Collateral Damage

Camille Again

Camille let herself into the reading room like she still had a key to a life she’d been cut out of

years ago.

Elena looked up from her book to find her already seated, red lipstick, red nails, a woman

dressed like a warning nobody had heeded yet. “Bea let me in,” Camille said, before Elena could

ask. “Old habit of hers. I used to come by often. Before.”

“Before I existed, you mean.”

“Before Damian decided the best way to secure a debt was to marry it.” Camille examined her

nails, unbothered. “How’s married life treating you?”

“What do you actually want?”

“I want you to understand what you’ve married into, since my husband clearly isn’t going to tell

you himself.”

“Your husband.”

“Ex. We were engaged, before his sister died and everything fell apart.” Something real flickered

across Camille’s face, gone as fast as it came. “Sophie. If he’s mentioned her, that’s more than

he’s given anyone in four years.”

Elena kept her voice steady, though her pulse had climbed. “What happened to her?”

“Not my story to tell.” Camille stood, smoothing her dress. “But ask Damian who your father

really borrowed that money from, and why the debt came due exactly when it did. Ask him about

Sophie’s accident. I think you’ll find the pieces fit together in a way you won’t enjoy.”

She left before Elena could push further, the door clicking shut with a finality that felt

engineered…. a woman who’d said exactly as much as she intended.

Elena found Damian in his study that night and didn’t wait for permission this time.

“Was my father’s debt connected to Sophie’s death?”

He went very still the kind of stillness that answered the question before he opened his mouth.

“Where did you hear that name.”

“Camille. Sit down and tell me the truth, Damian, or I’ll find it out from someone who’d enjoy

watching you lose control more than you’ll enjoy telling me yourself.”

Something shifted behind his eyes not anger. Recognition, maybe, that she’d finally earned the

right to ask. “Sit,” he said, quieter now. She sat.

“Four years ago,” he said, staring past her shoulder, “my sister was in a car accident. The other

driver was drunk. He survived. She didn’t.” His jaw worked once. “His name was on the police

report. Aldrich V oss.”

The room tilted. “My father.”

“Your father.” His voice had gone terrifyingly even. “His lawyers buried it before it touched his

company or his name. I spent two years trying to make him answer for it and lost every time. So

I found another way. I bought up his debt until I owned enough of it to end him whenever I

chose.”

“You married me as revenge.”

“I married you,” he said, low, “before I understood what marrying you would actually do to me.”

Elena stood, legs unsteady, and walked toward the door. His voice stopped her at the threshold,

breaking on the words.

“Elena. I need you to know the plan was never to hurt you. Only him.”

“You didn’t ask if that was possible to separate,” she said and left him alone with four years of

guilt and a silence that felt, for the first time, like something he actually deserved.