Chapter 284

Chapter 284:

“How bad is it?” she whispered.

“Open it,” Victoria said gently.

With trembling fingers, Camille opened the folder. Medical terms jumped out at her: “metastatic pancreatic carcinoma,” “stage four,” “poor prognosis.” Dates of treatments. Surgical notes. Oncologist recommendations.

But one sentence burned into her brain: “Estimated survival: 3-6 months.” The room tilted around her. Camille gripped the edge of the desk to steady herself.

“Three to six months?” Her voice sounded strange in her own ears—distant and hollow. “That’s… that can’t be right.”

“The estimates are often conservative,” Victoria said, her tone matter-of-fact. “I could have longer.”

“Or shorter.” The words escaped before Camille could stop them.

Victoria didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“How long have you known?” Camille asked, papers crumpling in her tight grip.

“Since before the bombing of the substations. The first symptoms started earlier.”

Camille stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “All this time? All these months, you’ve been dying, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I was protecting you.”

“From what?” Camille’s voice rose. “From the truth? From having time to prepare? From being able to help you?”

Victoria’s face softened, showing a vulnerability Camille had rarely seen. “From pain, Camille. I was protecting you from pain. You’ve had enough of that in your life.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make!” Tears spilled down Camille’s cheeks now—hot and angry. “We’re supposed to be partners. Family. You don’t keep something like this from family.”

Victoria flinched at the word family, and suddenly Camille understood. “You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to act like your daughter,” she said, the realization bitter in her mouth. “You wanted me to focus on the company. On becoming your successor.”

“No.” Victoria reached for Camille’s hand, but Camille stepped back. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then why?” Camille demanded. “Why hide something this important?”

Victoria stood with effort, her face tightening with pain as she moved. “Because I couldn’t bear to see you look at me the way you’re looking at me now. With pity. With grief. Like I’m already gone.”

“How did you expect me to look when I found out the woman who saved my life is dying?” Camille’s voice broke on the last word.

Victoria moved around the desk, closing the distance between them. “I expected you to be strong. To be ready to carry on without me. That’s what I’ve been preparing you for all along.”

“I thought you were preparing me to work beside you,” Camille said. “Not to replace you.”

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