was rushed deeper into the hospital, fighting for
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