Chapter 25

ROSE'S POINT OF VIEW

I slammed my apartment door so hard the walls shook. The sound echoed through the empty space, matching the thunder in my heart. My hands shook as I poured myself a drink, spilling expensive whiskey or "Damn you, Camille," I whispered, then screamed it: "DAMN YOU!"

The crystal glass flew from my hand,

shattering against the wall in a spray of amber liquid and broken dreams. Thirty million dollars. The Cedar Hill estate. All of it gone to those worthless foster kids.

My legs gave out and I slid to the kitchen floor, surrounded by the mess I'd made. Just like my life -

everything perfect on the surface, chaos underneath. And now Camille, sweet, stupid Camille, had managed to ruin everything even from the grave.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" I spoke to

the empty air, imagining her ghost watching me fall apart. Little Miss Perfect with her secret fortune. Did you laugh about it? Did you enjoy knowing you had something I didn't?"

I grabbed another glass, hurled it across the room. The crash brought a sick satisfaction.

years I spent making

small," I continued, stalking through my perfect apartment like a caged animal. "Making you doubt yourself. Making you think you weren't enough.

a hair out of place even in my rage. The mask I'd worn for so long

mirror.

glass splintered, creating

different mask I'd worn. The perfect daughter. The loving sister. The secret lover. The

why you left the money to them.

apartment like a hurricane, destroying everything in my path. Ripped designer clothes from their hangers. Overturned furniture, Shredded the fancy

glass cracked but

my destruction had limits. "I clawed my way out of nothing! I made myself perfect! I deserved that money

framed photo me and Camille at my fashion show launch. Her arm around my waist, both of us sailing. Both of us lying. I studied her face in

"I didn't

them to kill you," I whispered to her frozen smile. "Just scare you. Make you run away. Sign those divorce papers. But you had to be stubborn, didn't you? Had to fight back. And now look what happen The Tome joined the pile of broken glass on

stack of Camille's journals. The ones I'd stolen

Chapter 25

from the will reading. "I leave with hope rather than malice.' Hope for what, Camille? Hope I'd confess? Hope I'd feel

style, just like I'd spent years practicing being the perfect daughter, the

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