SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 82

The cabin door opened with a soft click. Alexander looked up from Ruth's journal, his fingers still resting on the

worn leather cover. His expression shifted from surprise to something more guarded, hope held carefully in

check.

Camille stood in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun. The ocean breeze had

loosened strands of her hair from its

perfect arrangement, giving her a wildness that contradicted the careful image she'd maintained since her

transformation. She stepped inside, letting the door close behind her.

"| sent the helicopter back," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Alexander set the journal aside. "You're staying?"

"For now." Camille moved further into the cabin, noticing the small details she'd missed before, the coffee mug

with a chipped rim, the wrinkled shirt

hanging by the tiny

bathroom, the scattered notes in Alexander's handwriting. Signs of actual living, not just performing.

The silence between them stretched, filled with unspoken questions.

"The view from the bow is incredible," she finally said. "You can

see the whole city. All those buildings, all those lives. From here, they look so small."

"Perspective changes everything." Alexander remained seated, giving her space.

Camille touched

the silver rose pendant at her throat. "When | was little, | used to imagine who | might become. A doctor, a

teacher, an astronaut. Normal dreams." Her mouth curved in a sad smile. "Then | becStefan's wife

creation."

"And now?" Alexander asked quietly.

"Now | want to be someone new." The words felt strange on her

tongue, frightening

and liberating all at once. "Someone who makes her own name, not just wears someone else's."

Alexander's face remained calm, but his knuckles whitened slightly as his hands

gripped the edge of the desk. "What does that look like for you?"

Camille turned to the window, watching

the waves catch sunlight. “I don't know exactly. But | know what it doesn't

look like." She took a deep breath. "It doesn't look like spending

my life feeding a hunger for

revenge that never gets satisfied. It doesn't look like measuring my worth by how successfully | destroy others."

She faced him again. "When | was in that parking garage, bleeding and broken, I thought I'd lost

everything. Victoria

showed| was wrong, I'd lost things, but not everything. Not myself."

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"She gave you a path," Alexander acknowledged.

"Yes. A path of fire." Camille's voice grew stronger. "But fire does two things, it destroys and it transforms. I've

done enough destroying. | want to transform now."

Alexander stood, his movements careful, measured, as if approaching something precious and easily startled.

"The Phoenix Foundation you announced, it could be real, not just a

public relations move. Something that actually helps women

rebuild after betrayal."

"Not just women," Camille said, surprising herself. "Anyone who's been discarded, anyone who's been told

they're nothing after giving everything. People like | was. People like you were, alone in that hospital." The words

hung between them, raw and honest.

"It won't be easy," Alexander said. "Building something meaningful never is."

"I know." Camille's fingers nervously traced the edge

of Ruth Chen's photograph on the desk. "Victoria won't understand. She might see it as weakness, as forgetting

what Rose

did to me."

"What will you tell her?"

"That Rose tried to murder my body, but staying consumed by hate would murder

my soul." Camille's voice cracked slightly. "That I'm done

letting her destroy any more of my life."

Alexander took a single step closer. "You'll still run Kane Industries?"

"The tech division, yes. Victoria gavethat." A hint of

steel entered Camille's voice. "I earned it. And I'll use it to build the grid, to fund the foundation, to create

something lasting."

"And Rose and Stefan?"

Camille's jaw tightened. "They've lost everything. They'll face legal consequences for what they did. But | won't

spend another day thinking about them. They're just... done."

The weight of her words seemed to physically lighten her. She stood taller, breathed

deeper.

"I want to help," Alexander said simply. "In whatever way you'll let me."

"Why?" The question was direct, without Victoria's trained suspicion or Camille Lewis's naive trust. Just a woman

asking for truth.

Alexander's eyes never left hers. “Because I've spent years watching you from a distance, first with gratitude,

then with worry, then with admiration. Because I've never met

anyone who could walk through such darkness and still carry light inside them.”

He moved closer until barely a foot separated them. "Because the woman who sat

with a stranger in a hospital room is the swoman who stands here now, finally free to decide who she wants

to be."

