SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan) novel Chapter 154

Rose stood on the rooftop of a building across from the Grand Plaza Hotel, her face lit by the orange glow of flames. The night air carried smoke and screams to her ears, a symphony of destruction that made her heart race. She laughed, the sound bursting from her throat in waves, wild and uncontrolled.

"Look at it burn," she whispered, then laughed again, louder this time. "Look at it all burn!"

From this height, she could see everything, fire trucks with lights flashing, ambulances lined up along the street, police pushing crowds back from danger. The once-beautiful hotel was now a blazing skeleton, its west wing completely collapsed, windows shattered across its face like broken teeth. The ballroom where Camille had stood so proudly just hours before was now a pit of flames and black smoke.

Rose's laughter died suddenly, replaced by a strange, hollow silence. She stepped closer to the edge of the roof, her eyes fixed on the destruction below. All those months of planning. All those careful preparations. All leading to this moment of victory.

So why didn't it feel like enough?

The wind shifted, bringing a stronger smell of smoke. Rose breathed it in deeply, as if trying to consume the disaster she had created. Her fingers gripped the rooftop railing, knuckles white with tension.

"Are you dead, Camille?" she asked the burning building. "Are you finally, truly gone?"

Not knowing the answer gnawed at her. Rose had wanted to see Camille's face when the first bomb went off. Wanted to witness her sister's realization that Rose had beaten her, had destroyed everything she built. Instead, she was forced to watch from a distance, guessing at the outcome.

A helicopter circled overhead, its spotlight sweeping across the chaos. Rose stepped back from the edge, moving into shadow. Getting caught now would ruin everything.

She pulled out her phone, checking news sites for updates. The first reports were already appearing:

"EXPLOSION AT CHARITY GALA"

"MULTIPLE CASUALTIES REPORTED IN HOTEL BOMBING"

"PHOENIX FOUNDATION EVENT TARGETED IN TERRORIST ATTACK"

Rose scrolled rapidly, searching for one name, Camille Kane. No mention yet of whether she had escaped or perished. The uncertainty was maddening.

The phone rang in her hand, startling her. Mikhail's number appeared on the screen.

"Yes?" she answered.

"It is done," Mikhail said, his accent thicker than usual. "All devices detonated."

"I can see that," Rose replied, irritation edging her voice. "What about the targets? Camille Kane? Victoria Kane?"

A pause. "Unknown. Many ambulances. Many injured."

"That's not good enough!" Rose shouted, her calm façade cracking. "I need to know if they're dead!"

Another helicopter passed overhead, its roar drowning out Mikhail's response. When the noise faded, he was saying, "...must leave the city now. Police will be looking..."

"I'm not leaving until I know they're dead," Rose cut him off. "Not after everything I've done to make this happen."

"Foolish," Mikhail said bluntly. "You stay, you get caught."

Rose laughed again, the sound sharp and brittle in the night air. "They need to know it was me. They need to know why their perfect world burned down around them."

"They will know. But you won't be there to see if you're in prison." Mikhail's voice hardened. "Payment was for job, not suicide mission."

Rose barely heard him. Her attention had returned to the burning hotel, to the chaos spreading across the plaza below. Somewhere in that mess was the answer she needed.

"I'm going closer," she decided suddenly. "I need to see."

"No!" Mikhail's voice rose with alarm. "Too dangerous. Too many police."

Rose ended the call without responding. She had come too far to hide in shadows now. She needed to see the destruction up close, to feel the heat of the flames on her face, to know with certainty that Camille had finally been erased from the world.

She took the service stairs down from the roof, mind racing with possibilities. The black wig and glasses in her bag would provide some disguise. She could blend with the crowd of onlookers, perhaps even pose as a concerned witness. No one would be looking for Rose Lewis there—they'd be searching for her far from the scene.

The stairwell was dark, lit only by emergency lights that cast eerie shadows on the walls. As Rose descended, her laughter echoed around her, bouncing off concrete, creating a chorus of madness that followed her down and down and down.

By the time she reached the bottom floor, the laughter had transformed into something else, a kind of wild delight that made her feel more alive than she had in years. Her entire body tingled with energy. Every sense seemed heightened. The smell of smoke from outside. The distant wail of sirens. The taste of success on her tongue.

She paused at the building's exit, watching through glass doors as people ran past. Some were covered in soot, their fancy clothes torn and dirtied. Survivors of her masterpiece. Rose studied their faces, searching for signs of Camille or Victoria among them.