SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 83

Chapter 83

The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the Lewis family estate, casting long

shadows across the polished floors. Margaret Lewis sat alone in the east wing parlor, surrounded by open photo albums. Her trembling fingers traced a photograph of seven- year- old Camille, beaming with a missing front tooth

and holding a science fair ribbon.

"First place," Margaret whispered to the empty room, her smile crumpling.

She turned a page. Camille at

ten, sitting with Margaret on marble steps, their heads bent over. "The Secret Garden." Margaret remembered how Camille had begged to read two chapters that night.

The memories washed over her in waves. These were all from before Rose had

arrived when Camille was thirteen. Before everything changed.

With shaking hands, she pulled out a photo

tucked between pages: Camille at ten in the kitchen with Margaret, making Christmas cookies despite the chef's protests. Flour dusted their faces, laughter frozen in time. They had been inseparable then.

"We were happy," Margaret said to the photograph. "We were so happy."

She hadn't realized she was crying until a tear splashed onto the

plastic sleeve. Margaret wiped it away carefully, then pressed

the album to her chest.

The fifteen-thousand-square-foot mansion felt

too vast now, too quiet. Since the day the visited Camille and she cut ties with them, Margaret had moved through each day like a ghost. Richard's voice echoed in the hallway as he spoke to Bradford, their butler.

"No calls, Bradford. Not even from the board."

"Very good, sir. Shall I have Mrs. Peters prepare dinner for two

in the small dining room?"

"That would be fine. And tell her no seafood tonight. Margaret isn't up to it."

Margaret turned another page. Camille at

fourteen, playing the grand piano at her recital.

Richard's footsteps approached, then stopped in the doorway.

"Oh, Maggie," he said softly, using the nickname he hadn't spoken in years.

Margaret looked up at her husband. His bespoke suit couldn't hide how his frame had thinned, his shoulders slumped. His face seemed to have aged a decade in

the past month, deep lines carved around his mouth.

“Look at us,” Margaret said, holding up a family vacation photo. "She was twelve here. Remember how she wanted to learn to scuba dive, and you were so worried?"

Richard knelt beside her, taking the photo.

anyway," he said, a

"Came back with that

I worried too

We should have worried

up another photo: Camille on

she was making a mistake choosing Boston instead of Yale. I told her

He shook his head. “She

gathered more photos: Camille winning debate

the animal shelter, laughing

was always so good, Richard. So kind." Margaret's

did that happen? When did we

up a more recent photo, Camille

smiling that perfect smile

said all the right things, did all the right things. She moved through our world like she was born

care about appearing in the society pages or

voice broke. "Our own daughter,

Camille's

ago, cold

think she'll ever forgive us? Ever

answer immediately. He gathered

photos, looking at each one with

he

us about Rose and Stefan... The way we

desperately. "We can make

tried that at

like we

meant nothing

our Camille. Victoria Kane has turned her into someone

"No,"

at Kane Industries, that's who our daughter had to become to survive what was done to her. What

for a photo from Camille's wedding to Stefan. The three

Rose is looking at her, even then. How did

was the daughter we thought we

was

person, messy and real and... so much

winning awards, making silly faces. Then, after Rose came, the images changed dramatically. Fewer candid shots, more posed photos at charity events where Camille's smile didn't reach her eyes.

realized. "We lost her starting the

chose Rose's

Rose's perfect manners

nodded. "And now she belongs to Victoria

her? Actually loves her, not just uses

Victoria Kane is capable of love the way we understand it.

we failed to. She gave her purpose,

old one

curled into fists.

our real daughter killed."

summer when Camille was ten,"

silence. She

her room for a week. It was the last

up, and I would tell her stories until she fell back asleep.

to hear about brave girls who fought

to

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