Chapter 3: Camille

HELENE

Outside the house, I reached into my bag for my car keys and headed toward the garage.

A fleet of flashy, expensive cars sat neatly parked beneath the lights—their sleek silhouettes polished to perfection. Among them, one stood out like a sore thumb—a gray Toyota Camry.

Mine.

I’d bought it with my own money not long after graduating from college. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was functional and sturdy. And it was the only thing here that truly belonged to me.

Without sparing the others a glance, I made a beeline for it.

Just as my fingers brushed the driver’s door handle, a voice called out from behind me.

“Helene.”

I turned, arching a brow when I saw Camille.

I tossed my bag into the car, shut the door, then leaned back against it, arms crossed, meeting her gaze head-on.

“Are you here to convince me to cooperate?” I asked flatly. “To consider the ‘big picture’?”

To my surprise, she chuckled. Amusement—and something that almost resembled fondness—flickered briefly in her eyes.

“As expected,” she said, stopping a short distance away. “I didn’t misjudge you.”

…What?

My confusion must have shown, because she laughed softly again before continuing.

“Everyone in the family thinks of you as obedient,” she said slowly. “Easy to manage. Because you always give in without protest.”

She paused, an intriguing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“But I noticed something else a long time ago.”

I didn’t respond.

“You’re not obedient,” she continued. “You simply don’t care enough to argue. Or more accurately—”

Her gaze sharpened.

“You don’t care about this so-called family at all.”

My fingers twitched.

Not because she saw through me, but because she had actually noticed.

All these years, my acting hadn’t been flawless. Anyone who paid real attention would’ve seen through it.

The problem was that no one ever bothered to look.

But now I knew that wasn’t exactly true. One person had noticed.

She just never let it show.

“So?” I asked after a moment.

“You don’t need to be defensive around me,” Camille said lightly. “I mean no harm.”

I almost laughed.

As if I’d trust that.

I made no secret of my skepticism, prompting her to shake her head in amusement. “Never mind.”

“Why are you really here?” I asked coolly. “If this is about convincing me to be the sacrificial lamb again, you’re wasting your time.”

She didn’t deny it.

Instead, she stepped closer—too close for my liking.

“Whether you’ll be a sacrificial lamb,” she said softly, “or someone who finally seizes the chance to cut ties with a family she despises… is simply a matter of perspective.”

I frowned and leaned back slightly. “What are you talking about?”

As if she hadn’t noticed my discomfort, she leaned in and whispered near my ear.

“I know you’ve always wanted out.”

My breath hitched.

“You can barely stand them anymore,” she continued quietly. “That much is obvious.”

Then—

“I can help you.”

My heart skipped a beat.

How…?

How could she know that I not only disliked this so-called family, but that I also wanted to sever ties entirely? To become strangers in the truest sense of the word.

Most people wouldn’t even consider such a thing.

After all, despite the neglect, as long as I bore the Laurent name, material comfort was guaranteed.

I took a slow breath, forcing my expression back into calm neutrality.

Camille straightened as well, her forceful aggressiveness fading into a more measured composure.

“We shouldn’t talk about this out in the open,” she said, glancing meaningfully at the villa behind us. “Walls have ears.”

I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “What? Afraid someone might overhear?”

“I am,” she admitted calmly. “If this conversation leaks, it’ll cause unnecessary trouble for both of us.”

She gestured toward my car. “Let’s continue inside.”

Before I could react, she had already walked around me and slipped into the passenger seat.

I stood outside for a moment, watching her through the windshield, my expression unreadable.

Then I opened the driver’s door and got in.

“Alright,” I said, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. “Let’s hear how you plan to help me.”

She didn’t mince words.

“The next family meeting will be soon,” she said calmly. “Tomorrow at the earliest, the day after at most.”

“You’ll have to put on a show then.”

She spoke as if outlining a business plan.

“Make it look like you were pressured. Like you struggled with the decision. Like you were finally ‘convinced’ by me.”

“Play the role of a furious, heartbroken, and disappointed daughter to the fullest. Act as though you’ve reached your breaking point.”

She turned to face me.

“Then announce that you agree to let them swap the engagement from Noemie to you.”

“But only on one condition.”

My grip tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

“You’ll sever all familial ties with the Laurents.”

Her tone remained even, almost detached.

“As a pledge, you’ll demand a formal renunciation document—legally drafted and notarized.”

“Of course,” she added casually, “this means forfeiting all inheritance and any rights associated with the Laurent name,” she finished lightly, making it sound absurdly simple.

But was it really?

I stared at her. “If I agree to the swap, doesn’t that mean I’d be the one marrying Lucien? And if I cut ties with the Laurent family before that, do you honestly think the Blackthornes would still want me?”

I paused, then added more quietly, “And even if they did… why would I want to bind myself to Lucien and the Blackthorne family for the rest of my life?”