Chapter 004: Incompatible
886 Words
“That must be an expensive joke,” Camille said, chuckling nervously. “Why is your ex-wife’s daughter living with you? You’re not related by blood, so why do you still have her over?”
Vincent’s expression shifted from discomfort to stern resolve. “Sarah is my business. Let me worry about her. You are my wife-to-be. If anything, you should try to make her warm up to you. "Don’t even start—” He stopped himself, not wanting to raise his voice or intimidate her.
Camille could already tell Sarah meant a lot to Vincent—maybe because he had truly loved her mother. That thought stirred something inside her.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I got jealous of Sarah, your daughter. I know you’ve already taken her in like your own, and it’s insensitive of me to try and taint a relationship I wasn’t here to witness. I’m sorry.”
Vincent looked pleased by her change in tone. “I’m more sorry I almost lashed out at you. Come here.”
Camille allowed him to hold her, her eyes closing as he kissed her warmly.
Meanwhile, Sarah, who had been lurking silently near the top of the stairs, felt her heart thudding. Something about Camille didn’t sit right with her. She was almost certain she’d seen Camille before. Yes—at a wedding she attended with her friend over a year ago. The bride had been Sheila’s aunt. Camille and that woman, Theresa, looked exactly alike.
Inside her room, the idea of calling Sheila tugged at her mind. But wouldn’t that mean she was overstepping? Still, curiosity got the better of her. After the call, she drifted into sleep—but not without thoughts of Rafael flooding her memory.
The following days, Sarah didn’t spend a single night at the mansion. Since Camille moved in five days ago, Sarah had been at her friend Keisha’s place—ignoring Rafael’s incessant calls and trying to avoid trouble.
“You know,” Keisha had said, “Rafael is younger and definitely capable of giving you more thrills than your infamous step-daddy. Why not just ride with Rafael?”
Sarah didn’t respond. She got off the couch, agitated. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. I need to leave before you start choking me with all your probing questions.”
Later that day, while driving, she finally picked up Rafael’s call.
“Took you forever to answer. "Didn’t like my d**k size?” he teased.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “You're definitely bigger than I expected, so no—it’s not about that. What do you want?”
“Got a race tonight. Want to come watch?”
She hesitated. She wasn’t sure about being seen with Rafael, especially since she still fantasized about Vincent. But curiosity prickled her.
“You there?”
“Where’s it happening?” she finally asked, nonchalantly.
“The old docks. Tonight. Got VIP seats just for you, babe.”
“I’m not your babe.”
“We’ll see.” His voice oozed amusement.
Sarah hung up and tossed her phone onto the seat. Her eyes flicked up to the massive ten-story building that read, The Real Growth Center.
This was where Camille worked.
She had intended to visit, maybe even apologize for being cold when they first met. She had come to accept that Camille might be part of Vincent’s life now.
But just as she reached for her car door, she froze. Camille stepped out of the building, wearing dark sunglasses and acting suspiciously cautious—scanning her surroundings before slipping into a black, tinted SUV with no license plates.
Sarah’s suspicions flared. She couldn’t see who was in the car, and it didn’t drive off—it just idled there. Camille reappeared some time later, adjusting her dress and now with her lipstick visibly smudged.
Her stomach twisted.
Had Camille just made out—or worse, had s*x—with someone who wasn’t Vincent?
As the car pulled away, Sarah quickly called Sheila.
“Sheila, your aunt’s wedding last year—what was her name again? I think I just saw her in Mexico.”
“Yes, her name is Theresa. Her husband died months after the wedding from a strange illness. She’s been traveling ever since.”
Theresa. Camille. Same face. Different names. Sarah’s instincts buzzed with certainty.
Without hesitation, she sped off toward the Laurent mansion, adrenaline surging. She had no concrete evidence yet—but she would find it.
Inside the mansion, she dashed past security and bounded up the stairs. She had a spare key to Vincent’s room. No one saw her slip inside. She needed something—anything—that would expose Camille or confirm her true identity.
She ransacked drawers and cabinets, going through useless documents and old records. Time slipped by. Nearly an hour passed, and still, nothing.
Just when she was about to give up, her hand landed on a sealed envelope tucked behind a photo frame in the wardrobe.
She pulled it out.
What she saw made her blood run cold.
Her hands trembled as she opened them and read the first few lines. Her knees weakened.
The document didn’t expose Camille. It exposed something far worse.
Something that would shatter her world.
- Writer
