A Court Of Ash And Secrets

The Gift Box

The apartment was ultra-clean.

That antiseptic kind of clean that only money could provide. Marble tops glimmered under the warm recessed lighting. The scent of chopped white peonies filled the penthouse, arranged with impeccable care in a crystal vase on the foyer table. Everything in Camilla Devereux's life seemed flawless, even at a point when things had started crumbling.

Camilla stepped out of the elevator into a quiet, brightly lit space. The sound of her heels echoed on the gleaming floor as the doors slid shut behind her. It was quiet, too quiet, though there was light. She did not scream. Liam tended to make his arrival sooner or later.

A little, square box sat atop the lacquered entranceway table. It was wrapped in the same navy silk ribbon used to wrap the previous gift, the one she had unwrapped after winning her case. Her hand paused just inches away. Cartier again. Of course.

A note was tucked under the bow, his handwriting smooth and familiar: Happy Anniversary, Cam. Let's not forget what built this empire; us. Love, L.

She unwrapped the box slowly, with a kind of awe, though her breathing had grown shallow. There, cuddled up on a bed of black velvet, was a watch. Sleek and understated, it was gold with a mother-of-pearl face and diamond figures. It was beautiful, but cold against her skin. Something to distract, not to commemorate.

She looked at it for quite a long time before slipping it onto her wrist with upmost care. It weighed heavily on her wrist.

Liam emerged from the den, holding two Bordeaux glasses. He was relaxed, barefoot, collar open, as if he had been waiting all these years. "Well? Do I still remember your taste?"

Camilla lifted the wrist with the watch. "It's lovely."

"You used to hate gold," he said as he handed her a glass.

"True, I used to hate a lot of things," she said, taking a sip.

He grinned. "Touché."

They were quiet, the sort that was stretched out, glass-paper-thin. He kissed her cheek, pausing slightly longer than necessary. She didn't move away, but she didn't move closer either.

"Dinner time," he said as he made his way into the open kitchen. "I ordered your favorite truffle risotto, charred broccolini from Marcellino's, I even picked up the lemon tart you say you hate."

She followed him, her eyes on the back of his neck, watching the fluid bounce in his step. He moved like a man who never had any occasion to wonder what was keeping him back.

"You certainly didn't hold back on spending," she said.

"Not frequently do we celebrate fifteen years," he replied, topping himself off.

"Four of them good," she breathed.

He turned, smile faltering. "What was that?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing. Thinking about time."

Dinner passed quickly or the pretense of it. They discussed the Dubai office again, and how the firm's reputation had evolved from niche player to international giant. Camilla performed her role, nodding, drinking wine, laughing sporadically at his charm. But beneath, something had started to hum. A low, uneasy thrum just beneath her skin. She had felt it before. In courtrooms. Under examination. When a witness was about to lie.

Later that night, after Liam had settled down next to her, his breathing slow and steady, one hand resting atop the silk coverlet like that of an untroubled man. Camilla awoke and reached for her phone.

The screen illuminated the blackness as she opened up the banking app.

A mundane ritual. She reconciled accounts the way other folks scrolled through social media, nervously and reflexively. But tonight things were.off.

She scrolled through the transactions and then stopped at one.

WIRE TRANSFER – $235,000 – TO KESSON HOLDINGS LTD.

Her forehead furrowed. The transfer had been authorized just two days ago. By means of the joint business account. The account that, theoretically, only she and Liam could use. Kesson Holdings was not a supplier. Not one of their investment vehicles. Not a shell company she was familiar with.

She stared at the screen, heart rate constant but mind moving. She double-checked. Routing number. Transaction ID. Approval signature: L. Devereux.

The first thing that came to mind wasn't dread. It was clarity.

She turned off the phone, rolled over and back again, and glared up at the ceiling in the dark. The watch on her wrist felt heavier now, like a manacle in the form of luxury.

The next morning, sunlight spilled through the window in long golden streaks. Camilla stood at the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of her silk blouse. Liam came up behind her, freshly shaven, already dressed in a slate-grey suit.

