Chapter 243
Chapter 243:
Camille felt the weight of all eyes in the room—engineering team, security personnel, Victoria, Alexander—waiting for her to fix this nightmare.
“What do we know for certain?” Camille asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Hannah stepped forward. “The Grid didn’t fail. Our safety systems worked exactly as designed. Despite two major attacks, ninety-three percent of the network remains operational.”
“And the power supply?”
“Stable. We’ve rerouted through secondary pathways. No service disruptions to critical infrastructure.”
Camille stood, smoothing her blouse with trembling hands. “I need five minutes to prepare. Then I’ll speak to them.”
In the small bathroom off the crisis room, Camille splashed cold water on her face and stared at her reflection. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her skin looked pale under the harsh fluorescent light. Fear gnawed at her insides.
“You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve faced worse than reporters.” But had she? Rose’s betrayal, Stefan’s cruelty—those were personal wounds. This was different. The Phoenix Grid wasn’t just a business project. It represented everything.
She thought about all she had become since Victoria had rescued her. It was her rebirth, her transformation from victim to creator. And now Rose was trying to destroy that too.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Alexander stood in the doorway, his tie loose, his face tired but determined.
“I thought you might need this,” he said, handing her a small velvet box.
Inside lay her phoenix pendant, the one Victoria had given her at the beginning of her transformation. Camille touched it, feeling its weight, the smooth metal cool against her fingers.
“I can’t fix this,” she whispered, the admission tearing from her throat. “Everything we’ve built…”
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Alexander stepped closer, his hands gentle on her shoulders. “You’re not fixing anything because nothing is broken. The Grid worked. The safety systems worked. We’re still standing.”
“But the public perception…”
“Can be shaped.” His eyes held hers. “Remember who you are, Camille. You’ve survived worse than this.”
She clasped the pendant around her neck, drawing strength from its familiar weight. The woman who had worn it when Victoria first gave it to her had been broken, desperate for revenge. The woman wearing it now had built something. Created something. And she wouldn’t let it be destroyed.
“I’m ready,” she said.
The press room buzzed with tension. Camera flashes exploded as Camille walked to the podium, her steps measured, her back straight. Dozens of reporters shouted questions, their voices blending into a wall of noise. Camille raised her hand, and gradually, silence fell.
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