Chapter 424
Chapter 424:
“That’s amazing!” she exclaimed. “The tumors are shrinking that fast? Oh my god, Victoria. I’m so happy.”
Alexander stood abruptly, the chair scraping the stone. He couldn’t bear to hear more, couldn’t stomach witnessing Camille’s relief at the recovery of the woman who had crushed his family beneath her designer heels.
“Alex, wait,” Camille called, covering the phone. “Victoria wants to talk to you too.”
The rage that surged through him felt apocalyptic. He wanted to grab the phone, to scream the truth at Victoria, to tell her he knew exactly what she’d done to Richard Pierce. Instead, he gripped the terrace railing until his knuckles began bleeding through their bandage.
“I need to change this,” he managed, lifting his damaged hand. “Tell her I’ll call later.”
He fled inside, making it to the bathroom just in time to vomit violently into the toilet. His body heaved until nothing remained but bitter bile, as empty as his promises of forever made with a divided heart.
Night found them in a restaurant carved into the cliffside, tables suspended over the void, the sea crashing hundreds of feet below. Camille wore a black dress that left her shoulders bare, her hair swept up to reveal the elegant line of her neck. The diamond phoenix necklace Victoria had given her glittered at her throat, catching candlelight with each breath.
“Victoria’s doctors are calling it unprecedented,” she said, breaking the strained silence between them. “Three months ago, they gave her months to live. Now they’re talking about possible remission.”
Alexander stared into his wineglass, searching for answers in the blood-red liquid. “That’s… good news.”
“You could sound a little more convincing.” Camille’s voice held an edge. “She’s my mother in every way that matters, Alex. Her survival means everything to me.”
Mother. The word scraped across his nerves. Victoria Kane was no mother; she was a destroyer dressed in savior’s clothing, a wolf in grandmother’s nightgown, lips still red from her last meal.
“I know,” he said, forcing softness into his voice. “I’m happy for you. For her. It’s just been a long day.”
Camille reached across the table, her fingers brushing his bandaged hand. “Talk to me. Please. Whatever’s happening with you, let me help.”
For one wild moment, Alexander imagined telling her everything. The storage unit. The evidence against Victoria. His uncle’s suicide after Victoria had systematically shredded his company, his reputation, his will to live. The eight years Alexander had carried the weight of that unpaid debt.
The moment passed. Such a confession would tear apart their marriage days after it began. Destroy the happiness finally blooming in Camille after years of pain. Force her to choose between her husband and the woman who had saved her when she had nothing left.
“It’s nothing you can fix,” he said finally. “Just work stress I’d rather not discuss on our honeymoon.”
The lie rang hollow between them. Camille’s fingers withdrew from his. “I don’t believe you.”
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