Not your fault

Camilla 

I leaned against the wall, my heart pounding in my chest.

Guilt fed on my conscience, as I thought about Elvis. I had left him alone, facing the wrath of Stefano Maddens. He was going to kill me when he found out I had run away. 

Jittery and filled with regret, I paced back and forth in the hallway. I shouldn't have run off, I told myself. I should have faced Stefano, no matter what.

But I couldn't have done it. The fear of seeing him again was too much. Maybe I was being paranoid for no reason. Maybe I had nothing to worry about. I mean, there was no way he could tell it was me.  I was a completely different person now. I was no longer the “fat freak” they had once addressed me as. I had changed so much since high school. There was no way he would recognize me. 

I tried to convince myself that I was safe. That Stefano would never find me here. But deep down, I knew that was just wishful thinking. 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I had to calm down. I had to think clearly. What was I going to do now? 

"He's here," it said. "That monster is here," whispered a voice in my head.

I shook my head, trying to dismiss the voice. It was just my imagination, I told myself. Stefano Maddens was a figment of my past. He was no one.

But he wasn't just a figment. He was a strikingly memorable figment, a present figment.

But the voice persisted. "He's here," it repeated.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. The voice was right. 

Enough cowering, I had to return to Elvis.

My heart pounded against my ribs as I approached Elvis. I had no idea how he would react to me running away. I had been so scared, so paranoid, that I had made a rash decision. Now, I was paying the price.

I tried to compose myself, but my hands were shaking, my stomach screamed, and my legs were constantly threatening to fail me. I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead. 

As I got closer to the conference room, I sighted Elvis. I could see the lines dig into his face. They were deeper than I remembered, as if he had aged ten years since I'd last seen him. His eyes were distant, and there was a hardness to his expression that I had never seen before. 

I swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Elvis," I said, my voice a little above a whisper.

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes boring into mine. Then, he finally spoke. "Camilla," he said, his voice flat and lifeless. 

I was terrified. I had never seen him like this before. He was usually so warm. But now, he was like a stranger to me.

I was confused and scared. "Elvis, are you alright?" I asked, my voice trembling. "I'm so sorry for running away. I was just… scared."

He continued to stare at me, his expression blank. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Was he angry? Disappointed? Or maybe he had simply given up on me.

I started to feel paranoid. Maybe he was so mad at me that he had decided to give me the silent treatment. I had heard stories about people who had been ostracized by their acquaintances after doing something wrong. Was that what was happening to me?

I felt a lump form in my throat. I was starting to panic. I needed to know what was going on. I needed to know if he was going to ruthlessly cast me out.

I felt my heart sink as Elvis' silence continued. My mind raced with a thousand different thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. 

my mind seemed to be relishing my agony, as she began taunting me, whispering in my ear, "Oh, Camilla, he hates you so much he won't even talk to you. The betrayal!"

I tried to calm myself, to rationalize his behavior. Maybe he was just upset about something else. Maybe he was tired. But as the seconds ticked by, my fear grew. I was starting to believe the worst.

"Elvis..." I began, a tad above a whisper. I was so scared that I could barely speak.

Before I could finish my sentence, he cut me off. "I lost it," he said with a low and cracky tone.

I was confused. "What are you talking about?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest. I was trying to understand, but my mind was racing.

"It's okay if you lost it while talking to Stephano," I continued, trying to lighten the mood. "I mean, everyone knows he's a douche!"

Elvis's eyes narrowed, and a flicker of anger crossed his face. I knew immediately that I had said the wrong thing. My stomach twisted into knots as I realized the gravity of my mistake.

"I'm sorry," I stammered, my voice shaking. "I didn't mean it."

But it was too late. 

Trust Camilla to always attempt humor at the worst possible time. 

The damage was done. Elvis' silence was a deafening roar in my ears. 

"The firm," Elvis repeated, his voice filled with despair. "It's gone. Everything is gone."

My brain refused to comprehend the string of words that had just come out of his mouth. I felt like I had been hit by a truck. 

It wasn't that I had not heard him. Elvis had spoken the words clearly. Yet, my eyes screamed of nothing but bewilderment. "I lost the firm," He had said. But my response was a deafening silence.

