Novel-novel oleh Bumper

Chapter 5CAMILLE'S POINT OF VIEWThe parking garage of the hotel where I lodged was too quiet. My heels echoed against concrete, each click bouncing off empty cars and shadowed pillars. It was late, past midnight, but something felt wrong. Off.My confrontation with Rose and my family had left me drained, empty except for the cold satisfaction of finally seeing behind her mask. I fumbled with my key fob, wanting nothing more than to get to my hotel room and plan my next move.A car door slammed somewhere in the darkness.I stopped listening. Nothing but the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of traffic.My phone buzzed in my purse. Rose's number. I declined it, but not before noticing my signal had dropped to one bar.Perfect.Footsteps behind me. Multiple sets.I walked faster, cursing my choice of heels. The hotel's elevator was just around the corner, past a row of concrete pillars. If I could just..."Going somewhere, Mrs. Rodriguez?"A man stepped out from behind a

Chapter 4STEFAN'S POINT OF VIEWThe scotch burned going down, but I poured another anyway. My third? Fourth? I'd lost count somewhere between signing those divorce papers and watching Camille walk away.Our wedding photo still sat on my desk, mocking me. Camille's genuine smile, my distracted eyes, already looking past her, always looking for Rose.Rose.Even her name felt like betrayal now.My phone lit up with another message from her: "Darling, stop drinking and come over. We should celebrate."Celebrate. Like we hadn't just destroyed someone who loved us. Someone who'd given me three years of devotion I never deserved.The memory hit me like a punch to the gut."Stefan?" Camille's voice was small, uncertain. "Did I do something wrong?"I looked up from my laptop, irritated at the interruption. She stood in the doorway of my home office, holding a plate of something that smelled amazing."I made that pasta you mentioned. The one with truffles?" Her eyes were hopeful. "Rose gave me

Chapter 3ROSE'S POINT OF VIEWI swirled the champagne in my crystal flute, watching the bubbles dance. Victory tasted sweet, just like I'd imagined all these years. The living room of my penthouse apartment overlooked the city where I'd spent twenty years pretending to be the perfect adopted daughter, the loving sister, the supportive friend.What a joke."To freedom," I whispered to my reflection in the window. The woman staring back at me smiled, perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect lies. Just like always.My phone buzzed again. Another missed call from Stefan. He'd been calling non-stop since Camille walked out, probably worried I'd change my mind now that everything was in the open. Poor, predictable Stefan. Still thinking he was in control of any of this.I kicked off my Louboutins and sank into the leather couch, letting memories wash over me like warm wine.The first time I saw Camille Lewis, I hated her.I was thirteen, fresh out of foster care, desperate to please my new par

Chapter 2Camille's point of viewThe house was quiet, too quiet. I slipped in through the side door, locking it softly behind me. The air smelled like lemon polish and roses, just like it always did. It felt strange to be back, like stepping into someone else’s life.The kitchen was dark except for the faint glow of the fridge light. I crept up the stairs, careful to skip the third step that creaked. Every sound I made felt loud, like the house itself was listening.When I reached my bedroom door, I stopped. It was open a crack, just like I’d left it all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and shut the door.My childhood bedroom hadn't changed in three years. Same pale pink walls, same white furniture, same collection of second-place trophies. Rose's first-place ones used to shine in the room next door.I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror, the same one where I'd practiced my wedding makeup three years ago, Rose standing behind me with that perfect smile

Chapter 1CAMILLE'S POINT OF VIEWThree years. One thousand and ninety-five days of trying to be the perfect wife, and this was my reward divorce papers on our anniversary.I stared at Stefan's perfect signature on the last page, the ink still fresh. He must have signed them this morning, probably right after I'd left that stupid handmade card on his desk. The one I'd spent hours making, like a fool who still believed in fairy tales.The anniversary card I made for my husband Stefan still sat on the kitchen counter, untouched. Three years of marriage summed up in a handmade gesture he couldn't even bother to open. I'd spent hours on it last night, writing words I thought mattered.My coffee had gone cold. Funny how you notice small things when your world is falling apart."Sign here. And here." Stefan's voice was distant, businesslike. He'd laid out the divorce papers like contracts at one of his meetings, sticky tabs marking each signature line. "The highlighted sections need initial