Chapter 148
Camille knocked on Victoria’s office door, files clutched under her arm. The security plans for the gala needed one final approval, and despite Victoria’s reluctance about the event, Camille knew she would want to review the details.
When no answer came, she knocked again.
Still silence.
Camille turned the handle, expecting to find the office empty. Instead, she found Victoria slumped in her chair, eyes closed, face pale as paper. A small bottle of pills had tipped over on the desk, its contents scattered across important documents. “Victoria?” Camille rushed forward, files forgotten, falling to the floor.
Victoria’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, confusion clouded her face, then recognition dawned. “Camille. I was just resting my eyes.”
But Camille wasn’t listening. Her gaze had locked on the pill bottle. The label faced upward, the word “OXYCODONE” visible in bold print, along with Victoria’s name.
“What are these?” Camille picked up the bottle, dread pooling in her stomach. “Why are you taking such strong pain medication?”
Victoria straightened in her chair, composing herself with visible effort. “It’s nothing. Just some discomfort from the surgery.”
“This isn’t for ‘some discomfort,” Camille said, reading the dosage on the label. “This is for serious pain. And your surgery was months ago. You should be fully healed by now.”
Victoria reached for the bottle, but Camille pulled it away.
“Tell me the truth.” Camille’s voice shook. “What’s really going on?”
Something shifted in Victoria’s eyes, a surrender, a resignation. She sighed deeply, then opened her desk drawer and pulled out a folder.
“I was going to tell you after the gala,” she said, sliding the folder across the desk. “I didn’t want to distract you. Not with Rose still out there. Not with everything at stake.”
Camille stared at the folder, afraid to open it. The hospital logo embossed on its cover told her everything she needed to know.
“How bad is it?” she whispered.
“Open it,” Victoria said gently.
With trembling fingers, Camille opened the folder. Medical terms jumped out at her: “metastatic pancreatic carcinoma,” ” stage four,” “poor prognosis.” Dates of treatments. Surgical notes. Oncologist recommendations.
But one sentence burned into her brain: “Estimated survival: 3-6 months.”
The room tilted around her. Camille gripped the edge of the desk to steady herself.
“Three to six months?” Her voice sounded strange in her own ears, distant and hollow. “That’s… that can’t be right.”
“The estimates are often conservative,” Victoria said, her tone matter–of–fact. “I could have longer.”
“Or shorter.” The words escaped before Camille could stop them.
Victoria didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
“How long have you known?” Camille asked, papers crumpling in her tight grip.
“Since before the bombing of the substations. The first symptoms started even earlier.”
Camille stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “All this time? All these months, you’ve been dying, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?” Camille’s voice rose. “From the truth? From having time to prepare? From being able to help you?”
Victoria’s face softened, showing a vulnerability Camille had rarely seen. “From pain, Camille. I was protecting you from pain. You’ve had enough of that in your life.”
“That wasn’t your choice to make!” Tears spilled down Camille’s cheeks now, hot and angry. “We’re supposed to be partners. Family. You don’t keep something like this from family.”
Victoria flinched at the word “family,” and suddenly Camille understood.
“You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to act like your daughter,” she said, the realization bitter in her mouth. “You
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wanted me to focus on the company. On becoming your successor.”
“No.” Victoria reached for Camille’s hand, but Camille stepped back. “That’s not it at all.”
“Then why?” Camille demanded. “Why hide something this important?“,
Victoria stood with effort, her face tightening with pain as she moved. “Because I couldn’t bear to see you look at me the way you’re looking at me now. With pity. With grief. Like I’m already gone.”
“How did you expect me to look when I found out the woman who saved my life is dying?” Camille’s voice broke on the last word
Victoria moved around the desk, closing the distance between them. “I expected you to be strong. To be ready to carry on without me. That’s what I’ve been preparing you for all along.”
“I thought you were preparing me to work beside you,” Camille said. “Not to replace you.”
