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Chapter 92
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2025-07-27 20:50:43
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From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 93
Grey.I was halfway down the stairs, sliding my watch onto my wrist, when the scream tore through the hallway. And immediately I knew who it was.Camilla.“Cam?” I called, already sprinting up the steps.Another cry, shorter this time, like someone was silencing her.I didn’t knock. I slammed the door open.My mother’s hand was raised.“Hey!” I barked, loud enough to stop everything. Camilla flinched. My mother froze mid-swing. The room held its breath.“What the hell is going on?”My mother turned, her face a mask of betrayal and contempt. “Grey, get in here. Look at what this little..” She glanced at Camilla with disgust. “..this liar’s been hiding.”Camilla was shaking, cornered near the dresser, cheeks red, arms crossed over her chest protectively. She looked at me like I was her last defense.“I don’t know what’s happening,” she whispered.“Don’t play innocent,” my mother snapped. “Look.”She shoved her phone into my hands with such force I nearly dropped it. “This was sent to me
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 92
Camilla.The morning light filtered softly through the cream curtains, casting a gentle glow across Liam’s tiny face as he suckled quietly. His small hands rested against my chest, warm and peaceful. I couldn't resist the urge to brush a kiss against his forehead, inhaling that sweet baby scent that only newborns seem to carry. My heart melted a little more every time I held him, I fell deeper.But even in that warmth, my mind buzzed with unease.Easton Corporation.My company. My father's legacy. The empire I bled for.And it was slipping away right under my nose.I had stayed away long enough, partly because of the recovery, and partly because Alexander insisted I needed rest, peace, and distance. But I could feel it in my bones now: today was the day. I couldn’t let Julia and Benjamin destroy everything. Not another minute.Liam drifted off to sleep, his lips parting gently as he slipped into dreams. I adjusted my blouse, laid him softly into his bassinet, and took one long breath
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 91
Benjamin.Chaos. That’s all my life had become.I flew down the hotel stairs two at a time, my boots thudding against the marble like a war drum. I jumped into my car and started the engine with shaky hands, still hearing Santos’ words echoing in my head.“You work for me now.”Screw him. Screw this city. I needed to get out. Now.I hit the gas so hard the tires screeched, the smell of burning rubber curling into the air as I peeled out of the parking lot. I didn’t even look back. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d start second-guessing myself, and I didn’t have the luxury of time. Santos didn’t forgive. Santos didn’t forget. And Santos definitely didn’t let anyone run.I reached my apartment in what felt like minutes, though my heart was pounding like it’d been hours. My fingers fumbled with the keys. The damn door wouldn’t open.“Come on, come on!" I cursed under my breath, shaking until the lock finally clicked. I pushed through the door and didn’t even bother turning on the lights.There w
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 90
Benjamin.I kept splashing cold water on my face, over and over, hoping, praying that it was the alcohol messing with my head. That I was hallucinating. That the woman sitting on my bed wasn’t who I thought she was.Rose.God, no. It couldn’t be her.My heartbeat thundered against my chest, the kind of beat that screamed something wasn’t right. I had seen her in the club. I wasn’t drunk enough to doubt my own damn eyes. The red wig, the confident sway in her hips. It was her. But she was confirmed dead. I’d been at the hospital. I saw the lifeless body, the cold silence of her skin, the white sheet pulled over her face. I heard the doctor say it out loud.“She is dead…”Still, I stayed in the bathroom longer than I needed to. I gripped the edges of the sink and stared at my reflection. “You’re seeing things,” I whispered to myself. “It’s not her. It can’t be.”But when I stepped out, she was still there.Sitting on the edge of my bed. Legs crossed. Wearing that stripper’s costume from
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 89
Camilla.The pain ripped through me like a knife to the gut, sharp, unrelenting, and so sudden I thought I was dying.I didn’t even know I was screaming until Grey burst into the room, his face pale, his eyes wild. “Camilla? Camilla! What’s happening? What’s wrong?!”“I—” I clutched the bedsheet as another wave slammed into me, curling my toes and making my vision blur. “The babies are coming and my stomach hurts! Oh God, it hurts so bad!”Grey didn’t waste a second. He was already yelling down the hallway. Doors slammed open. I could hear footsteps pounding. Seconds later, his parents appeared, his mom in her robe, panic on her face, his dad pulling on a coat over his pajamas.“Get the car!” Grey barked at his father. He scooped me into his arms, ignoring my flailing, my protests. “You’re going to the hospital. Now.”“No, wait—” I gasped, the pain making my voice come out high and broken. “It’s not time yet, Grey. They’re not due for another two weeks. It could be false labor. Just g
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 88
Grey.No one technically dies from Parkinson’s Disease. They die with it. That’s one of my doctor's favorite clichés. I can practically imagine it slapped on a bumper sticker, only slightly more absurd than “Guns don’t kill people; people do.”My usual response to having Parkinson’s has always been something along the lines of, Why me? But after that afternoon with one of the patients at the hospital on the Marsden rooftop, I found myself humbled. His condition seemed more severe. His illness trumped mine. If it were a playground game, his conker would shatter mine to bits.Looking back, it was around fifteen months ago that I first sensed something was wrong. The overriding symptom was the exhaustion. Some days, just moving felt like trudging through knee-deep sludge. Even so, I continued playing tennis twice weekly and coaching a small football team. I could still more or less keep pace with a dozen eight-year-olds during our training matches, imagining myself as Zinedine Zidane, th
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