CHAPTER SEVEN: I will never marry Alex.
1769 Words
Camila's POV
The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains of the yacht suite, warm and golden, pulling me from the deepest sleep I'd had in months.
I reached across the bed, expecting to find warm skin and a solid chest. Instead, my hand met cool, empty sheets.
He was gone.
I sat up quickly, clutching the silk sheet to my bare chest. The suite was silent except for the gentle hum of the yacht’s engines and the distant sound of water lapping against the hull.
No note. No message.
Just the faint scent of his cologne still lingering on the pillow beside me.
He left without saying anything.
A sharp pang twisted in my chest, but I pushed it down. What did I expect? I had thrown myself at a complete stranger after the most humiliating night of my life. Of course he left.
Still… the way he had touched me, the look in his eyes—it had felt like more than just a one-night distraction.
I closed my eyes and let the memories flood in.
The way his dark eyes had burned as he stripped my dress off. The way he had made me feel powerful and wanted and completely, utterly alive.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images wouldn't stop.
The low groan he made when my breasts spilled free. How desperately he had devoured me between my thighs. The way he had held me afterward, his arms wrapped around me like I belonged there.
I had never felt anything like it.
And now he was gone.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Stop it, Camila. You slept with a stranger,” I whispered, pressing my palms to my flushed cheeks. “On the same night you called off your engagement. That's not who you are.”
But maybe that was exactly who I was now.
The old Camila would have been mortified. Ashamed. The old Camila would have spent the morning crying over what she'd done instead of what had been done to her.
But the old Camila is dead now.
I climbed out of bed, wincing at the ache between my thighs. My engagement dress was crumpled on the floor. I grabbed a silk robe from the closet and wrapped it around myself.
My phone.
I needed my phone.
I’d put it there before the ceremony, not wanting notifications interrupting the evening.
I searched the suite frantically, checking the nightstand, the dresser, and the bathroom counter. Finally, I found it on the floor near the bed, where it must have fallen from my hand at some point during the night.
As I turned it over, the screen was flooded with notifications.
Forty-three missed calls.
Twelve voicemails.
Multiple text messages.
Mostly from my mother, Vivian, Alex, a few from my father’s office, and some unknown numbers that were probably reporters.
Before I could scroll through them, the phone vibrated in my hand. It was Mr. Carter—my father’s secretary.
I answered quickly. “Hello?”
“Miss Stones.” Mr Carter said, voice tight with urgency. “Thank God I finally reached you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“Your mother still hasn’t woken up properly after last night’s episode.”
The words hit me like a slap.
“What?”
“Your father asked me to come collect you and bring you home immediately.”
“Is she in the hospital?” I asked, heart pounding.
“No, Miss Stones.”
“Then where is she?”
“At home.”
Home?
I closed my eyes. Despite everything, panic clawed through me. My mother and I weren’t close. Most days I wasn’t sure she even liked me. But the image of her collapsing replayed in my mind.
“I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
“Thank you, Miss Stones.”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone, my heart racing. My mother had collapsed. The woman who had spent my entire life criticizing me, controlling me, making me feel like I was never enough—she had fallen because of what I did.
Guilt twisted in my chest.
As I hurried to throw on a simple blouse and pants I kept in the suite, a small folded piece of paper fluttered from the bedside table onto the carpet. I bent to pick it up, curious.
My phone rang again.
Mr Carter said they were at the dock. I shoved the paper into my bag without reading it and rushed out.
The ride home was silent and tense.
Mr Carter kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight. I stared out the window, the city moved as usual.
People walked. Cars honked. Life continued.
Meanwhile my entire world had exploded less than twenty-four hours ago.
Eventually we arrived at the family mansion, I stepped inside expecting chaos. Expecting doctors, nurses, worried family members huddled in the foyer.
Instead, the entire family was seated at the formal dining table like it was any normal morning.
Including my mother.
She sat perfectly upright in her silk robe, makeup flawless, sipping coffee as if she hadn’t “fainted” dramatically in front of half the city’s elite last night.