“You’re quiet this morning,” he said, slipping his arms around her waist.

“I have a meeting at nine,” she replied, stepping slightly to the side.

“You haven’t asked about the gift,” he said.

"I told you it was beautiful."

"That's not the same as me asking why you got it."

She turned to him, her eyes level. "It's our anniversary."

He nodded, his head c****d. "It's more than that, Cam. It's everything we built. Devereux & Associates. The name. The legacy. You and I—we built it. Together."

Her face still was impassive. "Did we?"

He scowled, the mask cracking just a little. "What's wrong?"

She shrugged. "Tell me yourself. Any new tax tricks I should know about?"

For a moment, the air was still. Liam's eyes flashed—fractionally—but Camilla caught it.

"The wire," she went on. "To Kesson Holdings. Two hundred thirty-five thousand dollars. Can you explain it to me?"

Liam let out a slow breath and went to the bed, perched on the edge as a warrior preparing for combat. "Jesus, Cam. Don't worry. Routine shuffling. We're creating a holding firm to protect some assets from foreign tax exposure. All aboveboard."

"You used the joint business account."

"I had to. Faster. Temporary. I was going to tell you—"

"When? After the quarterly audit?"

He appeared quite sternly exasperated at the moment. "Come on, don't make a thing out of this. I was doing it to protect us."

She crossed her arms. "From what?"

"From the vultures circling every dollar going through your firm now that you're a legal celebrity."

Camilla blinked. "My firm."

Liam stood up, crossed over, placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Cam, listen to me. We're in this together. Always have been. There are things I do so you don't have to. Let me do that."

The warmth of his touch was familiar, comforting. But something in her had shifted. She felt it now—the widening fissure. And worse, the terror that accompanied the realization she may've gone too long without seeing signs.

Next time," she said to him, her voice as smooth as silk around steel, "you run it all past me. Every wire. Every holding firm. Every step. Or I start treating you like I treat every other ally I don't trust."

He nodded, stepping back just far enough. "Understood."

But she didn't believe so.

Camilla was alone in her office that evening. The city lights were just starting to flip on, window by window. She sipped a glass of scotch in her hand—she never drank one, but tonight she needed something extra.

Erin tapped once on the door before entering. "You called?"

Camilla looked up. Her sister was wearing casual clothes today—blazer off, hair in a messy bun, tablet held under her arm.

"Yeah," Camilla said. "Close the door."

Erin raised an eyebrow but complied, sitting in the chair across from her. "Okay. Am I supposed to be scared?"

Camilla took a sip. "I need you to do a forensic trace on a company. Kesson Holdings Ltd. Find out who they are, where they're registered, and who benefits from the account they just received a wire transfer from us."

Erin's eyebrows leapt up. "From us?"

Camilla nodded.

"Did you approve it?"

"No. Liam did."

A pause. “And you’re asking me to trace it quietly.”

“I’m asking you,” Camilla said slowly, “to find out who the hell I’m married to.”

Erin sat back, the air between them suddenly charged. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “You sure about this?”

“No,” Camilla said. “But I’d rather face a lie head-on than let it fester.”

Erin nodded, her expression sober. “You got it.”

As she stood to leave, Camilla intercepted her. "And Erin?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Don't say anything to Savannah about this."

Erin restrained herself. "You think she's in on it too?"

Camilla spoke softly, hardly above a breath. "I think Liam's got a blind spot. And I think Savannah knows where it is."

Camilla returned to the penthouse that night.

The Cartier watch still hung on her wrist, glinting in the bedroom lights. She looked at herself in the mirror—at the woman with unblemished makeup, a flawless résumé, a state-of-the-art firm whose name was etched on steel. The woman with power.

But tonight, she also saw her. The one with suspicion wrinkled behind the eyes. The one who had built an empire on precision and excellence—and was now beginning to realize that even empires had fault lines.

She took off the watch and stored it away in the box.

This gift was not about hours.

It was a distraction.

And Camilla Devereux was never one to be distracted for very long.