Camilla's POV

On the drive home, I sat in the back seat, silent, staring out the window while Brandon and Sabrina’s soft moans and giggles floated up from the front.

They weren’t even trying to hide it.

Sabrina was curled against him like a high school girl on a date, her voice all sugary-sweet as she whispered, “Brandon, you’re so bad… We shouldn’t be doing this. What if Camilla finds out?”

Brandon let out a low laugh and leaned in to nip at her ear, acting like I wasn’t even there. But I caught him checking the rearview mirror—again and again—trying to catch a reaction.

I gave him nothing.

Just kept tapping away at the mobile game on my phone, calm as ever.

If he was waiting for a meltdown, he was going to be disappointed.

But I saw it.

The same flicker in his eyes I’d noticed that night outside the bathroom. The suspicion, the unease, creeping back in like smoke curling around a flame.

Then came the snap.

“Camilla, hand me a tissue,” he barked, holding out a damp hand without even looking.

I didn’t blink. Just passed him a tissue and went right back to my screen like he was invisible.

Not a second later, he yelled, “What the hell are you even looking at?”

Before I could say a word, he reached over and yanked the phone from my hands. His eyes narrowed the second he saw the lock screen.

“Why did you change your background?”

For years, it had been the same photo of me, him, and Lyra. That perfect little image of a family that never really existed. But that was gone and replaced by a random default image that was generic and meaningless.

And somehow, that hit him.

His whole expression changed. His jaw clenched. His face darkened like a storm cloud rolling in.

When I didn’t answer, he threw the phone back at me, disgusted.

As we started winding up the hill toward the villa, Sabrina piped up like a child with a craving.

“Brandon, I really want shrimp croquettes…”

Brandon didn’t even hesitate.

He hit the brakes hard, turned to me, and said coldly, “Get out. Go home and make dinner.”

Just like that. No shame. No explanation.

He kicked me out of the car like I was an assistant who’d overstepped. Like I was nothing.

So I walked.

Two hours in heels, each step cutting deeper, until the skin on my feet was torn and bleeding.

But I made it.

I didn’t stop. Just went straight to the spot near the villa gate where I’d hidden my documents. My fingers were shaking as I dug them out, but I didn’t care—I was done.

I was leaving.

And just as I turned to go, a rusted-out truck came screeching around the corner. Tires screeched. Dust flew.

Before I could move, two men jumped out.

No warning. No talking.

Just hands—rough, fast, unforgiving. They grabbed me and dragged me toward the truck. Blacked-out windows. Slammed doors. Gone.

...

When I came to, the air was thick with dust and the stench of rusted metal. I was on the cold floor of what looked like an abandoned mine. Vision blurry. Limbs numb. The silence pressed down like a weight.

And then I saw her.

Sabrina.

She looked like she was headed to a fashion shoot with her heels, red lipstick, and a designer coat.

Not a hair out of place.

She walked toward me slowly, heels clacking against the concrete with every step. Then, with zero hesitation, she ground the pointed toe of one into the back of my hand.

I didn’t flinch.

Her lips curled into a sneer. “God, Camilla. Look at you. You’re pathetic! Brandon and I are having a baby, and you’re still clinging to him like a sad little leech.”

She knelt beside me, voice dipped in faux sympathy, but her eyes were gleaming. “Still playing the victim, huh? Still hoping he’ll feel guilty enough to throw scraps your way? Let me save you the heartbreak, idiot, Brandon’s only ever loved one woman.”

She then leaned closer, her breath like sugar laced with poison. “And it’s me.”

I must’ve smiled—just a little.

Her expression twisted instantly. “You bitch! What are you laughing at?!”

I looked her dead in the eye. “You. You're just wasting your time, Sabrina. This...your entire plan? It’s just embarrassing.”

She snapped.

Her hand flew before I could blink.

Once.

Then again.

Harder the second time.

But this time she smiled while she did it, like she enjoyed it. Like she'd been waiting for the excuse.

“You still think you’re winning?” she hissed. “You never figured out what really happened to your daughter, did you?”

My stomach dropped.

Sabrina leaned in, so close I could see every ounce of venom in her eyes.

“At Lyra’s birthday party,” she said with a twisted smile, “I made a little joke. Told her, ‘If you’re brave enough to eat a whole snot slug, your daddy will come home and blow out the candles with you.’ I didn’t think she’d actually do it. But she did.”

My stomach dropped.

“She got sick—really sick. You didn’t know that part, did you? She called Brandon herself. While we were watching a movie.”

She shrugged, so casually I could’ve screamed.

“He looked at the caller ID and said, ‘She’ll be fine. Let her sleep it off.’ Then he hung up.”

I couldn’t breathe. My entire body went cold.

And then something inside me snapped.

I lunged. “You heartless witch!”

I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her deeper into the mine, yanking her toward the exact spot I knew they had buried the dynamite.

