All Chapters of Belonging To My Stepbrother After Divorce.: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Camilla’s POVI close the door behind me. The hallway is quiet, lit only by the pale slant of afternoon light spilling through a high window. Dust hangs in the air like time has frozen here.But the moment I turn around, I see her. Alina.Leaning against the opposite wall, her arms crossed, her lips curled in that usual smug half-smile that always manages to look both bored and poisonous. Her eyes—hazel, like mine, but colder—drift from my face down to the doorknob behind me. Her brows rise slowly.“Well,” she says, pushing off the wall with deliberate grace. “That’s interesting.”I sigh, every ounce of strength in me slowly draining away like sand in a broken hourglass. Right now, looking at her, I regret the fact that she's breathing with my kidney inside her.“Move,” I say quietly, brushing past her but of course, Alina doesn’t move.She shifts, just enough to block my path again, like this is some kind of game she’s winning. “You know, for someone who should basically be on her de

Camilla's POV “Understood.” The line clicks off. Gone just like that. I tuck the phone back into the hidden pocket and close my eyes. Three hours. My chest rises and falls with a tremor I can’t hide. My fingers feel like they belong to someone else. My body is a battlefield and it’s not just because of the illness eating through me like rust. It’s because I know I’ve just started a war I may not survive. And I don’t care. Because this isn’t just about me anymore. This is about answers. This is about Matias. I dial another number, this one familiar, this one warmer, even if he isn’t. “Marcus,” I breathe when he picks up. “I need you to come back.” “I’m already on my way,” he says. “You okay?” “No.” “I’ll be there in ten.” He pulls up to the edge of the park just as the sky begins to darken. It's going to rain heavily. I can feel it in my bones. He opens the door without a word, and I slide into the seat, my body aching in ways I’ve learned to ignore. He doesn’t a

Camilla's POVI rush Into my room and start packing my clothes. I shove another folded blouse into the suitcase, my fingers clumsy, my mind racing. The silence in my room feels louder than any scream. The wardrobe door creaks softly as I swing it open again, grabbing whatever my hands can find, jackets, trousers, a scarf I haven’t worn in years. I don’t even know what I’m packing for. I just know I need to feel like I’m doing something.My heart is still pounding from what I saw earlier downstairs, Dad with a gun aimed at his head, those strangers, the calm in Marcus’s eyes, the infuriating silence from everyone, the questions no one wants to answer.The door bursts open behind me. “Camilla!” Jessica’s voice cuts through the air like a slap.I don’t look at her. I keep folding, or maybe I’m just pretending to fold. My vision’s a little blurred. I feel heat rising in my throat, my stomach churning.She storms closer, grabbing a sweater from my hands and tossing it on the bed. “Will you

Matias’s POVI finish my whiskey in one measured swallow and set the glass down. My mind recalls the video in the tablet earlier, on her face, on the fear still raw in her expression. Camilla is hunting me. But right now, there’s something more urgent, that I already know, but need confirmed.I pick up my phone and tap a number I rarely use. My thumb hovers a moment before I press call. The line rings once. Twice. I grip the edge of my desk; I can’t feel my heart, but I know it’s racing.Finally, a voice I trust answers, clipped and cautious.“Ranor. Have you found the man yet?”A short pause. “Yes, boss, but, he’s not making it easy. It’s impossible to book him, let alone get him to land in Italy.”My jaw tightens. Every inch of me tenses. I know making this call could cross all sorts of boundaries. But I’d die before I let her...“I don’t care if it’s illegal. If anything happens to Camilla, I’ll have your head,” I growl, voice low and cold. “That surgeon, you know who. He’s the onl

Camilla’s POV It’s two days later and I’m on a plane to Italy. No one knows not even Marcus who's very observant nor my best friend Jessica. I had only a booking reference hidden in my journals, a ticket purchased with a card no one traces back to me. I cinch my coat around myself as the plane descends into Rome at dusk. The glow of the city spills over the wing gold and rust and twilight. My heart pounds. I haven’t slept much. Nerves and anticipation swirl beneath my skin. The ride to the small regional airport near the Sicilian border is slow. I watch the sun fade behind rolling hills and olive groves. My suitcase wheels beside me as I step onto the tarmac. The humid air hits me like living. I pull out my phone and open the text sent earlier from the unknown number: Via delle Ginestre 24, San Russo. That pin, that idea, that one name. I grip the handle harder, swallowing a queasy flutter in my chest. Around me, people wait, families, a man smoking, a boy kicking a stone. They s