Chapter Five
1010 Words
CAMILLE.
I slammed my bedroom door shut, the force echoing down the long, silent halls of the mansion. My chest rose and fell with ragged, uneven breaths as my emotions bubbled chaotically. He hadn't even protested. Kian hadn't uttered a single word. He'd just signed the divorce papers like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. Like our child that never made it out.was nothing. Tears pricked my eyes as my bottom lip wobbled with the pain that seared again, raw and unforgiving.
Is this what our years all boiled down to? An indifferent signature on a piece of paper?
I heard my knees wobble as I moved to the corner of the room, yanking out a set of travelling boxes. One after another, I started to fling my belongings into them: clothes, books, trinkets that once meant something. Tears streamed freely down my cheeks, blurring my vision.
"If only he had tried," I whispered bitterly. "If he'd said anything—just one word—maybe…Just maybe…" My voice broke and I screamed, hauling a photo across the room, the glass cracking on impact.
I paused, my hands trembling. My thoughts swirled like a storm, dragging me deeper and deeper into the depths of despair. Why couldn't he treat me better? Why couldn't he at least try? Why couldn't he fight for me, for us? Was I really that unimportant to him?
The more things I threw in those boxes, the more tired I became. I climbed into bed, clutching the divorce papers. I stared through tear-filled eyes at that document, hiccuping softly. The silence wrapped itself around me like the cold, uncaring room as I cried myself into a fitful sleep.
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Morning light spilled through the curtains, warm and blinding. I woke with a pounding headache and an even heavier heart. I sat up, forcing myself to focus. The divorce papers lay crumpled on the nightstand. I smoothed them out, her resolve hardening.
I had spent the morning packing the last of my belongings. Every item packed felt like another piece being torn from my life with Kian. I showered and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt.
There was a sudden commotion from downstairs: voices, sharp and unmistakable. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I went down the grand stairs.
Patricia Calloway, Kian's mother, was standing near the foyer, her characteristic flashy designer outfit contrasting starkly with the anger that was carved onto her features. She glared at the maids as they moved to carry Camille's luggage toward the front door.
"You are seriously leaving Kian?" Patricia's voice whipped across the room and her hard gaze zeroed in on me.
I said nothing, brushing past her toward the dining room. I wasn't in the mood for another confrontation with Patricia. Not today.
The dining room was its usual picture of elegance, but the tension inside was palpable. Kian sat at the head of the table, his iPad in one hand, a piece of toast in the other. His hair was slightly disheveled, and dark circles framed his striking blue eyes.
I stood hesitantly in the doorway, conscious of the way his shoulders stiffened slightly upon my entrance. He didn't look up, however, and continued to gaze steadfastly at his screen.
My stomach churned. I forced myself to sit at the table, ignoring the gnawing of his presence on my resolve. I picked at my food, couldn't help but wonder, stealing glances if he had slept at all last night. The thought whispered possibilities, but I quickly shut it down. It was probably just work.
Patricia stormed into the dining room, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floor. She crossed her arms, glaring at me. "Well? Are you going to explain yourself?"
I brought my fork to my mouth deliberately, chewing slowly, not meeting Patricia's fiery gaze. "There's nothing to explain."
"Nothing to explain?" Patricia's voice rose. "You've been married to my son for years, and now you're walking out like it means nothing? Do you have any idea what this will do to his reputation?"
Kian's fork clattered against his plate, but he still didn't look up. I saw his fists were clenched and I waited but.my chest tightened at his silence.
Patricia's voice dropped to a venomous hiss. "You've always been selfish, Camille. And now you're proving it."
My lips trembled, but I kept my composure. "I miscarried."
The room fell silent. Kian's jaw clamped and his gaze finally rose in my direction. For a split second, turmoil flashed across his eyes, but I didn't acknowledge him. I couldn't. I kept my attention on Patricia, whose expression faltered for an instant before contorting into something cold, cruel.
"And how is that Kian's fault?" Patricia sneered. "You're the one who failed, Camille. Not him."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My breath hitched as I stood abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"I'm done," I said, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. I turned and left the room, ignoring the burning in my chest.
Patrica followed me into the hallway, her voice low and slashing. "You're not good enough for him, Camille. You never were. And quite frankly, I'm glad you're leaving. You never were the kind of wife Kian deserved."
I froze, my fists clenching at my sides. I turned slowly, eyes pained and hard, voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for reminding me why I'm leaving."
Choking back tears, I moved to the door. Hudgton was waiting, his face somber. "Is everything loaded?" I asked softly.
Hudgton nodded, his eyes reflecting sadness. "Yes, ma'am."
I gave him a slight, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Hudgton. For everything."
I turned without looking at anything and stepped outside to get into the waiting cab. The driver asked where to take me, and I gave him the name of the nearest airport.
As the car rolled down the driveway, I stared straight ahead. I didn't look back as the Calloway Estate faded into the distance.
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