Chapter 82
The cabin door opened with a soft click. Alexander looked up from Ruth’s journal, his fingers still resting on the worn leather cover. His expression shifted from surprise to something more guarded, hope held carefully in check.
Camille stood in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun. The ocean breeze had loosened strands of her hair from its perfect arrangement, giving her a wildness that contradicted the careful image she’d maintained since her transformation. She stepped inside, letting the door close behind her.
“I sent the helicopter back,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Alexander set the journal aside. “You’re staying?”
“For now.” Camille moved further into the cabin, noticing the small details she’d missed before, the coffee mug with a chipped rim, the wrinkled shirt hanging by the tiny bathroom, the scattered notes in Alexander’s handwriting. Signs of actual living, not just performing.
The silence between them stretched, filled with unspoken questions.
“The view from the bow is incredible,” she finally said. “You can see the whole city. All those buildings, all those lives. From here, they look so small.”
“Perspective changes everything.” Alexander remained seated, giving her space.
Camille touched the silver rose pendant at her throat. “When I was little, I used to imagine who I might become. A doctor, a teacher, an astronaut. Normal dreams.” Her mouth curved in a sad smile. “Then I became Stefan’s wife. Then Rose’s victim. Then Victoria’s creation.”
“And now?” Alexander asked quietly.
“Now I want to be someone new.” The words felt strange on her tongue, frightening and liberating all at once. “Someone who makes her own name, not just wears someone else’s.”
Alexander’s face remained calm, but his knuckles whitened slightly as his hands gripped the edge of the desk. “What does that look like for you?”
Camille turned to the window, watching the waves catch sunlight. “I don’t know exactly. But I know what it doesn’t look like.” She took a deep breath. “It doesn’t look like spending my life feeding a hunger for revenge that never gets satisfied. It doesn’t look like measuring my worth by how successfully I destroy others.”
She faced him again. “When I was in that parking garage, bleeding and broken, I thought I’d lost everything. Victoria showed me I was wrong, I’d lost things, but not everything. Not myself.”
“She gave you a path,” Alexander acknowledged.
“Yes. A path of fire.” Camille’s voice grew stronger. “But fire does two things, it destroys and it transforms. I’ve done enough destroying. I want to transform now.”
Alexander stood, his movements careful, measured, as if approaching something precious and easily startled. “The Phoenix Foundation you announced, it could be real, not just a public relations move. Something that actually helps women rebuild after betrayal.”
“Not just women,” Camille said, surprising herself. “Anyone who’s been discarded, anyone who’s been told they’re nothing after giving everything. People like I was. People like you were, alone in that hospital.”
The words hung between them, raw and honest.
“It won’t be easy,” Alexander said. “Building something meaningful never is.”
“I know.” Camille’s fingers nervously traced the edge of Ruth Chen’s photograph on the desk. “Victoria won’t understand. She might see it as weakness, as forgetting what Rose did to me.”
“What will you tell her?”
“That Rose tried to murder my body, but staying consumed by hate would murder my soul.” Camille’s voice cracked slightly. “That I’m done letting her destroy any more of my life.”
Alexander took a single step closer. “You’ll still run Kane Industries?”
“The tech division, yes. Victoria gave me that.” A hint of steel entered Camille’s voice. “I earned it. And I’ll use it to build the grid, to fund the foundation, to create something lasting.”
“And Rose and Stefan?”
Camille’s jaw tightened. “They’ve lost everything. They’ll face legal consequences for what they did. But I won’t spend another day thinking about them. They’re just… done.”
The weight of her words seemed to physically lighten her. She stood taller, breathed deeper.
“I want to help,” Alexander said simply. “In whatever way you’ll let me.”
“Why?” The question was direct, without Victoria’s trained suspicion or Camille Lewis’s naive trust. Just a woman asking for truth.
Alexander’s eyes never left hers. “Because I’ve spent years watching you from a distance, first with gratitude, then with worry, then with admiration. Because I’ve never met anyone who could walk through such darkness and still carry light inside them.”
He moved closer until barely a foot separated them. “Because the woman who sat with a stranger in a hospital room is the same woman who stands here now, finally free to decide who she wants to be.”
Camille felt heat rise to her cheeks. “You make me sound better than I am.”
“No.” Alexander shook his head. “I just see what you’ve been too hurt to remember.”
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