SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Morning light poured through the windows of their Positano villa, painting golden stripes across rumpled sheets. Camille's sleeping form barely stirred as Alexander slipped from bed. His bandaged hand throbbed with each heartbeat, twelve stitches pulling tight against swollen skin. A fitting reminder of the ugliness beneath his carefully maintained surface.

He moved silently across the tiled floor, retrieving his phone from the nightstand. Seven days into their honeymoon, the pattern had been established: rise before Camille, check messages, delete evidence, return to bed as the loving husband she deserved.

In the bathroom, door shut and water running to mask any sound, Alexander opened the encrypted messaging app. The contact listed simply as "Guardian" had left three new texts during the night.

*Located additional documents from 2013. Kane Industries' targeted takeover plan for Pierce Enterprises mentions Richard by name. Victoria Kane personally signed off on all moves.*

*Found former board member willing to testify Kane knew Richard was "emotionally fragile" and pushed anyway. Specifically referenced causing "complete personal destruction."*

*Call me. Secure line only. We're getting close.*

Alexander's chest tightened, heart hammering against his ribs. Actual proof-not just circumstantial evidence, but Victoria's signature on documents specifically targeting his uncle. Her handwritten approval of a strategy designed to break a man already struggling with depression.

He typed a quick reply with his good hand: *Can't call today. She's never alone. Send document scans through secure server. Will check tonight.*noveldrama

Alexander stared at his reflection in the replacement mirror, installed yesterday after his outburst. The man looking back, it him appeared normal on the surface, perhaps tired, the bandaged hand noticeable but not alarming. No visible sign of the rot spreading inside him, the decay of his wedding vows even as he spoke them.

"Alex?" Camille's sleepy voice called from the bedroom. "Where are you?"

He quickly deleted the conversation thread, closed the app, and splashed cold water on his face. "Just washing up," he called back, forcing warmth into his voice. "Coffee on the terrace in ten minutes?"

"Perfect." Her voice already sounded more awake, eager for another day in paradise.

Alexander leaned against the sink, gathering himself. Time to become the perfect husband again. Time to bury "Guardian" and his messages beneath smiles and touches and all the outward signs of honeymoon bliss.

*** ****

Breakfast overlooked the blue sweep of the Mediterranean, their private terrace fragrant with potted herbs and fresh bread from the local bakery. Alexander poured coffee into Camille's cup, carefully maintaining the role he had perfected.

"I thought we could visit that little cove again today," he suggested, passing her a plate of sliced fruit. "Just us, a blanket, some wine."

Camille's smile lit her entire face. In these moments, Alexander could almost forget the parallel life he lived through coded messages and secret plans. Almost.

"Perfect," she said, reaching across the table to touch his unbandaged hand. "Though I'm not sure how much swimming you should do with those stitches."

"I'll manage." He lifted her fingers to his lips, watching her eyes soften. This much, at least, was real, his desire for her, his body's response to her presence, the physical connection that remained undiminished by his secret communications.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Both their gazes dropped to the sound.

"Work again?" Camille asked lightly, though something in her eyes suggested the question wasn't entirely casual.

"Probably nothing important," he answered, ignoring the device. "They know we're on our honeymoon."

Camille nodded, but her smile dimmed slightly. Had she noticed his morning absences? The moments when his thoughts drifted during conversation? The way he sometimes checked his phone when he thought she was sleeping?

The buzz came again, insistent. Alexander gritted his teeth. "Guardian" knew

better than to message twice in succession unless it was critical.

"You should check it," Camille said, sipping her coffee. "Might be something about Pierce Enterprises."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Just a quick look."

The message wasn't from "Guardian" but from Victoria: *Morning MRI results even better than expected! Doctor calling it "unprecedented recovery." Thinking of you both. When are you back?*

Alexander's jaw tightened involuntarily before he caught himself. Unprecedented recovery. Of course Victoria Kane would claw her way back from certain death while his uncle had been given no mercy, no chance, no reprieve. The universe's joke at his expense continued.

"Everything okay?" Camille asked, watching his face with that piercing gaze that missed nothing.

"Fine," he said, pocketing the phone. "Just Pierce Enterprises needing approval on some contract language. It can wait."

The lie came easily now, practiced. Not technically about "Guardian," but a lie nonetheless. Another brick in the wall between them, another betrayal to add to his growing collection.

"Are you sure?" Camille pressed. "You looked upset for a moment."

"Just annoyed at the interruption." He forced a smile, reaching for the casual tone that had become his armor. "Nothing should intrude on our time here."

Seemingly satisfied, Camille returned to her breakfast. Alexander wondered if she truly believed him or simply chose not to push further. Either possibility twisted in his gut, another reminder of his unworthiness of her trust.

His phone vibrated again. Guardian. He could feel it like an itch beneath his skin.

** ** **

Later, as Camille showered before their beach excursion, Alexander finally checked the message, standing on the terrace where he could hear approaching footsteps.

*Found something big. Richard's suicide note mentioned Victoria Kane BY NAME. Police report redacted this detail at family's request. Original copy located in cold case files. Call immediately.*

The world tilted beneath Alexander's feet. His uncle's suicide note had named Victoria? All these years, he'd never known the note's contents. His parents had insisted on privacy, had restricted access to all police records. He'd been twenty one, powerless to fight their decisions in the midst of grief.

Now, seven years later, "Guardian"... James Whitfield, his uncle's former business partner and the only one who had stood by Richard Pierce until the end, had found what

Alexander had been what he

since

that rainy day at the cemetery: direct

proof linking Victoria Kane to his uncle's death.

His fingers hovered over the phone. A call now was impossible with Camille

meters away. Yet the need to know burned through him like fire.

He typed quickly: *Can't call now. Send image of note if possible. Confirm authenticity.*

The response came almost immediately: *Image too sensitive for digital transmission. Verified authentic through original investigating officer. Note states: "Victoria Kane has taken everything. There's nothing left. Tell Alexander I'm

sorry."*

Alexander's knees buckened. He gripped the terrace railing, vision blurring with unexpected tears. His uncle's final thoughts had been of him. His final words an apology.

"Tell Alexander I'm sorry."

Sorry for what? For leaving him? For not being strong enough to fight Victoria Kane's systematic destruction? For failing to protect the business that should have eventually passed to his nephew?

Another message appeared: *Enough for civil suit at minimum. Criminal charges possible for deliberate targeting causing death. But we need to move quickly before statute limitations. Meeting when you return?*

Alexander wiped his eyes, fingers trembling as he typed: *Yes. First day back.*

He heard the e water shut off in the bathroom. Camille would emerge any moment, wrapped in a towel, hair slicked back, skin flushed from

heat. His wife. The woman who called Victoria Kane "mother The woman whose happiness depended on the very person who had driven his uncle to tie that noose.

Alexander deleted the messages, restored his expression to honeymoon

contentment, and waited for Camille to appear. The perfect husband on the surface. The perfect betrayer underneath.