Chapter 200

Chapter 200:

“The wellbeing of your daughter,” Victoria replied without hesitation.

An awkward silence fell. Camille took a seat on the brocade sofa, Victoria beside her, and her parents opposite them. The physical arrangement underscored the new reality—Camille and Victoria as a unit, her parents across the divide.

“Have you heard from Rose?” Camille asked, the question escaping before she could stop it.

Richard shook his head. “Not since the day after your press conference with Alexander Pierce. She called, furious, accusing us of betraying her. When we refused to take her side, she said we were dead to her.”

“Ironic,” Victoria observed coolly, “considering what she tried to do to Camille.”

Margaret flinched visibly. “We had no idea she had arranged that attack. You have to believe that.”

“What I believe,” Victoria replied, “is that you chose not to see many things about your adopted daughter. Just as you chose not to see the truth when Camille tried to tell you about her husband’s betrayal with Rose.”

The bluntness of Victoria’s words landed like physical blows. The server, who had entered with drinks, quietly retreated, sensing the tension.

“Victoria,” Camille murmured, torn between appreciation for her defense and dismay at the escalating tension.

“No, she’s right,” Margaret said quietly. “We failed you, Camille, over and over. We believed Rose because we wanted to believe her. Because admitting the truth meant facing our own blindness.”

She reached across the coffee table, her hand extended tentatively toward Camille. “We cannot undo that damage. But we can acknowledge it. And try to do better, if you’ll let us.”

Camille stared at her mother’s outstretched hand—the hand that had once dried her childhood tears, that had later pushed her away when she needed support the most. After a long moment, she placed her own hand briefly in her mother’s before withdrawing it.

Harrison appeared at the doorway. “Dinner is served, madam.”

The dining room gleamed with silver and crystal. A maid stood ready by the ornate sideboard, another waited to serve the wine. Four places had been set, though Harrison was already signaling for a fifth setting to be prepared at Victoria’s place.

The meal began awkwardly, the weight of unspoken words making the excellent food taste like ash in Camille’s mouth. Victoria maintained a regal posture beside her, more observer than participant in the stilted small talk that passed for conversation.

Halfway through the main course, Richard dismissed the servants with a wave. When the last one had left, closing the door behind them, he set down his fork with unexpected force.

“This isn’t working,” he said bluntly. “We’re dancing around everything that matters.”

Margaret looked alarmed. “Richard, please…”

.

.

.