Chapter 367
Chapter 367:
Behind them, Rose’s shouts filled the boathouse as the security team dragged her from the water and restrained her. She thrashed and screamed, wild-eyed with fury and defeat.
“Look at me,” Camille said to Stefan, ignoring Rose’s cries. “Just at me.”
Stefan fixed his gaze on her face. Despite everything—the bruises, the exhaustion, the ordeal of her captivity—she looked stronger than he’d ever seen her. Not the woman he’d married and betrayed, but someone forged in fire, tempered by pain.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.”
A sad smile touched her lips. “I know.”
“I didn’t deserve you.” Blood stained his lips now, making it harder to speak. “I never did.”
“Hush,” Camille said, pressing harder on his wound. Pain sparked through him again, keeping him conscious. “Save your strength.”
Rose’s voice rose in pitch, her words becoming incoherent. The sound of a helicopter approached, its rotors beating against the storm.
“Stay with him,” Alexander told Camille, standing. “I’ll handle her.”
Stefan watched through dimming vision as Alexander strode toward Rose. The two security men holding her stepped back, still keeping a firm grip on her arms. Alexander leaned in close, saying something to Rose that Stefan couldn’t hear. Whatever it was made Rose go still, the fight draining from her body. Her shoulders slumped. Her head bowed.
“Stefan, focus,” Camille said, drawing his attention back. “The medics are almost here. Just hold on.”
Stefan reached with his good arm, his fingers brushing her cheek. “You found your strength,” he murmured. “The strength I was too blind to see.”
Camille caught his hand, pressing it against her face. “Yes,” she said simply. “I did.”
The boathouse filled with new activity as medical personnel rushed in. Someone gently moved Camille aside, replacing her hands with professional pressure on Stefan’s wound.
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Through the crowd of people now surrounding him, Stefan caught a last glimpse of Rose being led away, her head still bowed, the fight gone out of her. The sister who had tried to destroy Camille, now destroyed herself.
As darkness finally claimed him, Stefan’s last thought was of the wooden fishing lure in his pocket—the symbol of a childhood Camille had once cherished. A childhood before Rose. Before him. Before all the pain they’d caused her.
He hoped she would find that innocence again someday.
And he hoped, whatever came next for him, that he had begun to make amends.
The hospital waiting room smelled of bleach and coffee gone cold. Camille sat rigid in an uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the double doors where they’d rushed Stefan an hour ago. Blood stained her clothes—his blood. She hadn’t changed, couldn’t bring herself to leave, even when a kind nurse had offered scrubs.
.
.
.