SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 1

CAMILLE'S POINT OF VIEW

Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days of trying to be the perfect wife, and this was my reward divorce papers on our anniversary.

I stared at Stefan's perfect signature on the last page, the ink still fresh. He must have signed them this morning, probably right after I'd left that stupid handmade card on his desk. The one I'd spent hours making, like a fool who still believed in fairy tales.

The anniversary card I made for my husband Stefan still sat on the kitchen counter, untouched. Three years of marriage summed up in a handmade gesture he couldn't even bother to open. I'd spent hours on it last night, writing words I thought mattered.

My coffee had gone cold. Funny how you notice small things when your world is falling apart.

"Sign here. And here." Stefan's voice was distant, businesslike. He'd laid out the divorce papers like contracts at one of his meetings, sticky tabs marking each signature line. "The highlighted sections need initials."

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. "You're doing this today? On our anniversary?"

"Camille." He sighed, that familiar sound of disappointment I'd heard so many times before. "There's no point dragging this out."

The morning sun streamed through our kitchen windows, catching the diamond on my finger. Three carats, princess cut, picked out by his mother. "Not your style, dear, but it's what a Rodriguez wife should wear," she'd said at the time. Like everything else in my life, it had never really been mine.

"Is there someone else?"

The question hung in the air between us. Stefan straightened his tie, Italian silk, the blue one I'd given him for Christmas. "Yes."

One word. That's all it took to erase three years of trying to be perfect.

"How long?"

"Two months." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "She came back to town and..."

"Two months," I repeated. All those late nights at the office. The missed dinners. The way he'd stopped kissing me goodbye in the mornings. "Were you ever going to tell me? Or just keep lying until the papers were ready?"

want to

laugh bubbled up, harsh, unfamiliar. "That's thoughtful of

against my coffee mug, sending it crashing to the floor. Dark liquid spread across the pristine tiles, staining the grout I'd scrubbed

Stefan reached for

"Just... don't pretend to care

broken pieces. A

landing face-up in the

The world stopped.

That perfectly poised expression that had haunted every family photo since I was

name tasted like poison.

Stefan's silence said everything.

gut. Rose helping me pick out my wedding dress. Rose giving toasts at our engagement party. Rose calling every week to check on my marriage, to give advice about

parents' golden child. The

the whole time, waiting. Playing the supportive sister while you both laughed at stupid,

through his hair, that gesture I used to find endearing.

say 'meant to be' I swear I'll throw this mug at your head." My fingers tightened around the broken ceramic. "How long were you

years. Until she got the job offer in London." Four years. The same time I'd started dating Stefan. The same time Rose had

set this up," I whispered. "All of it. And I fell

being dramatic. Rose cares about

unstable for college?" The broken mug cut into my palm, but I barely felt it. "She's been sabotaging me my whole life, and I kept making excuses

divorce papers. Stefan reached for my hand

I grabbed a dish towel, wrapping it around my palm. "Where is she now? Waiting to comfort me through my divorce?

be here, but I thought it would be

sound edged with

what's better for

me on our first anniversary. The one Rose had helped him

We should talk about

every page, my signature perfectly steady. Let them see I wasn't breaking. Let them think