Victoria took Camille’s hands, her grip surprisingly firm despite her weakened state. “Listen to me. What we’ve built together,Kane Industries, the Phoenix Grid, your transformation, it can’t end when I do. It needs to continue. You need to continue,”
Camille pulled her hands away. “How can you talk about business at a time like this? We should be discussing treatments. Specialists. Clinical trials.”
“I’ve seen every specialist worth seeing,” Victoria said patiently. “Tried every treatment with any chance of success. The cancer has spread too far, too fast.”
“So you’re just giving up?” Anger flared again, hot and desperate. “The Victoria Kane I know would never surrender without a fight.”
“I have fought.” For the first time, real emotion cracked Victoria’s composed exterior. “I have fought with everything I have. But some battles can’t be won, Camille. Some enemies can’t be defeated through sheer will.”
The vulnerability in Victoria’s voice – something Camille had never heard before – punctured her anger. Suddenly, she saw not the formidable businesswoman who had rescued and transformed her, but a woman facing her own mortality. Afraid. In pain. Alone.
Camille’s anger dissolved, replaced by a wave of pure grief so powerful it nearly knocked her off her feet. She stumbled forward, wrapping her arms around Victoria.
“Don’t leave me,” she sobbed against Victoria’s shoulder. “Please don’t leave me, Mommy.”
The word slipped out without thought, a raw, honest expression of what Victoria had truly become to her. Not just a mentor. Not just a business partner. But a mother who had saved her, protected her, loved her when she needed it most.
Victoria froze for a moment, then her arms came around Camille, holding her tightly. Camille felt a dampness against her hair and realized Victoria was crying too – silent tears she had probably never allowed herself to shed in front of anyone. “My girl,” Victoria whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “My wonderful girl.”
They stood like that, holding each other, tears mingling. For a moment, there was no Kane Industries, no Rose, no upcoming gala. Just a mother and daughter facing the cruelest separation.
A knock at the door interrupted them. They pulled apart as Alexander entered, his expression changing instantly as he took
in the scene, Victoria’s pallor, Camille’s tear–streaked face, the medical files on the desk.
“What happened?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
Camille couldn’t speak. Victoria answered for her, her voice steadier than her tear–stained face suggested.
“She knows,” Victoria said. “About my condition.”
Understanding dawned on Alexander’s face. “I see.”
Camille spun toward him, fresh betrayal cutting through her grief. “You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?”
Alexander approached her carefully, as one might approach a wounded animal. “It wasn’t my place to tell you, Camille. Victoria asked me to respect her privacy.”
“Everyone knew but me,” Camille said bitterly. “My parents. You. Probably half the board members too.”
“Only Alexander and your mother knew,” Victoria corrected. “And only because I needed their help with certain arrangements.”
“Arrangements.” Camille spat the word. “You mean your will. Your funeral plans. All the details of your death that you kept from me.”
Alexander reached for her, but Camille stepped away. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”
Victoria swayed slightly, gripping the edge of the desk. Alexander moved quickly to her side, helping her back into her chair. “You should rest,” he told her. “The doctor said….”
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“I know what the doctor said, Victona interrupted. “But we have a gata in a few hours, and my daughter just received difficult news Resting can wall”
Daughter. The word hung in the air between them Victoria had never called her that before not directly. Just as Camille had never called her “Mommy” until today
“There won’t be a gala: Camille said suddenly “Not tonight. Not with your live this
Especially tonight. Especially with me like this Victoria’s voice regained its familiar steel “We don’t show weakness, Camille Not to the world. Hot to our enemies. And certainly not to Rose
“I don’t care about flose right now Camille enapped “‘” care about you”
“Then honar my wishes Victoria said “Stand beside me at the gata. Show everyone that Kane Industries remains strong, regardless of what happens to me personally”
Camille looked to Alexander for support, but his expression told her he agreed with Victoria Of course he did. He always saw the strategic angle, just like Victoria herself
“Fine, Camille relented, wiping tears from her cheeks. “The gala goes on. But afterwards, we talk about treatment options Real options, not just palliative care
Victoria nodded, though something in her eyes suggested she was merely humoring Camille ‘Of course‘
“I need some air,” Camille said, moving toward the door. ‘Till be on the roof”
She left without looking back, unable to bear another moment in that office with its medical files and pill bottles and unspoken goodbyes.
