Camille’s point of view
Everyone else saw what I wanted them to see. What Victoria had crafted me to show. Alexander Pierce had somehow looked past all of that to the woman beneath, the woman I thought was safely buried.
I showered, letting hot water wash away the last traces of tonight’s performance, then changed into silk pajamas and moved to the sitting area of my suite. Sleep would be impossible with my mind in such turmoil. Instead, I poured a small glass of bourbon from the decanter on my side table, a habit adopted from Victoria, and curled into the window seat overlooking the grounds.
The estate spread below me, perfectly manicured gardens now shadowed in moonlight, security lights marking the perimeter in the distance. Beyond the gates, the city gloved against the night sky, millions of lives unfolding In patterns I would never know.
“I suspect we’ll be seeing more of each other, Ms. Kane.”
His words played in my mind, the confidence in them suggesting he’d already decided our paths would cros again. Not a hope or a plan, but a certainty. As if he knew something about the future that I didn’t.
The bourbon warmed my throat as I sipped it, the expensive liquor tasting of oak and vanilla and something deeper, something that reminded me of how Pierce had smelled standing close to me, expensive cologne with notes of cedar and leather underlying it.
I frowned, annoyed at myself for noticing such details, for remembering them, for finding them pleasant rather than irrelevant. Victoria had trained me better than this. Physical reactions were to be noted, cataloged, and dismissed if they served no strategic purpose.
And yet.
And yet, something about Alexander Pierce had awakened feelings I thought dead along with Camille Lewis. Not romantic interest, nothing so simple or benign. More a deep–seated curiosity, a pull toward something or someone who presented a genuine mystery in a world I’d come to understand as ruled by patterns and calculations.
My phone buzzed softly on the table beside me. A message from Victoria: “Security briefing, 7 AM, Research team gathering information on Pierce. Sleep if you can.
The clinical tone was typical of her, emotions relegated to background noise against the forward march of strategic planning. I sent back a simple acknowledgment, then set the phone aside, returning my attention to the moonlit gardens and the thoughts I couldn’t quite organize.
What would Alexander Pierce do next? The question demanded consideration. If he truly believed I was Camille Lewis, resurrected and transformed, what purpose would that knowledge serve for him? Leverage against Victoria, perhaps? A business advantage of some kind?
Or was his interest more personal? I’d caught something in his expression beyond mere strategic calculation. A curiosity that mirrored my own, perhaps. An interest that transcended whatever game he might be playing with Victoria
His words was it a promise, or was it a threat? lingered in my mind as I finished my bourbon and prepared for bed. Sleep would be difficult to find tonight, but tomorrow would demand full focus. Victoria would have a plan, a counter–strategy against whatever threat Pierce presented She always did.
As I slid between silk sheets, my mind refused to quiet, images from the evening playing behind closed eyelids. The glittering ballroom. The assessing eyes of the social elige. Victoria’s carefully orchestrated introduction
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And Alexander Pierce, looking at me with those penetrating gray eyes, seeing what no one else had managed to see beneath the careful construction of Camille Kane.
Was it fear I felt at that prospect, or something dangerously close to relief?
The question followed me into uneasy dreams where I ran through endless corridors, pursued by shadows with piercing gray eyes. Dreams where I stood before mirrors that reflected not my current face but the one I’d left behind. Dreams where Alexander Pierce whispered my old me, over and over, until I turned to face him, only to find myself waking with a start, heart pounding in the darkness of my rooni.
Dawn found me at my window again, watching the first light touch the gardens below. I’d managed perhaps three hours of broken sleep, not nearly enough for the day ahead, but more than I’d expected given the turmoil in my mind.
I showered again, dressed in the power suit laid out by my stylist, applied makeup with practiced precision. Each action a step in the daily transformation from private self to public persona. By the time I checked my reflection before heading to breakfast, Camille Kane stared back at me, confident, controlled,
composed.
No trace remained of the confusion and uncertainty that had plagued me through the night. No hint of the dreams that had disturbed my sleep. Just the woman Victoria had created, the heir to her empire, the instrument of justice. against those who had wronged me.
Yet as I moved through the morning routine, breakfast with Victoria, security briefing with James, review of press coverage from the previous night’s event, I found my thoughts repeatedly returning to Alexander Pierce. To the certainty in his voice when he’d all but named me as Camille Lewis. To the strange connection I’d felt despite the threat he represented.
