SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 2

Camille's point of view

The house was quiet, too quiet. I slipped in through the side door, locking it softly behind me. The air smelled like lemon polish and roses, just like it always did. It felt strange to be back, like stepping into someone else's life.

The kitchen was dark except for the faint glow of the fridge light. I crept up the stairs, careful to skip the third step that creaked. Every sound I made felt loud, like the house itself was listening.

When I reached my bedroom door, I stopped. It was open a crack, just like I'd left it all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and shut the door.

My childhood bedroom hadn't changed in three years. Same pale pink walls, same white furniture, same collection of second-place trophies. Rose's first-place ones used to shine in the room next door.

I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror, the same one where I'd practiced my wedding makeup three years ago, Rose standing behind me with that perfect smile. Now my mascara was smeared, hair wild, designer dress wrinkled. Mom would have a fit if she saw me like this.

The clock on my nightstand read 10:47 PM. I'd been sitting here for hours, packing what little of my old life I wanted to keep. Amazing how seventeen years in this house fit into one duffel bag.

My phone buzzed again, the twentieth time in an hour. This time it was Mom.

"Camille, this is ridiculous. Come home so we can discuss this like adults. Rose is worried sick..."

I hung up. Of course Rose was worried. Her carefully laid plans were unraveling. The front door clicked open downstairs. I froze, listening to familiar footsteps on hardwood. The slight tap of heels, the whisper of expensive fabric.

"Camille?" Mom's voice floated up the stairs. "Darling, I know you're here. The housekeeper saw your car."

I should have parked around the block. Should have been smarter, faster, better at disappearing. But I'd never been the clever one, had I? That was Rose's role.

More footsteps. A deeper voice, Dad, probably called home from work to deal with his hysterical younger daughter. Again.

"Princess?" His voice carried that same gentle tone he'd used when I was twelve, crying about Rose getting my spot in the school play. "Let's talk about this."

A third set of footsteps made my blood freeze. Lighter, more graceful. Perfect, like everything else about her.

concern. "Sweetie,

family photo on my dresser, taken the day Rose's adoption was finalized. Mom and Dad beaming,

What a joke.

like a punch to the

months!" I clutched my script, tears blurring the

part. I just... the words came so naturally in

gift. For music, for acting,

that special gleam that always meant trouble. "Maybe you could help me practice? Be my supporting actress? We could make it our sister

did. Because saying no to

I watched from the wings as Rose brought the audience to tears.

Or that her dramatic monologue had been word-for-word what I'd performed in my original

had a gift for memorization,

voice sharpened. "This

opened my bedroom

suit, Dad looking distinguished in his work

sister." My voice came out steady. "Shouldn't

performer. "Camille, please. Let

Or how you set

about?" Dad turned to Rose, who already had tears forming. Perfect, delicate tears

out. You know

me. "Don't you dare play that card again. Show them the ring, Rose. The one Stefan gave you two months ago

supposedly too sick to

second. I saw it

wasn't like that,"

giving me marriage advice while sleeping with my husband. Tell them about all the times you helped me

enough!" Mom stepped forward. "Rose

lie? Never manipulate? Never steal something that belonged to her sister?" I pulled out my phone, playing the last voicemail