SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 181

The penthouse was quiet when Camille arrived home. Only the kitchen light glowed, spilling onto the polished

floor. She found Alexander at the island counter, papers spread before him, a glass of whiskey at his elbow. The

amber liquid caught the light as he raised it, not looking up when she entered.

"Long day?" he asked, still scanning the document in front of him.

Camille set her bag down, her heart beating faster. The weight of Eleanor Pierce's visit pressed on her shoulders.

"You could say that."

She moved to the refrigerator, buying tas she pulled out a bottle of water. Her mind raced, searching for the

right words. How do you tell someone their estranged mother showed up after seven years of silence?

"Someone cto seetoday," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

Alexander made a noncommittal sound, still absorbed in his work.

"At the office." Camille twisted the cap off her water. "Your mother."

The stillness that followed was absolute. Alexander's hand froze mid-turn of a page. His shoulders stiffened

under his dress shirt. When he finally looked up, his eyes had turned to ice.

"My mother," he repeated, his voice flat. "Eleanor Pierce cto your office."

"Yes. This afternoon."

Alexander set his glass down with careful precision. "And what did my mother want after seven years of

silence?"

The coldness in his voice sent a chill through Camille. This was a side of Alexander she rarely saw, the hard edge

beneath his usual warmth.

"She wants to see you. To talk." Camille moved closer, resting her hands on the counter. "She says she and your

father need to apologize."

Alexander laughed, a sharp sound with no humor in it. "Apologize. That's rich." He stood abruptly, the stool

scraping against the floor. "Did she tell you why they might need to apologize? Did she share that particular

story?"

"Sof it," Camille said carefully. "About the accident. About James."

"About how they chose to believe my brother instead of me?" Alexander's voice rose slightly. "About how they

visited him daily while | was learning to walk again? About how they helped him avoid charges while | went

through three surgeries alone?"

He turned away, moving to the window. Outside, the city sparkled in the darkness, a thousand lights against the

night sky.

"Alexander..."

"No." His voice cut through the room. "Whatever else she told you, whatever she asked, the answer is no. I'm not

interested."

Camille took a slow breath. "She mentioned James's death. Your father's stroke."

Alexander's reflection in the window showed no reaction, but his knuckles whitened where he gripped the sill.

"She said they tried to reach you. That they cto your apartment after James's funeral."

"They did," Alexander said coldly. "With his confession letter in hand. Four years too late."

"You knew about the letter?" Camille asked, surprised.

"Of course | knew," Alexander said, turning to face her. "They sent it by courier after | refused to see them. I sent

it back unopened."

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Camille moved toward him, stopping when he took a step back. "She brought a photo. Of you as a child. Winning

a sailing competition."

Something flickered across his face, pain, quickly masked by anger. "She kept my baby pictures. How touching."

"Alexander, please..."

"Please what, Camille?" His voice was dangerously calm now. "Please meet with the people who abandoned me

when | needed them most? Please give them absolution so they can sleep better at night? | already refused

when my father had his stroke last month. What makes you think I've changed my mind?"

"You knew about your father's stroke?" Camille asked.

"Their lawyer contacted me. Said my father had collapsed after seeing our engagement announcement. That he

was asking for me." Alexander's expression hardened. "I told him my father made his choice seven years ago. |

was simply honoring it."

"No." Camille held his gaze steadily. "Please listen. Just listen to what | have to say."

For a moment, she thought he would refuse. Then he gave a curt nod, moving back to the counter and his

abandoned whiskey.

"Your mother calone. She didn't know if I'd see her. She didn't demand anything." Camille chose her words

with care. "She said they failed you. Those were her words, that they failed you when you needed them most."

Alexander stared into his glass, saying nothing.

"She said forgiveness would be too much to ask. She just wants a chance to apologize in person. To acknowledge

the truth."

"Why now?" The question cquietly, sof the ice melting from his voice. "Why keep trying after all these

years? After I've made it abundantly clear | want nothing to do with them?"

"She said they were afraid. Ashamed." Camille took a step closer, relieved when he didn't pull away. "Your father

struggled to accept what they'd done, that they'd chosen to believe lies."

Alexander drained his glass, setting it down with a sharp click. "My father, struggling with his precious pride.

That sounds about right."

"But they're here now," Camille said. "Still trying to make amends."

"No." Alexander shook his head. "They're here now because they're getting older. Because James is gone and

they're facing their own mortality. They want absolution before it's too late."

"Maybe," Camille conceded. "Does that make their regret less real?"

Alexander pushed away from the counter, pacing the length of the kitchen. His movements reminded Camille of

a caged animal, powerful and restless.

"You don't understand what it was like," he said finally. "James was always their golden child. The star athlete,

the popular one, the son who could do no wrong. When the accident happened..." His voice caught. "I kept telling

them he'd been drinking. That he'd insisted on driving even though | offered to call a cab. That he'd laughed

when | asked him to slow down."

Camille stayed silent, letting him speak.

"They looked

ame

in the eye.... their son, in a hospital bed with pins in my leg.... and told| must be confused. That James said |

had wanted to drive but he stopped me

because I'd had too much to drink."

