Chapter 33

Camille’s POV

But as I climbed into bed, silk sheets cool against my skin, one thought crystallized in my mind.

Tomorrow, I’d have to face whatever came next. Not as Camille Lewis, that broken woman was truly dead now. Not as Victoria’s carefully crafted project.

But as the woman Alexander Pierce had dared to expose.

And this time, I wasn’t running.

***

Sleep never came.

I showered instead, letting hot water wash away the last traces of tonight’s performance, then changed into silk pajamas and moved to the sitting area of my suite. My mind raced too fast for rest. Instead, I poured a small glass of bourbon from the decanter on my side table, a habit adopted from Victoria, and curled into the window seat overlooking the grounds.

The estate spread below me, perfectly manicured gardens now shadowed in moonlight, security lights marking the perimeter in the distance. Beyond the gates, the city glowed against the night sky, millions