Chapter Five

Chapter 5

CAMILLE'S POINT OF VIEW

The 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 pillar. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. Professional. Two more appeared behind me, cutting off my retreat.

Not a random attack, then.

"Actually, it's Ms. Lewis now." My voice stayed steady despite my racing heart. "And I have a dinner reservation, so if you'll excuse me..."

The first man smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I'm afraid your plans have changed."

I gripped my purse tighter, feeling for the pepper spray I'd started carrying after signing the divorce papers. "Did my sister send you? Or was it Stefan?"

"Our employer prefers to remain anonymous." He stepped closer. "Now, we can do this the easy way..."

I didn't let him finish. The pepper spray caught him directly in the eyes.

He screamed, stumbling backward. I ran, kicking off my heels as I sprinted for the elevator. The other two men shouted, their footsteps thundering behind me.

Almost there. Just a few more...

Pain exploded in my scalp as someone grabbed my hair, yanking me backward. My purse went flying, contents scattering across the concrete.

"That wasn't very nice." The first man's voice was rough with pain and rage. "Hold her."

Strong hands gripped my arms. I fought, kicking, scratching, but they were too strong. Professional. Trained.

"Our employer said you might be difficult." The first man wiped his streaming eyes. "Said you needed to learn your place."

Rose. This had Rose written all over it. Her parting shot, making sure I understood just how powerless I really was.

"If you're going to kill me," I spat, "at least have the guts to look me in the eyes."

He laughed. "Kill you? No, no. Just a message. A reminder of what happens to people who don't know when to let go."

The first punch caught me in the stomach, driving the air from my lungs. I doubled over, gasping, but the men holding me kept me upright.

"See, some people don't understand their role in life." Another blow, this one to my ribs. "Some people need to be taught..."

I tasted blood. My vision blurred, pain shooting through my body. But I wouldn't cry. Wouldn't give Rose the satisfaction.

"That's enough."

The voice cut through the garage like a whip crack. Female. Authoritative.

My attackers tensed. Through swollen eyes, I saw dark figures emerging from the shadows. Men in suits, moving with military precision. And behind them...

A woman. Tall, elegant, probably in her fifties but with an ageless quality about her. She wore a black designer suit that probably cost more than my car, her silver hair swept into a perfect chignon.

But it was her eyes that caught me. Sharp, intelligent, and oddly... familiar.

"Ma'am," one of my attackers started, "our employer..."

"Is about to have a very bad day." The woman's voice was ice. "Release her. Now."

The hands holding me disappeared. I slumped forward, pain shooting through my ribs.

"Secure them." The woman's command sent her men moving. My attackers didn't even try to run. They knew better.

She walked toward me, heels clicking on concrete. Designer shoes. Probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"Camille Lewis." Not a question. She knew exactly who I was.

I tried to straighten, to maintain some dignity despite my split lip and torn dress. "Do I know you?"

Her eyes softened, just slightly. Like she was seeing something, someone else in my face.

"No." She gestured, and more men appeared with a medical kit. "But I knew someone very much like you, once. Someone who also had to learn the hard way about trust and betrayal."

The world was getting fuzzy around the edges. Blood dripped onto my ruined dress, each breath sending knives through my ribs.

"Who..." I swayed, darkness creeping in. "Who are you?"

She stepped forward, catching me as my knees buckled. This close, I could smell her perfume, something expensive, unique. Something that tickled at the edges of my memory.

"Someone who's been watching you for a very long time, Camille." Her voice seemed to come from far away. "Someone who's going to help you become everything they tried to prevent."

The darkness was winning now. But before it took me completely, I h

eard her last words:

"After all... you look just like my daughter."

Then nothing but black.