My father sat at the other end of the table, a newspaper spread open in front of him. Vivian was next to my mother, her eyes downcast, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin.
I turned to look at Mr Carter.
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
Disappointment crashed over me like ice water.
They lied.
Again.
They had used my mother's health to manipulate me into coming home.
My mother looked up.
“Camilla, darling!” Her voice was warm in a way it almost never was with me.
Darling?
I couldn’t remember the last time she’d called me that.
She stood up, eyes scanning my face with—pity? “Oh, sweetheart, you look exhausted. You poor thing. You must not have slept at all. Come sit down. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
I didn’t answer.
She turned immediately toward one of the maids.
“Maria, prepare something light for Camila immediately.”
I moved to the table in a daze and sat down. The sweetness felt like a trap.
My father didn’t look up from his newspaper. He didn’t even acknowledge my presence.
Not a greeting. Not a glance.
Nothing.
The silence stretched. Then my mother sighed dramatically.
"Camila, sweetheart, we need to address what happened last night."
There it was.
The real reason I had been brought home.
"The news has been... challenging," she continued carefully. "The company's stocks are already dropping. The Laurents are furious. The merger is in jeopardy. Everything your father has worked for — everything we have worked for — is at risk.”
I stared at her.
“What exactly are you asking me to do, Mother?”
My mother reached over and patted my hand. “We’ve already spoken to a few reporters. You just need to say you made a mistake. You were emotional. Overwhelmed. You didn’t mean what you said.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
"You also apologize to Alex and his family, and we can move forward. The engagement can still continue. The merger can still—"
I looked at her. Then at my father, still reading his newspaper like I wasn’t sitting ten feet away. Then at Vivian, who had yet to raise her eyes from her untouched food.
My mother reached for my hand. “Darling, families overcome these things.”
I pulled away immediately. Something inside me cracked.
“You want me to lie?”
My mother sighed.
“We’re asking you to protect the family.”
I laughed. A short, broken sound.
“The family?”
“Yes.”
“The same family that watched my fiancé sleep with my sister?”
“Camila.”
“The same family that wants me to marry him anyway?”
“Enough.”
“The same family that only called me home because their company is suffering?”
“Camila!”
My voice rose.
Years of frustration finally erupting.
“No.”
The word echoed through the room.
My mother’s face hardened. "Excuse me?"
I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. "I said no. I will never—" My voice cracked. "I will never marry Alex. I will never stand in front of a camera and say I lied. Not for the company. Not for the family name. Not for any of it.”
My mother's smile vanished. The mask of warmth dropped away, and underneath was the cold, calculating woman I had known my entire life.
“Camila, don’t be ridiculous. You’re being ungrateful. After everything we’ve done for you. We took you in when you had nobody. We gave you everything — this house, this name, every opportunity you have ever had — and you cannot do this one thing for this family?”
That was the final straw.
“Ungrateful?” I laughed bitterly. “What exactly have you done for me? Since the day I came into this house, you’ve always favored Vivian. Every project I poured my heart into, every design, every late night — Vivian got the credit. The man I was supposed to marry was sleeping with her, and instead of supporting me, you’re asking me to forgive them and continue the engagement like nothing happened?”
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I have tried so hard to be enough for you. But I never will be, will I?”
My mother’s eyes welled up dramatically. She pressed a hand to her chest, looking ready to faint again. “How can you speak to me like this?”
My father still hadn't looked up from his newspaper. It was as if I wasn't even there.
I turned to leave, grabbing my bag.
As I reached the dining room doorway, my father’s cold voice finally cut through the air.
"Camila."
I froze.
The dining room went completely still. Even my mother stopped performing.
Slowly, my father lowered the newspaper.
For the first time since I’d arrived, he looked directly at me.
“If you walk out of that door,” he said slowly, deliberately, “we are done. Your accounts. Your position at the firm. Everything with the Stones name attached to it.”
My breath caught.
Even Vivian had gone pale.
My father’s eyes never left mine.
“Leave,” he said.
“And you’re cut off.”
- Writer
