ontinued. And beneath it all, like the steady ticking of a pocket watch, the truth waited for its moment to be heard.
The reception stretched into the early hours, a blur of champagne toasts, dance floor laughter, and hundreds of congratulations.
By three in the morning, only the hardiest guests remained, clustered in small groups on Victoria’s moonlit lawn. Camille sat
with her parents and a few Kane Industries board members, her wedding dress pooled around her in a cloud of ivory silk, her eyes
bright despite the late hour.
Alexander touched her shoulder gently. “I need to check something in my room before we leave,” he murmured. “Back in twenty
minutes.”
She reached up to squeeze his hand, not interrupting her conversation. The trust in her touch, the easy way she let him go,
twisted in his gut. Such faith deserved matching honesty. Yet here he was, slipping away with a different purpose entirely.
The main house stood quiet, most staff having retired after serving the midnight buffet. Alexander moved through familiar
hallways, loosening his bow tie with one hand, the other clutching something wrapped in tissue paper. His footsteps echoed on
the marble floors as he climbed the grand staircase to the guest wing..
In his temporary room, he locked the door and dragged a chair to the antique writing desk by the window. Moonlight spilled
across the polished surface as he unwrapped his package, revealing a single white lily, its petals gleaming like pearl in the silver
light.
From his wallet, he withdrew a worn photograph. The image showed a middle–aged man with Alexander’s jawline and eyes, gray touching his temples, standing on a sailboat deck. Richard Pierce’s smile radiated from the paper so alive, so unaware of what
awaited him.
Alexander propped the photo against the desk lamp and laid the lily before it.
“Hello, Uncle,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I got married today.”
–
The silence pressed around him. Outside, faint music and laughter drifted up from the remaining wedding guests.
“Her name is Camille. You would like her.” Alexander loosened his collar, feeling suddenly trapped in his wedding finery. “She’s
strong. Determined. Kind in ways the world never deserved.”
He closed his eyes, remembering his uncle’s study – the smell of leather books and pipe tobacco, the sailing trophies lining
cherry–wood shelves, the big desk where Richard would help him with homework after taking him in.
“She doesn’t know yet. About you. About her…” He paused, unable to say “mother” in this context. “About Victoria.”
The photograph stared back, Richard’s eyes crinkling at the corners, forever captured in a moment of happiness before
everything crumbled.
“I found the storage unit. Someone wanted me to see what happened.” Alexander’s fingers curled into fists on the desk. “The proof was all there – how Kane Industries targeted you. How she systematically cut you off from every lifeline. How she knew
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exactly what she was doing.”
His voice dropped lower, barely audible even in the silent room.
“I haven’t forgotten my promise to destroy whoever made you take your life.”
+25 Bonus
The words hung in the air, heavy with eleven years of grief. Alexander had made that vow at twenty one, standing beside a fresh
grave, rain sliding down his face and mixing with tears no one else noticed. Back then, he hadn’t known who was responsible.
Now he did.
“But I married her daughter today.” His laugh held no humor. “You always said life had strange currents. You never lied.”
Alexander straightened the lily, its white petals stark against the dark wood. Richard had loved lilies – had grown them in the
garden behind his brownstone. Said they reminded him of his sister, Alexander’s mother, before bitterness had twisted her.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted to the empty room. “Camille isn’t responsible for Victoria’s sins. But Victoria lives in our
life, in our home, in our future.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “And Camille loves her. She saved Camille when no one
else would.”
The music from the garden faded, suggesting the last guests were finally departing. Soon, he and Camille would leave for their
honeymoon – two weeks in the Greek islands, far from New York, from Victoria, from the truth swimming beneath their
marriage like a shark in dark water.
“What would you tell me to do?” Alexander whispered, touching the edge of the photograph. “You always knew the right path.”
The silence offered no answers, just as it hadn’t for eleven years.
A soft knock on the door startled him. “Alexander?” Camille’s voice called. “Almost ready? The car’s waiting.”
“One minute,” he answered, quickly gathering himself.
Alexander looked one last time at his uncle’s face, at the smile that had once been his only safe harbor. “I’ll figure this out,” he promised softly. “For both of us.”
