Chapter 390

Chapter 390:

Rose smoothed her expression, the mask slipping back into place with practiced ease. “Just watching the news,” she said, her voice dripping sweetness. “Isn’t it interesting how some people just seem to have all the luck?”

The guard nodded warily and moved on. Rose’s gaze returned to the television, waiting for Camille to reappear.

In her mind, she was no longer in the hospital ward. She was back at the cabin, holding a gun to Camille’s head. Only this time, she didn’t hesitate. This time, she pulled the trigger.

“Next time,” she promised the empty air. “Next time, I won’t make the same mistake.”

The newscast returned, showing footage of Camille leaving the podium, Victoria at her side. The two women walked together, powerful, unified.

Untouchable.

For now.

Rose’s lips curved into a smile that never reached her eyes. Her fingers found the thin scar at her wrist, tracing its outline. The doctors thought her progress was remarkable. The medication was working. The therapy was helping. Soon, they’d recommend moving her to a less restrictive facility.

She would be patient. Would play their game. Would say all the right things.

And when the moment came—and it would come—she would be ready.

The camera zoomed in on Camille’s face one last time. Confident. Serene. Unaware that miles away, behind secure walls, her sister watched and waited and planned.

Rose’s whisper was barely audible, lost in the ambient noise of the ward. But the promise in it was absolute. “This isn’t over, sister dear.”

Camille’s car pulled up to the small restaurant in Greenwich Village, far from the gleaming towers of Midtown where she now spent her days. The place looked unchanged from when she’d last visited—before the divorce, before Victoria, before she became someone else entirely.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?” Alexander asked from the driver’s seat.

Camille shook her head. “This is something I need to do alone.”

“Call if you need me,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll be twenty minutes away.”

She nodded, gathering her courage before stepping onto the sidewalk. Through the restaurant window, she could already see them—Margaret and Richard Lewis. Her parents. Waiting at a corner table, her mother nervously rearranging silverware, her father checking his watch.

This marked the first time they would meet without Victoria’s watchful presence since their cautious reunion months ago. No buffers. No mediators. Just three people trying to rebuild what years of hurt and betrayal had shattered.

The bell above the door jingled as Camille entered. Her mother looked up, her face lighting up with a smile that couldn’t hide the anxiety beneath. They stood as she approached, awkwardly hovering between formality and intimacy.

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