“The press coverage is universally positive,” Victoria noted over coffee, scanning reports on her tablet. “Your debut is being hailed as the social event of the season. Several publications are already speculating about the impact you’ll have on Kane Industries moving forward.”
“And Pierce?” I asked, unable to keep the question contained any longer. “Any mention of our interaction?” Victoria’s eyes flicked up to mine, assessing. “Nothing specific. Though the business press notes his unexpected appearance at an event hosted by his chief competitor.”
She set down her tablet, giving me her full attention, a rare occurrence during morning briefings. “You seem…. preoccupied with Alexander Pierce.”
Not a question. An observation that demanded explanation
“He threatened everything we’ve built,” I pointed out, keeping my voice neutral. “Identified me despite all our precautions. That seems worthy of preoccupation.”
“Yes,” Victoria agreed, studying me with the penetrating gaze that always made me feel transparent. “But there’s something more. Something you’re not sharing ”
Thesitated, unsure how to articulate the strange pull I’d felt toward Pierce without sounding foolish. Without sounding like the old Camille, easily swayed by attention from confident men.
“There was something familiar about him,” I said finally. Not that I’ve met him before. But a sense that he understood something about me that others don’t Can’t”
Victoria’s expression remained unreadable, but I sensed a shift in her attention, a sharpening of focus. “Elaborate.
“He looked at me and saw through the surface,” I tried to explain. “Not just suspecting I might be Camille Lewis, but… seeing me. The person beneath the transformation.”
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Chapter 33
My words sounded ridiculous to my own ears, mystical rather than strategic, emotional rather than calculated. Everything Victoria had trained me to avoid.
Yet she didn’t dismiss my observation. Instead, she seemed to consider it carefully, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the polished table.
“Alexander Pierce has always possessed unusual insight into people,” she said after a moment. “It’s part of what makes him dangerous. He sees patterns others miss, connections others overlook.”
She rose, moving to the window that overlooked the front drive where her car waited. “Whatever connection you feel, whatever recognition you sensed, remember that it serves his purposes, not yours. Not ours.”
“Of course,” I agreed quickly, embarrassed to have revealed even that much vulnerability. “I’m not suggesting otherwise.”
Victoria turned back to me, her expression softening fractionally. “Pierce is brilliant, charismatic, and utterly ruthless in pursuit foals. Much like me, in that regard ” A small, tight smile. “Perhaps that’s why we’ve been such effective rivals.”
She gathered her things, preparing to depart for the office. The security team will have a complete dossier on his recent activities by this afternoon. Until then, proceed with today’s schedule as planned. The TechVault integration meetings require your full attention.”
With that, she was gone, leaving me with a strange sense of having revealed too much and learned too little all at
once.
The morning passed in a blur of meetings and conference calls, the business of Kane Industries demanding complete focus. Yet beneath the professional exterior I maintained, thoughts of Alexander Pierce continued to surface at unexpected moments.
The way he’d looked at me. The certainty in his voice. The promise of seeing each other again.
I found myself wondering what he was doing now. Whether he was thinking about our encounter as well. Whether he was already planning our next meeting, or if his attention had moved on to other matters, other adversaries.
The latter possibility bothered me more than it should have
By late afternoon, fatigue from the previous night’s broken sleep finally caught up with me. I retreated to my office, instructing my assistant to hold calls for thirty minutes while I reviewed documents that required privacy. Once alone, I moved to the window seat, allowing myself a rare moment of unguarded thought.
Alexander Pierce had recognized me. Had seen through layers of surgical alteration, physical transformation, and behavioral retraining to the woman I’d been before. The question that haunted me wasn’t how he’d done it, but why it mattered so much to me that he had.
Was it simple fear of exposure? Of having everything Victoria and I had built together threatened by one man’s dangerous knowledge?
Or was it the vertigo–inducing sensation of being truly seen after a year of perfect disguise? The strange relief mixed with terror when someone looked past Camille Kane to the woman beneath, the woman I sometimes feared I’d lost completely in the transformation.
I closed my eyes, the afternoon sun warm on my face through the window glass. Whatever the reason, Alexander Pierce had disturbed something in me that had been carefully buried, carefully controlled. Something that would need to be addressed if I was to maintain the clarity of purpose Victoria had instilled in me
When we meet again, I would be ready. Would have answer to the questions he raised, both spoken and unspoken. Would understand the threat he presented and how to neutralize it.
Chapter 33
Would understand why, despite everything, I found myself
Almost
