SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 46

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Chapter 46

Rose point of view

I stared at my phone screen until the words blurred, reading the same headline for the twentieth time. "ROSE LEWIS: THE PRIVATE LIFE SHE DIDN'T WANT YOU TO SEE” Beneath it, that grainy photo of me How? How had anyone found this? I'd been so careful.

My boutique office, normally my sanctuary, felt suffocating now. Outside, I could hear my staff whispering, their usual respectful silence replaced by urgent murmurs. They'd seen the stories. Everyone had.

Three major fashion sites had dropped my spring collection Five influencers had canceled promotional contracts. Two department stores had "postponed" their orders. All within twenty- four hours.

My empire, built so carefully brick by brick, was crumbling beneath my feet.

The phone on my desk rang again. My publicity team, no doubt, with another useless strategy. I'd already released three statements, first denying everything, then suggesting the photos were manipulated, final I ignored the call, returning to my social media feeds. The comments cut like knives.

"Always knew she was fake."

"Poor Camille, no wonder she drove into that river."

"#RoseThoms is right beautiful but toxic!"

Tears stung my eyes. Not from shame, I'd never felt shame for taking what I wanted, but from rage. I'd spent years crafting the perfect image. The talented designer. The grieving sister. The devoted fiancée. All stolen moment captured on film.

The office door banged open. Stefan stood there, still wearing his work suit, face thunderous. He held his phone in a white-

knuckled grip.

"When were you going to tell me?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

I stood, smoothing my skirt, forcing my face into concerned lines. "Stefan, darling. I've been

trying to reach you all day. These rumors are....”

"Not rumors." He stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. "Facts. With photographic evidence."

"It was years ago. Before us. Before..."

“Before us?” He laughed, a harsh sound I'd never heard from him. "According to the date on this photo, you were sleeping with your mentor's husband three weeks after I married your sister."

Ice slid down my spine. I hadn't noticed the timestamp. Hadn't thought anyone would look that closely.

"It wasn't serious," I tried, moving toward him. "A mistake One night that meant nothing."

touch. "And the others? Lord Hartley?

knew about Anton too?

I demanded,

destroy what we have?"

fix it. "What exactly do we have, Rose? A relationship built on our manipulation of Camille? A future "I never lied to you," I insisted. "I just didn't share every detail of

He stared at me like he'd never

were during your 'year in Paris'? Because according to these new photos, you spent six months on

raced, calculating damage, planning counterattacks. Who was doing

what it looks like," I said, falling back on the most

voice had gone flat. "Nothing's ever what it looks like. Not your

from London just when our marriage was struggling.

I hissed, genuine anger flaring.

"Because keep remembering your face that night. When they told us her car went off that bridge. You didn't look surprised,

absurd. Grief affects people

Stefan said slowly, "is that I'm beginning to wonder

opened again before I could respond.

eyes red- rimmed,

voice, usually

cold. "We need to

office now, the walls closing in. I'd faced criticism before, weathered

you can see.

said, desperation leaking into my voice. "I'm

while you were studying? Is that what you call lying about where you were during your 'fashi laugh

you were

eyes cut deeper than my parents' disappointment. He truly had been waiting for me, just as I'd planned. But now be knew I hadn't been

and you were on some Russian's yacht? In some lord worst husband imaginable to your sister while you were

the office thinking about you, missing bed?" His voice broke

having fun?"

strongest advocate, always taken my side against Camille, against anyone who challenged me.

who would

photos are being taken out of

phone, cach swipe revealing another damning image. Me with Jonathan at a private dinner. Me with Lord

drawing myself up. "Cholces men make

Paris while lounging on criminal yachts,"

while claiming to be

united front stunned me. My parents had never confronted me this way,

mother's question sliced through my shock. "Because the daughter we thought we knew

blood! The daughter you let get away with everything because she was so special, so tal My voice had risen to a shout, years of resentment fueling my words. Yes,

"My reputation?" I grabbed a vase from my desk, hurling it against the wall. Water and flowers sprayed across my design sketches, ruining weeks of work. "My entire career is being dismantled by these stories, Stefan moved between me and my

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