SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan) novel Chapter 182

Chapter 182

The car rolled up the long driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Alexander sat motionless in the passenger seat, his face a mask as he stared at the mansion ahead. Camille drove, giving him the freedom to absorb the sight of his childhood home after seven years away.

"We can still turn around," she said softly.

Alexander shook his head. "No. I need to do this."

The Pierce estate stood proud against the autumn sky, all gray stone and tall windows. A place built to show wealth, not to give warmth. Two figures waited on the wide front steps, Eleanor and Edward Pierce, standing close yet somehow apart.

"They look nervous," Camille observed.

"Good." Alexander straightened his tie, a gesture Camille recognized as his way of gathering strength. "They should be."

She parked near the entrance, turning off the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy.

"Remember," she said, taking his hand. "Whatever happens in there, I'm with you."

Alexander's fingers tightened around hers. "The last time I walked out these doors, I was nineteen and they told me not to come back until I 'saw reason.' Until I stopped 'slandering' my brother."

The bitterness in his voice made Camille ache for the young man he'd been, wounded, betrayed, alone.

"Let's go," he said, opening his door before she could respond.

The air smelled of cut grass and autumn leaves as they walked toward the house. Eleanor took a half-step forward, then stopped, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles shone white. Edward stood rigid, his face unreadable beneath his silver hair.

"Alexander," Eleanor said, her voice trembling slightly. "Thank you for coming."

Alexander gave a curt nod, offering nothing more.

"Please, come inside," Edward said, his deep voice less steady than Camille had expected.

Alexander took her hand as they followed his parents into the house. The entrance hall loomed vast and cold, marble floors and high ceilings creating an echo chamber. Family portraits lined the walls, generations of Pierces staring down with identical blue eyes. Camille noticed the most recent portrait, a younger Alexander standing behind his seated parents, James at their side. Alexander's eyes lingered on it as they passed.

"We can sit in the library," Eleanor suggested, leading them down a hallway.

The library felt warmer than the rest of the house, lined with books from floor to ceiling. A fire burned in the massive stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on leather chairs and heavy wooden tables. It looked like a room where people might actually live, not just exist for show.

"You've kept it the same," Alexander said, the first words he'd spoken since entering.

Eleanor nodded. "It was always your favorite room."

Alexander moved to the window, looking out at the manicured gardens. His shoulders were tense under his tailored suit.

"Would you like something to drink?" Edward asked, moving to a sideboard where crystal decanters gleamed in the firelight.

"No." Alexander turned to face his parents. "I didn't come here to pretend this is a social visit."

Edward's hand paused above a decanter. Eleanor sank into a chair, her eyes never leaving her son's face.

"No," she agreed. "You came because we have things that need saying. Things that are years overdue."

Camille stood quietly by the door, giving Alexander space while remaining close enough for support. This was his battle, his pain to navigate.

Edward moved away from the drinks, standing behind his wife's chair. "Son, we know words aren't enough. What we did was unforgivable."

"Yet here you are, asking for forgiveness," Alexander said coldly.

"Not asking," Eleanor corrected. "Not expecting. Just... hoping. Someday."

Alexander laughed, a harsh sound that filled the quiet room. "Seven years of silence, then four years of letters and calls I never answered. And now you hope?"

"We were wrong," Edward said, his voice cracking slightly. "We chose to believe what was easier, not what was true. We failed you as parents."

"Yes," Alexander agreed. "You did."

He moved away from the window, walking the perimeter of the room. He stopped at a shelf, touching a small bronze sailing trophy tucked between books.

"You still have this," he said, surprise softening his voice momentarily.

"I've kept everything," Eleanor said. "Your trophies, your school reports, newspaper clippings about your company..."

"Does that make you feel better?" Alexander's hardness returned. "Collecting mementos of the son you threw away?"

Edward flinched. "We deserve that. And worse."

"Yes," Alexander agreed again. "You do."

He picked up the trophy, studying it as if it belonged to someone else. "Do you know what I've accomplished since I walked out of this house? Since you chose James over me?"

Neither parent answered.

"I built Pierce Enterprises from nothing. No family connections, no Pierce money, just my own intelligence and determination." Alexander's voice grew stronger. "I became a trillionaire without a single call or message of support from either of you."

Eleanor's eyes filled with tears. "We tried to reach out after James died. All those calls, those letters...."

"Too late," Alexander cut in. "Four years too late. After James wrapped his car around a tree, drunk again, just like the night of our accident. After he died." He set the trophy down harder than necessary. "After he was gone and I was all you had left."

Edward moved from behind Eleanor's chair. "We were wrong to shut you out, Alexander. When James died, the truth hit us like a tidal wave. Everything you'd said was true. All those years lost because we couldn't face it."