Alexander's laugh was bitter. "James, the responsible one. James, who would never lie."

He stopped at the refrigerator, pulling out the whiskey bottle and refilling his glass. "Did she tell you that part?

How they chose to believe | was lying rather than face the truth about their precious firstborn?"

"No," Camille said softly. "She just said they made a terrible mistake."

"A mistake." Alexander's voice dripped with disdain. "Is that what we're calling it?" "What would you call it?"

Camille asked.

The question hung in the air between them. Alexander stared into his glass as if it held answers.

"Betrayal," he said finally. "The kind you don't cback from."

Camille moved slowly toward him, closing the distance until she stood just a step away. "I thought the same

thing once. About my parents."

Alexander looked up sharply. "That's different. Your parents were manipulated by Rose. They didn't choose to

believe her over you out of preference." "Didn't they?" Camille held his gaze. "They wanted to believe her

version because it was easier. Because facing what she'd done, what they'd allowed, was too painful."

She reached for his hand, relieved when he didn't pull away. "I'm not saying you should forgive them. I'm not

saying what they did wasn't horrible. I'm just asking you to listen to them. Once. Then decide."

Alexander's fingers tightened around hers. "Why are you pushing this? After I've already refused them multiple

times?"

"Because | know what it's like to think a door is closed forever," Camille said quietly. "To believe swounds

can never heal. And to discover | was wrong."

She thought of her parents, of the slow rebuilding of trust between them. Of the unexpected joy that had come

with letting go of old pain.

"If you meet with them and decide nothing has changed, that they haven't earned a second chance.... I'll support

that." She squeezed his hand. "But don't make that decision without hearing them out."

Alexander pulled away, moving back to the window. For a long moment, he stared out at the city, his body rigid

with tension.

"She asked if you still have nightmares," Camille said softly. "Before important

events."

Alexander's head snapped around, surprise breaking through his anger. "She remembered that?"

"Yes." Camille watched as something shifted in his expression. "It was the last thing she asked. If you were

sleeping well."

Alexander turned back to the window, but not before Camille caught the flash of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I told her you havenow," she continued. "That you don't face things alone anymore."

The minutes stretched between them, filled only with the distant sounds of the city below. Finally, Alexander's

shoulders sagged slightly.

"One meeting," he said, his voice low. "In a public place. And | make no promises

about what happens afterward."

Relief washed through Camille. "That's all I'm asking."

"No, it isn't." Alexander turned to face her, his expression softened but serious. "You're askingto reopen

wounds that took years to heal. To face people who chose someone else overwhen | needed them most.

People I've already turned away multiple times."

He crossed the room to her, taking her hands in his. "But you're right about one

thing. | don't face things alone anymore."

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"I'll be with you," Camille promised. "Whatever you decide."

Alexander nodded, pressing his forehead against hers. "Set it up, then.

Someplace neutral. Someplace | can leave easily if | need to."

"Thank you," Camille whispered.

"Don't thankyet," Alexander said, pulling back to look at her. "This could go very badly."

"Or it could be the start of healing something you thought was broken forever." Camille touched his face gently.

"Either way, you'll know you tried."

Later, as they lay in bed, Alexander spoke into the darkness. "I saw James, you know. Before he died."

Camille turned to face him, though she could barely make out his features in the dark room. "You never told me

that."

"He cto my office. Looked terrible, drinking too much, his life falling apart."

Alexander's voice was distant with memory. "Said he had to tellsomething important. That he couldn't live

with the lie anymore."

"What did you do?"

"| told him it was too late. That nothing he could say would change what

happened." Alexander's fingers found hers beneath the covers. "Two weeks later,

| heard he was dead. Drunk driving, they said."

The pain in his voice wrapped around Camille's heart. "You couldn't have known."

"No," he agreed. "But I've wondered since then... if I'd listened, if I'd let him

confess, would he still be alive? Or did the guilt kill him as surely as the drunk driving?"

Camille had no answer for that. She simply held him closer, feeling the steady

beat of his heart against her palm.

"When they cafter the funeral, |

het

couldn't bear to see them," Alexander continued quietly. "Couldn't bear to watch them grieve for James when

they'd abandoned me. And when my father had his

stroke last year..." He trailed off. "I told myself they'd made their bed. That they didn't deserve my sympathy."

"And now?" Camille asked gently.

"Now | don't know." His voice was barely audible. "Part ofstill wants to refuse.

To make them feel a fraction of what I felt. But another part..."

"Is tired of carrying the weight," Camille finished for him when he didn't continue.

"Yes," he admitted. "Tired of wondering what they might say. If they truly regret what they did, or if they're just

lonely now that James is gone."

"I'll meet them," Alexander said after a long silence. "But I'm doing it for me, not

for them. | need to know if there's anything worth saving. Or if it's truly too late." As his breathing deepened into

sleep, Camille remained awake, thinking of Eleanor Pierce and her sad eyes. Of second chances and roads not

taken. Of the

healing power of truth, even when it comes years too late.

She had persuaded Alexander to meet his parents. Now she could only hope she hadn't made a terrible mistake.