It was the refusal to grasp the simple meaning of his words that baffled me deeply. It was as if he were speaking in a foreign language. “I had lost the firm,” Elvis had said, and I had lost the ability to comprehend his words.

He had spoken the words, and yet I had refused to believe them. 

"What?" I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The firm was Elvis' life, his baby. It was everything he had worked for. And now, it was simply gone.

"How?" I asked, my voice trembling. "How could this happen?"

Elvis didn't answer. He just stood there, staring at the ground, his shoulders slumped. I could see the pain in his eyes, the devastation. It was as if a part of him had died.

I reached out to him, but he pulled away. "Don't touch me!" he growled, his voice reeked of bitterness.

I felt a jolt rush through me. I had never seen Elvis like this before. He was a broken man. And I didn't know how to help him.

I ignored his words, "Don't touch me." I reached out and touched his arm, gently. 

Elvis flinched, his body tensing. He stumbled backward, losing his balance and falling to the floor. 

Thank goodness no one was around to witness the sight. The conference room was empty, everyone having left to attend other events. 

I knelt down beside him. "Elvis, what happened? Are you okay?"

He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a strange intensity. "He took it," he said.

"Took what? Who took it?" I asked, confused.

He didn't answer. He just stared at me, his expression  unreadable. 

I reached out and took his hand. "Elvis, please tell me what's wrong. Whatever happened, I'm sure we can salvage it." 

He shook his head, his eyes filled with despair. "No," he said. "It's over." 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What do you mean, it's over? Over what?"

He didn't answer. He just stood up and walked away, leaving me alone on the floor. 

I was confused and worried. What had happened to Elvis? What was he talking about? 

I got up and followed him out of the conference room. I found him standing by a window, looking out at the city. 

I approached him cautiously. "Elvis, please tell me what's wrong," I said again.

He turned to me, his eyes clouded by a fog of sadness. "I can't believe I let you touch me," he said. "I'm a failure."

I was confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

I tried to soothe Elvis, my hands moved rhythmically, stroking his arm in an attempt to calm his agitated nerves. His breathing was ragged, his shoulders tense. 

When the storm within him seemed to subside at little, he spoke, his voice low pitched. 

"Camilla," he began. "He took it."

Who took it, Elvis?

I needed to hear it, to confirm my worst fears. I needed to hear the name, the man who had dared to snatch away the company I had dedicated my life to. 

And then, he said it. "Stephano Maddens freaking bought it."

My heart sank. I couldn't believe it. "How is that even possible?" I asked. "If he wants to acquire our firm, he should have approached us first. I mean, you're the freaking CEO, Elvis."

How was this even possible? If Stephano Maddens really wanted to acquire the firm, surely he would have approached Elvis directly, which-I-totally doubt, because-they-never-see-eye-to-eye. As the CEO, Elvis should have been the first to know. But Elvis shook his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. 

He shook his head. "Not to my father. He doesn't think so."

"Your father?" I asked, confused.

"He spoke to me a few days ago. He sounded angry, spiteful, disappointed. Furious that I was losing the firm. Well, one of his precious babies. He said, he knew he should have never trusted me to run it. He said, help knew I’d fuck it up,” he paused. “And I did. He was right, Camilla. He threatened to sell it off if I didn't fix it," he explained.

I was shocked. "He threatened to sell it off?"

Elvis nodded. "He did."

"I'm so sorry, Elvis," I said. "I wish I could have done more.”

Elvis shook his head. "It's not your fault, Camilla.”

Elvis's voice held a glint of pain, as if he were reliving the conversation. 

"I just… I just didn't think he'd do it so soon, or sell it to he very person who longed to bask in my misery.”

"Camilla, I failed," he said, “I failed the firm, I failed my father, I failed you."

My heart ached for him. I reached out and took his hand. "No, Elvis, you didn't fail. You did everything you could."

He shook his head. "No, I didn't. I should have been stronger. I should have fought harder."

I pulled him into a hug. "It's not your fault, Elvis. Your father was the one who sold the company."

He pulled away from the hug and looked at me, his eyes filled with tears. "I know," he said. "But I should have been able to stop him."

I reached out and wiped a tear from his cheek. "It's not your fault, Elvis. You did everything you could."

He sighed. "I just wish I could have saved the company."

“Elvis, shhh! It's okay.” I said, enveloping him in a hug, and gently patting his back.