SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan) novel Chapter 185

Chapter 185

The reception stretched into the early hours, a blur of champagne toasts, dance floor laughter, and hundreds of congratulations. By three in the morning, only the hardiest guests remained, clustered in small groups on Victoria's moonlit lawn. Camille sat with her parents and a few Kane Industries board members, her wedding dress pooled around her in a cloud of ivory silk, her eyes bright despite the late hour.

Alexander touched her shoulder gently. "I need to check something in my room before we leave," he murmured. "Back in twenty minutes."

She reached up to squeeze his hand, not interrupting her conversation. The trust in her touch, the easy way she let him go, twisted in his gut. Such faith deserved matching honesty. Yet here he was, slipping away with a different purpose entirely.

The main house stood quiet, most staff having retired after serving the midnight buffet. Alexander moved through familiar hallways, loosening his bow tie with one hand, the other clutching something wrapped in tissue paper. His footsteps echoed on the marble floors as he climbed the grand staircase to the guest wing.

In his temporary room, he locked the door and dragged a chair to the antique writing desk by the window. Moonlight spilled across the polished surface as he unwrapped his package, revealing a single white lily, its petals gleaming like pearl in the silver light.

From his wallet, he withdrew a worn photograph. The image showed a middle-aged man with Alexander's jawline and eyes, gray touching his temples, standing on a sailboat deck. Richard Pierce's smile radiated from the paper – so alive, so unaware of what awaited him.

Alexander propped the photo against the desk lamp and laid the lily before it.

"Hello, Uncle," he whispered, his voice thick. "I got married today."

The silence pressed around him. Outside, faint music and laughter drifted up from the remaining wedding guests.

"Her name is Camille. You would like her." Alexander loosened his collar, feeling suddenly trapped in his wedding finery. "She's strong. Determined. Kind in ways the world never deserved."

He closed his eyes, remembering his uncle's study – the smell of leather books and pipe tobacco, the sailing trophies lining cherry-wood shelves, the big desk where Richard would help him with homework after taking him in.

"She doesn't know yet. About you. About her..." He paused, unable to say "mother" in this context. "About Victoria."

The photograph stared back, Richard's eyes crinkling at the corners, forever captured in a moment of happiness before everything crumbled.

"I found the storage unit. Someone wanted me to see what happened." Alexander's fingers curled into fists on the desk. "The proof was all there – how Kane Industries targeted you. How she systematically cut you off from every lifeline. How she knew exactly what she was doing."

His voice dropped lower, barely audible even in the silent room.

"I haven't forgotten my promise to destroy whoever made you take your life."

The words hung in the air, heavy with eleven years of grief. Alexander had made that vow at twenty one, standing beside a fresh grave, rain sliding down his face and mixing with tears no one else noticed. Back then, he hadn't known who was responsible. Now he did.

"But I married her daughter today." His laugh held no humor. "You always said life had strange currents. You never lied."

Alexander straightened the lily, its white petals stark against the dark wood. Richard had loved lilies – had grown them in the garden behind his brownstone. Said they reminded him of his sister, Alexander's mother, before bitterness had twisted her.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted to the empty room. "Camille isn't responsible for Victoria's sins. But Victoria lives in our life, in our home, in our future." He pressed his palms against his eyes. "And Camille loves her. She saved Camille when no one else would."

The music from the garden faded, suggesting the last guests were finally departing. Soon, he and Camille would leave for their honeymoon – two weeks in the Greek islands, far from New York, from Victoria, from the truth swimming beneath their marriage like a shark in dark water.

"What would you tell me to do?" Alexander whispered, touching the edge of the photograph. "You always knew the right path."

The silence offered no answers, just as it hadn't for eleven years.

A soft knock on the door startled him. "Alexander?" Camille's voice called. "Almost ready? The car's waiting."

"One minute," he answered, quickly gathering himself.

Alexander looked one last time at his uncle's face, at the smile that had once been his only safe harbor. "I'll figure this out," he promised softly. "For both of us."

He carefully rewrapped the lily in its tissue. Unlike cut roses, which he could easily buy anywhere, white lilies in June required planning. He'd ordered this one specially, keeping it hidden among his things. Now it would travel with them, pressed between the pages of a book in his luggage, a secret reminder.

When he opened the door, Camille stood in the hallway, changed from her wedding gown into a cream-colored traveling suit. Her eyes, lined with fatigue but still bright with happiness, swept over him.