He carefully rewrapped the lily in its tissue. Unlike cut roses, which he could easily buy anywhere, white lilies in June required
planning. He’d ordered this one specially, keeping it hidden among his things. Now it would travel with them, pressed between
the pages of a book in his luggage, a secret reminder.
When he opened the door, Camille stood in the hallway, changed from her wedding gown into a cream–colored traveling suit. Her eyes, lined with fatigue but still bright with happiness, swept over him.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
Alexander nodded, pulling her close. “Just making sure I had everything.”
She didn’t see the photograph he’d slipped back into his wallet, didn’t notice the slight bulge in his jacket where the wrapped lily
now rested.
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“Victoria wants to say goodbye before we leave,” Camille said, linking her arm through his. “She’s waiting downstairs.”
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The mention of Victoria’s name tightened something in Alexander’s chest. For the past twenty–four hours, he’d managed to
smile at her, toast with her, thank her for the lavish wedding. Each moment had been an act of will, knowing what she’d done.
“Let’s not keep her waiting,” he said.
Victoria stood in the grand foyer, a silk robe wrapped around her thin frame. Despite the late hour, she looked alert, her silver hair neatly combed. Cancer treatment had taken its toll, but today’s happiness seemed to have renewed her strength.
“There you are,” she said, opening her arms to Camille. “My beautiful girl.”
Alexander watched them embrace, his emotions tangling into an impossible knot. This woman had saved Camille, given her a home and purpose when she had nothing. She had also coldly destroyed his uncle’s life, seeing him as nothing but collateral damage in her ambition.
“Alexander.” Victoria turned to him, arms outstretched. “My son, now.”
He stepped into her embrace, feeling her fragile frame against his chest. The lily in his pocket pressed between them, a silent accusation. Victoria smelled of expensive perfume and the subtle medicinal scent of someone undergoing treatment. Her hands patted his back affectionately.
“Take care of each other,” she said, releasing him. “And don’t worry about anything here. The doctors are pleased with my progress.”
“We’ll call every day,” Camille promised.
“Nonsense. Enjoy yourselves.” Victoria waved dismissively. “I’ve waited too long to see you this happy. Nothing could please me more than knowing you’re both off celebrating properly.”
Alexander’s throat tightened. The genuine love in Victoria’s voice for Camille – and seemingly for him – made his anger more confusing, not less. How could the same woman who had shown such calculated cruelty to his uncle look at them with such warmth?
“Thank you,” he managed, “for everything.”
Victoria smiled, misreading his tension as emotion. “No need for thanks between family.”
Family. The word echoed in his head as they said final goodbyes, as they walked outside to where the chauffeur waited with their car, as Camille waved one last time to Victoria standing in the doorway.
The car pulled away, tires crunching on gravel. Camille nestled against his side, her head on his shoulder.
“Can you believe it?” she murmured sleepily. “We’re actually married.”
Alexander slid his arm around her, drawing her closer. “It still feels like a dream.”
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“A good one, I hope.” Her voice was already fading as exhaustion claimed her.
“The best,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.
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As Camille drifted to sleep against him, Alexander stared out the window at the passing city lights. In his pocket, the lily pressed against his ribs, its presence a constant reminder. In his mind, the image of his uncle’s face floated alongside Victoria’s smile as she’d blessed their union.
Two diverging paths stretched before him – one of forgiveness and new beginnings, the other of justice long denied. He couldn’t see where either led, couldn’t tell which one his uncle would want him to take.
The car turned onto the highway toward the airport. Beside him, Camille made a small sound in her sleep, her hand finding his even in unconsciousness. Alexander laced his fingers through hers, feeling the new weight of her wedding band, wondering if she would still want to wear it if she knew the truth.
Dawn broke on the horizon as they approached the airport, painting the sky in streaks of gold and rose. A new day. A new life. A new name for Camille.
Yet some things remained unchanged in the growing light – the lily in his pocket, the photograph in his wallet, and the promise he’d whispered to a ghost in a moonlit room.
Sleep wouldn’t come for Alexander. Not yet. Perhaps not for a long while.
