Chapter 8
Chapter 8
CAMILLE’S POINT OF VIEW
The nightmare grabbed me by the throat, dragging me under before I could fight back.
I was standing in the rain outside a restaurant, my face pregard against cold glass, watching Rose and Stefant inside. They sat at a candlelit table, champagne glasses raised in a toast. Stefan wore the tie I’d given him last Christmas. Rose were my engagement ring.
Their laughter reached me somehow, cutting through the glass barrier. They were laughing at me.
“Did you see her face?” Rose’s voice echoed unnaturally lour “When she found the divorce papers? Like a stupid. puppy being abandoned at the shelter.”
Stefan chuckled, pouring more champagne. “And when she realized it was you? God, I almost felt sorry for her.”
“Almost,” Rose agreed, her smile shark–like. “But not quite. She made it too easy, Stef. Always so desperate to be loved. So willing to believe the lies.”
They clinked glasses again. The sound transformed into breaking glass, shattering windows, car metal crumpling
The scene shifted. I was in my car, rain hammering the windshield, wipers fighting a losing battle against the downpour. My cheeks were wet- tears or rain, I couldn’t tell anymore.
Headlights appeared behind me, too bright, too fast. Gaining.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, foot pressing the accelerator. The headlights grew closer, lighting up my rearview mirror until I was blind.
A bump. Metal against metal. My car swerved.
Then I was flying, the world spinning as my car broke through the bridge railing. That weightless moment of suspension before gravity remembered me.
The water rushed up.
I screamed, the sound ending in a gurgle as icy water filled my lungs. As I sank, I saw them standing on the bridge. Rose Stefan. My parents. All watching impassively as I drowned.
Rose waved goodbye, her smile triumphant.
“Should we call someone?” my mother asked, not particularly concerned.
“Why bother?” my father replied. “She was always such a disappointment.”
The water closed over my head, and darkness pulled me down, down, down…
I woke gasping, sheets tangled around my legs like grasping hands. For terrifying seconds, I couldn’t remember where I was. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar, painted cherubs, golden trim, luxury I hadn’t earned
Victoria. The adoption. My new life.
Reality settled back, but the terror remained, clinging to my skin like river mad. I pushed myself upright, ignoring the protest from any healing ribs, Sweat plastered by nightgown to my body, and my heart hammered against my chest like it was trying to escape
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The digital clock on the bedside table glowed 1:17 AM. Too early to be awake, too late to hope for peac swung my legs over the side of the bed, needing to move, to prove to myself I wasn’t drowning
deep. I
The marble floor was cold against my bare feet as I padded to the bathroom, flipping on lights as I went. The woman in the mirror was a stranger–hollow eyes, skin pale as paper, hair wild from thrashing in my sleep.
I splashed cold water on my face, Trying to wash away the nightmare’s residue. But when I closed my eyes, I saw them again. Laughing Toasting Celebrating my destruction
A sound escaped me, something between a laugh and a sol The absurdity suddenly hit me – I was standing in a bathroom worth more than my old car, in a mansion owned by one of the world’s wealthiest women, who wanted to adopt me because I looked like her dead daughter.
The laugh bubbled up again, louder this time, edged with brysteria. I pressed my hand against my mouth, trying to hold it in, but it was too late. The dam had broken.
I slid down the bathroom wall until I hit the floor, laughter transforming to sobs that tore through my chest. Every breath hurt my bruised ribs, but I couldn’t stop. Years of swallowed tears demanded release.
I cried for the little girl who’d never been enough. For the college dreams crushed by Rose’s lies. For three years of marriage to a man who’d never truly seen me. For the weak, trusting fool I’d been, giving chances to people who only wanted to use them against me.
My hands curled into fists, nails digging half–moons into my palms. The physical pain was almost a relief, something solid to focus on instead of the gaping emptiness inside.
“Enough.”
The voice cut through my breakdown like a knife. Victoria stood in the doorway, silver hair loose around her shoulders, wrapped in a black silk robe. Her face gave nothing away, but her eyes were sharp, assessing.
Shame burned through me. She’d offered me strength, power, a chance at revenge, and here I was, dissolving on her bathroom floor at three in the morning. Proving everyone right about weak, emotional Camille.
I tried to stand, to salvage some dignity, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m sorry,” I managed, voice raw from crying. “The nightmare…”
“Tell me.” Not a request. A command.
I hesitated, then described the dream in halting sentences. The restaurant. The bridge. The water. Their faces as they watched me drown.
Victoria listened without interruption, without pitying murmurs or comforting platitudes. When I finished, she simply nodded.
“Get up.”
I stared at her. “What?”
“Get up,” the repeated, extending one hand. “This floor is no place for a Kane.”
Her words hit like a splash of cold water. This floor was no place for a Kane. And that’s who I was now, or who I was becoming Not weak Camille Lewis, but Camille Kane Heir. Survivor. Avenger.
I took her hand, letting her pull me to my feet. Her grip was surprisingly strong for a woman her age, and dry against my tear damp skin.
“Follow me,” she said, turning without checking if I would obey.
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Chapter B
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I followed her through darkened hallways, past priceless artwork and antiques that glowed dimly in the shadows. We descended a grand staircase, my bare feet silent on plush carpet, and entered a part of the mansion I hadn’t seen before.
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