All Chapters of From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Grey.The silence in my house had never felt so loud. It pressed in from the corners of every room, following me from the bedroom to the kitchen, like a persistent shadow. My coffee sat untouched on the counter. Cold now. Bitter. Just like me. I hadn’t slept properly in days, not since Camilla looked me in the eye and said those words:Her voice still echoed in my ears—haunting and heavy. Dragging myself into the office this morning felt like wading through wet cement. I didn’t even greet my assistant. I just walked straight into my office, locked the door, and sank into the chair behind my desk.I stared at the city skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching it blur slightly from the rain tapping against the glass. My phone buzzed endlessly, calls, texts, meeting reminders but I ignored them all. I couldn’t deal with any of it today. Not the board. Not investors. Not even my damn secretary.I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to block out the chaos in my

Camilla.The second I got the call, my heart dropped. “Grey’s been arrested,” the voice on the line said. “Charged with murder.”For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Grey? Murder? No. No way. That man has many flaws, stubborn, reckless, frustratingly noble but a killer? Not him.“I’ll be there,” I said, already grabbing my bag before the call even ended.The police station stank of sweat and stale coffee. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered like they were too tired to do their job. I hated this place already.“Camilla Easton, here to see Alexander Grey,” I told the officer at the front desk.He raised a brow at me, like he didn’t believe someone like me belonged there. I didn’t care. I could’ve threatened him with a lawsuit or two, but I didn’t want to draw attention. They led me down a narrow hallway lined with doors and silence. When we reached the interrogation room, the door creaked open and... there he was.My breath caught.Grey looked like hell.His lower lip was split

Camilla.I couldn’t stop pacing in the living room, my fingers resting lightly on the swell of my belly. Grey was finally home. The trial was over. Justice, in some twisted, long-delayed form, had prevailed.I turned to Miri, who sat curled up on the couch, watching me like I was a glass vase teetering on the edge of a high shelf.“You’re sure about this?” she asked, her brows pinched together in worry.I nodded, though my heart beat with an intensity I hadn’t felt in months. “It’s time. I need to face Julia and Georgina. I need to look them in the eye and let them know they didn’t break me.”“You’re pregnant, Cam,” she said softly, eyes drifting to my stomach. “They tried to kill you once. There’s no telling what they’ll do now.”“I know,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. “But I have a plan. They won’t lay a finger on me.”She stood, walking over, placing her hands gently on my shoulders. “Just... promise me you’ll be careful.”I placed my hand over hers. “Always.”The dress

Camilla.I’d reached the point where I had to expose Julia and her mother, but first I needed proof. I had to dig up every person they’d silenced over the years. I wanted them behind bars, and my psychology degree was about to pay off.One of the unwritten truths of the National Health Service was that “dead wood floats.” It was a part of the culture, that quaint reluctance to remove the incompetent. And it suited my purposes.I walked into Westtime Mortuary, where the duty supervisor, bald, square-jawed, with pouchy jowls, pulled a face as soon as he saw me.“Who sent you?” he demanded, his tone clipped.“I’m to meet Detective Inspector Raphael.”“He didn’t tell me. No appointment on file.”“Can I wait here for him?”“No, only family members of the deceased can use the waiting room.”“Then where?”“Outside.”His sour scent mixed with stale sweat clung to the air. He looked exhausted, probably had pulled an all-nighter. Normally, I’d have empathy for tired shift-workers, just like I d

Grey.As far back as I can remember, I haven't allowed myself to get drunk since I heard that Camilla was pregnant, I wanted to be the best father for my baby. Apparently, that’s what thoughtful, responsible, well-adjusted dads do when they welcome a child into the world — drown themselves in alcohol. But then, Camilla had made it quite difficult for me to bond with the unborn child.You get a new car? You steer clear of drinking. A new house? You can't afford to drink. But a new baby? No, then you have to “wet the baby's head.” For me, that meant throwing up in the back of a cab looping endlessly around Marble Arch.Even when Grey told me about Catherine's death, I didn’t drink. I didn’t need to. I just went out and cleared. And no, the hangover didn’t linger, but the guilt’s a different story. That part never left.Then came today. Lunchtime. Two double vodkas. The first time I’ve ever done that. I didn’t even want the buzz so much as I wanted to numb my brain. To erase the image th