SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 3

ROSE'S POINT OF VIEW

| swirled the champagne in my crystal flute, watching the bubbles dance. Victory tasted sweet, just like I'd

imagined all these years. The living room of my penthouse apartment overlooked the city where I'd spent twenty

years pretending to be the perfect adopted daughter, the loving sister, the supportive friend.

What a joke.

"To freedom," | whispered to my reflection in the window. The woman staring back atsmiled, perfect teeth,

perfect hair, perfect lies. Just like always.

My phone buzzed again. Another missed call from Stefan. He'd been calling non- stop since Camille walked out,

probably worried I'd change my mind now that everything was in the open. Poor, predictable Stefan. Still thinking

he was in control of any of this.

| kicked off my Louboutins and sank into the leather couch, letting memories wash overlike warm wine.

The first t| saw Camille Lewis, | hated her.

| was thirteen, fresh out of foster care, desperate to please my new parents. They'd broughtto this massive

house with its manicured lawn and marble floors, promisinga fresh start. A real family.

Then this skinny thing with braces and messy hair cbouncing down the stairs, all eager smiles and innocent

eyes.

"Hi! I'm Camille. I've always wanted a sister!"

She huggedright there in the foyer, not caring that my clothes were

secondhand or that | smelled like the group home's industrial detergent. Just pure, genuine joy at having a sister.

I wanted to vomit.

Because there she was, this awkward, imperfect girl who had everything I'd spent thirteen years dreaming

about. Parents who actually wanted her. A hshe belonged in. A future secured by the Lewis family name.

And she didn't even appreciate it properly.

| watched her over dinner that first night, watched how she slouched in her chair and talked with her mouth full.

How she didn't know which fork to use for salad. How she laughed too loud and asked too many questions.

"Rose has such lovely manners," Mrs. Lewis.... Mom..... had said, smiling at me. "Perhaps you could learn from

your new sister, Camille."

That's when | saw it. The first crack in Camille's perfect world. The slight dimming of her smile, the way she sat

up straighter, tried harder.

It was beautiful.

My phone buzzed again, pullingback to the present. Stefan's face lit up my screen, his fifth call in an hour.

With a sigh, | answered.

"Darling, you're being needy."

"Rose." His voice was rough. Had he been drinking? "She's gone. Really gone. Blocked my number, cleaned out

her closet..."

"Isn't that what we wanted?" | kept my voice gentle, soothing. The stone I'd used all those times I'd

counseled Camille through her marital problems. Problems I'd carefully orchestrated.

"| just... the way she looked at me..."

"Stefan, sweetheart." | let steel edge into my sweetness. "Are you having second thoughts? After everything

we've been through?"

"No! No, of course not. | love you. I've always loved you."

"Then stop callingabout your ex-wife. It's pathetic."

| hung up, tossing the phone aside. Men were so predictably weak. Even Stefan, who I'd spent four years

grooming before pushing him toward Camille, still needed constant management.

But he'd served his purpose. Just like everyone else in my carefully constructed game.

The family photo on my mantel caught my eye, my adoption day. | stood in the center, of course. Always the

center. Camille pushed to the edge of the frame, trying so hard to smile through her insecurities.

God, it had been easy. Almost too easy.

A little whisper here about how Camille was unstable. A few concerned conversations with Mom about how

worried | was about my dear sister's emotional state. Casual mentions to Dad about how Camille seemed to be

struggling with basic adult responsibilities.

Fourteen years of careful groundwork, positioning myself as the responsible daughter, the achievable dream,

while slowly crushing Camille's confidence, her relationships, her sense of self.

The college rejection was particularly inspired, if | do say so myself. All it took was one tearful conversation with

Mom about finding Camille's "secret" diary, filled with dark thoughts and destructive plans. Plans I'd written

myself, of course, in Camille's childish handwriting that I'd spent months practicing to forge.

Suddenly, their precious younger daughter wasn't ready for college. Needed tto "find herself." Needed to

stay close to hwhere they could watch her.

Where | could watch her.

| took another sip of champagne, savoring the moment. Because this, this was what I'd really wanted all along.

Not Stefan, he was just a useful pawn. Not the Lewis fortune, though that would cin time.

No, what | wanted was to watch perfect, precious Camille finally break. To see her realize that everything she

thought she had family, love, security, had been built on my lies.

My phone buzzed with a text from Mom: "Rose, darling, please cover. Your father and | need to talk about

what happened."

| smiled, already planning my performance. The tearful confusion, the reluctant confession about Stefan's

pursuit, the gentle concern about Camille's mental state.

By the t| was done, they'd be thankingfor protecting them from their unstable daughter all these years.

Standing up, | walked to my closet, selecting the perfect outfit for my next scene. Something subtle but

expensive. Grieving sister, not celebrating victor.

The massive walk-in closet had been Camille's wedding gift to me. "So you'll always have space for your

amazing fashion sense," she'd said, huggingtight.

Even then, even after years of watchingsteal every spotlight, every opportunity, every scrap of parental

approval, she'd still loved me. Still trusted me.

Idiot.

| pulled out a cream cashmere sweater, remembering how Camille used to borrow my clothes in high school.

How I'd wait until she had something important, a date, a presentation, an interview, then suddenly remember |

needed that exact outfit. She'd always given them back without argument. Always apologized for the

inconvenience.

Always tried so hard to be the perfect sister.

My reflection caught my eye, and for a moment, just a moment, | saw something ugly there. Something that

looked like the scared, angry foster kid who'd walked into the Lewis house all those years ago.

But then I blinked, and | was perfect Rose again. Flawless Rose. Rose who could do no wrong.

Slipping on my Cartier bracelet, another gift from my dear sister, | prepared for my next performance. The

concerned family meeting would need just the right touch of reluctant honesty, devastated betrayal.

"Oh, Camille," | whispered to my reflection, practicing my worried frown. "What have you done to yourself?"

But as | turned to leave, something madepause. That look in Camille's eyes before she'd walked out, I'd

never seen it before. Not in twenty years of pushing her, testing her, breaking her.

It had looked almost like... understanding.

Like she'd finally seen through my mask to the truth underneath.

| shook off the uneasy feeling. Camille was weak, just like I'd made her. She'd run

away, lick her wounds, maybe try to start over somewhere new.

But she'd never be free of me. I'd made sure of that years ago.