Camille felt heat rise to her cheeks. "You makesound better than | am."

"No." Alexander shook his head. "I just see what

you've been too hurt to remember."

The ship swayed gently beneath them, a living thing carrying

them forward. Through the window, Camille could see the horizon line where

sky met water, clean and sharp as a fresh start.

"I'll help you," Alexander continued. "Every step, in any way you need. But only if

that's what you want."

Camille studied

his face, the sincerity in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the careful way he held himself, offering without

demanding. She'd forgotten what it felt like to be offered something with no debt attached. "Yes," she whispered.

Then stronger: "Yes. | want your help."

The word hung between them, an offering, not a surrender.

Alexander's shoulders relaxed, a smile breaking across his face like sunrise. "Then we'll build something

extraordinary together."

He held out his hand, palm up, not grabbing, just offering connection. Camille looked at it for a long moment

before placing her hand in his. His fingers were warm, solid, his grip gentle but secure. "I should warn you," she

said, a hint of humor in her voice, "I

have no idea what I'm doing. All my plans ended with revenge."

"That's the beautiful part." Alexander's thumb moved

gently across her knuckles. "You get to discover what comes next. And speaking as someone who watched you

systematically dismantle two empires, I'm fairly confident you can handle building a new one."

The touch of his hand grounded her, steadied her against the vertigo of possibility. But

it was his words that reached deeper, past the armor Victoria had helped her build, past the wounds Rose had

inflicted, past

the love Stefan had withdrawn. For the first tin years, someone

saw her, not what she could give them or do for them, but her.

"I'm scared," she admitted, the words barely audible.

"Good." Alexander's voice held no judgment. "Fear means

you're doing something that matters."

A knock at the cabin door broke

the moment. One of the engineers stood there, awkwardly holding a tablet. "Sorry

to interrupt, Mr. Pierce, but we've got sanomalous readings from the

starboard cells. Might be nothing, but...."

"I'll be right there," Alexander said, releasing Camille's hand reluctantly.

The engineer nodded and disappeared, leaving them alone again.

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"Duty calls," Camille said.

"Unfortunately." Alexander

hesitated. "Have dinner withtonight. Not as Kane Industries and

Pierce Enterprises. Just as Camille and Alexander."

The invitation seemed to hang in the air between them, weighted with possibility.

"I'd like that," Camille said, surprised by how much she meant it.

Alexander's smile deepened. "I'll send a car at eight."

He moved toward the door, then paused, turning back. "Camille?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever

you decide to build, whoever you decide to become, it will be magnificent."

The door closed behind him, leaving Camille alone in the cabin. She touched the silver

rose pendant again, feeling its cool weight against her skin. Outside, the ocean stretched toward infinity,

constantly changing yet somehow eternal.

She thought of Rose, plotting revenge with Herod Preston. Of Stefan, facing the ruins of his legacy. Of Victoria,

who had given her the tools for destruction but perhaps not the vision for creation. None of them had imagined

this moment, this possibility. None

of them had seen that after the flames of revenge burned out, something new could rise

from the ashes.

Camille walked to the cabin door and stepped out onto the deck. The wind immediately caught her hair, pulling it

completely free from

its careful arrangement. She didn't fix it. Instead, she lifted her face to the

sun, feeling its warmth seep into her skin.

Far above, seagulls wheeled against the blue sky, their cries carrying across the water. The massive

solar panels that covered the ship's deck captured the sunlight, transforming it into power, into movement, into

future.

Transformation, not destruction.

Creation, not revenge.

For the first time

since that night in the parking garage, Camille felt something unfamiliar expanding in her chest, not satisfaction

or

vindication or even triumph. Something quieter but infinitely more powerful. Hope.

Not hope tethered to another person's love or approval. Not hope pinned to seeing enemies suffer. But hope

rooted in possibility, in becoming, in the dawn of something entirely new.

Camille Lewis had died in that parking garage.

Camille Kane had risen for revenge.

But the woman standing on this ship, face to

the sun, hands open to the future, she was just beginning to live.