Chapter 2
1054 Words
Camila knelt on the marble floor of the living room. Her knees felt numb, but she didn’t dare to move.
She stared at her car keys still lying on the marble table. Then, her gaze shifted to Damian, who stood before her.
"Damian, please tell me, how is Clara’s condition? Don't just stay silent."
"Clara is dead, and it’s all because of your doing, you b***h!" Lady Beatrice’s ear-piercing scream rang out.
Camila Wilson collapsed instantly upon hearing it. Her breath hitched in shock and suffocation. It was impossible; Clara couldn’t be dead.
"You intentionally let Clara use your car even though you knew the brakes were faulty!" Lady Beatrice approached, her eyes blazing with fury.
In front of her, Damian stood with his back to the large window, staring at the snow-covered darkness of Manhattan. His broad shoulders were stiff, and every breath he took sounded heavy.
"Damian..." Camila’s voice broke, barely a whisper. "For God's sake, I didn't know the brakes were faulty. I only wanted to help Clara."
Damian turned slowly. The dim light from the chandelier emphasized the lines of his face, which now looked like a sculpture of ice.
"Help?" he asked, his voice so low it made the hair on the back of Camila's neck stand up.
"You let a nineteen-year-old girl drive in the middle of the biggest storm of the year in a car you knew was unroadworthy. That’s not helping, Camila. That is murder."
"I didn’t know! That car was just serviced last week! Everything was fine," Camila shrieked, tears finally spilling down her pale cheeks.
"Is that so?"
The sharp voice came from the direction of the stairs. Lady Beatrice. Her face showed no traces of tears, only cold, pure rage.
In her hand, she held a tablet and several sheets of documents.
"Then how do you explain this, Camila?" Beatrice placed the tablet on the marble table with a loud clack.
The screen displayed CCTV footage from Camila's private garage taken three hours before the accident. There, a figure wearing Camila’s coat could be seen kneeling beside the front wheel of the Mercedes, doing something with a tool in her hand. Her face wasn't clearly visible because it was covered by a hood, but her stature and clothing were identical to what Camila wore that afternoon.
"That... that wasn’t me," Camila shook her head violently, crawling toward the table.
"Damian, you know I was in the studio all afternoon! I never went to the garage!"
"Then who was wearing this coat, Camila?" Beatrice threw Camila’s cream fur coat onto the floor. Sticking out of the coat pocket was a pair of black gloves that still had stains of engine lubricant.
The blood seemed to drain out of Camila’s face. She stared at the coat in horror. Someone had entered her room, taken her coat, and orchestrated this setup.
"And this is the most interesting part," Beatrice threw the documents toward Damian.
"A bank statement for a secret account under the name of Camila Wilson. Ten million dollars was deposited there this afternoon from the account of our rival company, the Arnault Group. They’ve wanted our port project canceled for a long time, haven't they?"
Damian took the papers. His eyes scanned every number listed there. His jaw tightened until the muscles in his neck bulged. To him, physical evidence was the absolute truth.
"Damian, look at me!" Camila grabbed the hem of Damian’s trousers, pleading desperately.
"I am your wife. I don't need that money! I have everything with you. Why would I do something so despicable to Clara, whom I love so much?"
Damian looked down at Camila’s hand clutching his trousers, then moved his gaze to her eyes. For a moment, Camila saw a flash of doubt in her husband’s eyes. However, Beatrice did not let that doubt grow.
"She’s just a wealth-hungry orphan, Damian! She knew that if Clara was gone, Clara’s shares would fall to you, and as your wife, she would share control of them," Beatrice provoked with a venomous tone.
"She killed my daughter for money and power!"
"I am not like that!" Camila denied, tears streaming down her face.
"ENOUGH!" Damian roared, his voice shaking the entire room.
He jerked his leg, roughly breaking Camila’s grip until she fell forward, her stomach hitting the floor.
Camila let out a small whimper, a sharp pain stabbing the lower part of her abdomen—a reminder of the tiny life she was protecting.
"Sign this," Damian threw a black folder containing divorce papers. "And get out of here before I lose control and drag you to prison myself."
Camila looked at her husband through a blur of tears. "You won't listen to me? You believe these fake pieces of evidence more than our three years of marriage?"
"Three years full of lies," Damian answered coldly. He pulled out a check for a massive amount.
"Take this. And leave this house immediately. I don't want a single trace of you left in this family."
"Sign it, Camila. Don't stall for time," Lady Beatrice hissed from the corner of the room. "You’ve already extinguished my daughter’s life; don't expect to steal even one more second of my son’s time."
Camila slowly stood up. She ignored the stinging pain in her stomach. She was no longer crying. Something inside her had died along with Damian’s words. With trembling hands, she took the check, stared at it for a moment, then tore it into small pieces that she let fly like snow in front of Damian’s face.
"I will leave," Camila said, her voice suddenly becoming very flat and cold. "Without your money, without your Xavier identity. But remember this day, Damian. The day you killed the only person who loved you unconditionally."
Camila turned and walked toward the grand door without taking anything but the clothes on her back. Lady Beatrice smiled triumphantly from the shadows, while Damian remained standing frozen, staring at the torn check on the floor with fists clenched until they bled.
Outside, the blizzard welcomed Camila. She stepped out, feeling the biting cold pierce through her thin dress. She didn't know where to go, but she knew one thing. She had to survive, for the sake of the baby who was now her only reason to breathe.
- Writer
