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 hurt

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

spread across the pristine tiles, staining the grout I'd scrubbed on hands and

get that..." Stefan reached for the

My voice cracked. "Just... don't pretend to

pick up the broken pieces. A photo slipped

in the spilled

The world stopped.

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

name tasted like poison. "Your

Stefan's silence said everything.

punches to the 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,

parents' golden child.

she?" The pieces were falling into place. "She's been here the whole time, waiting.

I used to find endearing. "We tried

I'll throw this mug at your head." My fingers tightened around the broken ceramic. "How long were you together

shifted uncomfortably. "Four years. Until she got the job offer in London." Four years. The same time

of it. And I fell for

dramatic.

I was damaged goods? Or when she convinced my parents I was too 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 because that's what good

papers. Stefan reached for

I grabbed a dish towel, wrapping it around my palm. "Where is she now?

be here, but I thought

I laughed again, the sound edged

what's better for me. Such

up the pen, the Mont Blanc he'd given me on our first anniversary. The

wait. We should

signature perfectly steady. Let them see I wasn't breaking. Let them