Chapter 377
Chapter 377:
“Will I need to testify?” Camille asked.
Matthews nodded. “Eventually, yes. But not today.” He glanced at the waiting press. “They’ll want a statement from you. Nothing complicated. Just a few words about seeking justice, not revenge.”
Camille looked out at the sea of microphones and cameras. She thought of Rose’s face, of the hatred burning in her eyes, of all the pain that had led them here.
“I’ll speak now,” she decided.
Alexander squeezed her hand. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said simply, and stepped forward into the glare of cameras.
The reporters surged toward her, shouting questions that blended into white noise. Camille raised a hand, and surprisingly, they fell silent.
“I won’t be taking questions,” she began, her voice steady. “I came today to see justice begin its course. The evidence against my sister will speak for itself.”
She paused, feeling the weight of dozens of lenses focused on her face, recording every flicker of emotion.
“Many of you want to know how I feel, seeing Rose like this. The truth is complicated. I don’t hate her. I pity her. Something broke in Rose long ago, something I couldn’t fix, though I tried for many years.”
The crowd remained unusually quiet, captivated by her calm dignity.
“What happened between us isn’t just about betrayal or jealousy. It’s about choices. We all face darkness in our lives. We all experience pain. The question is what we build from that pain.”
Camille drew a breath. “I chose to create. Rose chose to destroy. And now we both live with those choices.”
A reporter near the front called out, “Do you think she’s insane, like her lawyers claim?”
Camille shook her head. “I’m not a doctor. I can’t speak to my sister’s mental state. I can only tell you what I know. Rose’s actions were deliberate, planned over years. Whether that reflects mental illness or simply evil is for others to decide.”
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“Are you afraid of her?” another voice shouted.
The question hung in the air. Camille considered it seriously.
“No,” she said finally. “Not anymore. Rose held power over me because I gave it to her. I allowed her hatred to shape my life. Today, I take that power back.”
With that, she stepped away from the microphones. Alexander’s arm encircled her waist, steadying her as they descended the courthouse steps toward the waiting cars.
Behind them, the media exploded into activity, reporters racing to file their stories, cameramen reviewing footage. Already the narrative was forming: the dignified victim facing her tormentor without hatred, the contrast between Camille’s composure and Rose’s barely-contained rage.
In the car, Victoria took Camille’s hand. “Well done,” she said simply.
Camille leaned back against the leather seat, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that had carried her through the morning drained away, leaving her hollow.
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