The elevator ride to the roof passed in a blur. Once outside, the cold air hit her face, a shock that somehow failed to clear her mind. Camille walked to the edge, gripping the railing as she looked out over the city
Victoria was dying. The woman who had saved her, transformed her, given her a second chance at life–was slipping away. And Camille hadn’t even noticed.
She heard the roof door open behind her but didn’t turn. Alexander’s footsteps approached, stopping just behind her.
“Go away.” Camille said. “I don’t want to talk right now.”
Instead of leaving, Alexander moved beside her at the railing. “Then we won’t talk.”
They stood in silence, watching the city below. After a long while, Camille spoke.
“How long have you known?”
“Since just after her surgery,” Alexander admitted. “She made me promise not to tell you.”
“And you always keep your promises,” Camille said bitterly.
“Not always.” Alexander’s voice was gentle. “But I try to respect the wishes of people I care about. Victoria wanted to tell you herself, when she felt you were ready.”
“When would that have been? At her funeral?”
“She was trying to protect you.”
“That’s what she said too.” Camille’s grip tightened on the railing. “But it feels more like she didn’t trust me. Didn’t think I was strong enough to handle the truth.”
Alexander turned to face her. “Victoria has never doubted your strength, Camille. If anything, she was protecting herself. From your grief. From having to face what her death would mean to you.”
Camille hadn’t considered that. That Victoria, stoic, practical Victoria, might be afraid of emotional vulnerability. Of seeing her own pain reflected in Camille’s eyes.
“I called her Mommy,” Camille whispered, still shocked by her own outburst. “I’ve never called her that before.” Alexander’s expression softened. “What did she do?”
“She cried,” Camille said, the memory fresh and painful. “I’ve never seen her cry before.”
Alexander pulled her into his arms then, holding her as fresh tears came. “That’s because you gave her something she never thought she’d have again after Sophia died. A daughter who loves her as a mother, not just as a mentor or boss.” Camille buried her face against his chest, allowing herself to break in a way she couldn’t in front of Victoria. Alexander’s arms tightened around her, solid and warm against the cold wind.
“I can’t lose her,” Camille sobbed. “I can’t do this without her.”
“Yes, you can,” Alexander said, his voice firm but gentle. “It will hurt. It will feel impossible. But you are stronger than you know, Camille. Victoria sees that strength in you, even if you don’t see it yourself.”
Camille pulled back enough to look at him, her vision blurred with tears. “How do I face this? How do I walk into that gala
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tonight and pretend everything is normal when my world is falling apart?”
Alexander wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “One step at a time. One moment at a time. And not alone.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Never alone.”
Camille closed her eyes, drawing strength from his presence. After a while, her breathing steadied. The initial shock of Victoria’s revelation was fading, leaving a dull ache in its place.
“We should go back down,” she said eventually. “Victoria needs us. And we have a gala to prepare for.”
Alexander nodded, taking her hand as they walked toward the door. Just before they reached it, Camille paused.
“Alexander,” she said quietly. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“No more secrets. No matter how painful the truth might be. No matter who asks you to keep it from me.” Her eyes held his, demanding honesty. “Promise me.”
Alexander looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “I promise.”
Camille took a deep breath, then opened the door. It was time to face Victoria again. Time to face the future however difficult, however painful, that awaited them all.
As Camille stepped inside, she wondered if this was what true strength meant, not the absence of pain, but the ability to carry it without being crushed beneath its weight.