She shrieked, kicking and flailing, nails clawing at my arms as she cursed me like a woman possessed.

That’s when the men came back. They saw us, yelled, and rushed in.

They slammed me to the ground. Fists flew. Boots hammered into my ribs, into my back. It all came in waves—sharp, crushing, unrelenting.

Then, somewhere in the chaos, someone stepped on the detonator.

A deafening boom shattered through the cavern. The ground shook like the earth itself had cracked open. The walls groaned. Dust and debris rained from above.

The mine roared like a living, angry beast.

And for a split second, I thought: 'This is it.'

The walls shuddered. The air turned to smoke. The ground cracked beneath us.

And then, I heard him.

“Camilla!” Brandon’s voice, wild with panic, rang through the dust and rubble.

More shouting followed—authorities, police.

“Mr. Doyle! You can’t go in! It’s not safe—the mine’s collapsing!”

But he didn’t stop. “I don’t care! I’m going in to get her!”

He shoved past them, disappearing into the debris. Somehow, through all that smoke and broken stone, he found me.

Our eyes met, just for a second.

And then, from behind him, came that voice.

Soft. Fragile. Timed like a dagger.

“…Brandon.”

Brandon's POV

“Brandon, my leg…” Sabrina’s voice was shaky, almost falling apart.

The second I saw her, everything else around me blurred out. It was like the world narrowed in on just her.

There was no dust, no wreckage, no chaos. Just Sabrina.

“Sabrina! What the hell are you doing here?!”

A surge of panic—followed immediately by guilt—hit me hard. She looked so damn fragile, like she’d shatter if I let go.

I didn’t think. I just scooped her up into my arms, held her tight, and walked off.

...

Two hours later, we were at the hospital. They’d run every test, scanned every inch of her, and checked all her vitals.

Sabrina was fine. Thank God.

I stayed close, watching as the nurses worked, making sure she was comfortable. Once I knew she was stable and once the tight knot in my chest started to loosen, I could feel my mind finally snap back into focus.

I remembered Camilla.

I’d left her behind.

Without wasting another second, I got in the car and headed straight to the abandoned mine site.

The place was still a disaster. Rescue teams were everywhere, working through the rubble. Heavy machinery hummed in the background, and the entire area looked like it had been ravaged by a bomb.

I moved from person to person, asking the same questions again and again.

“Have you seen a woman named Camila Doyle?”

“Anyone find a woman?”

But no one had any answers. No one had seen her.

I remembered seeing Camilla earlier, before Sabrina started calling out to me. She had looked fine, unharmed. If she’d gotten out, she must’ve headed home. The rescuers would’ve told me if they’d seen her.

With that thought in mind, I turned around and headed back to the hospital, where Sabrina was waiting for me.

...

Camilla’s POV

The VIP suite by the private helipad still smelled like jet fuel and some overpriced cologne that clung to the furniture like a memory you couldn’t scrub out.

I had just stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around my damp hair, steam still clinging to the mirrors, when my phone lit up.

Brandon.

I didn’t pick up.

A few seconds later, a message came through:

[Don’t throw a tantrum. No one’s going to keep indulging you. By the way, Sabrina wants some butterfly pastries. Bake them in the morning and bring them to the airport by 4 PM.]

I just stared at the screen.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t sigh.

Didn’t feel a thing.

I hit 'block' without even thinking twice.

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Brandon Doyle, from this day on, you no longer exist.

…

Brandon’s POV

The airport was crowded with waiting passengers. We stood near the departure gate, the cherry blossom trip hanging between us like some half-kept promise I never really meant to make.

Sabrina shifted closer, eyes wide, voice soft. “Brandon, do you not want to go see the cherry blossoms with me anymore?”

I didn’t answer right away. After the incident, I knew Sabrina needed some reassurance.

So I squeezed her hand gently, and said, “Of course I do, Sabrina. We’re here, aren’t we? Just waiting to board.”

But she wasn’t letting it go.

“You’ve been looking around like you’re expecting someone else to show up,” she said, lips pressed into a pout.

I didn’t even think. I just fired back, “If you don’t want to go, you can fly over without me.”

Sabrina blinked, surprised. She expected my certainty that I would always be there for her, no matter what.

Pressing my lips together, I kept quiet for a beat and then said flatly, “Alright. You go ahead. I’ll wrap things up at the office and meet you there.”

Her eyes widened. She didn’t see that coming.

And the truth?

Nothing was waiting for me at work. No deal. No crisis. Nothing urgent.

I didn't know why, but I didn't feel like going on vacation.

'Is it because Camilla hadn’t come home?' I thought.

Hell, no. That wasn’t it.

Camilla had always been a substitute. A placeholder. She looked just enough like Sabrina to make things convenient. I never loved her. Never told her I did.

'So why the hell does something feel… off?' I didn’t have an answer.

Seeing Sabrina's flabbergasted reaction, I kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be there soon. I just need to finish some work. You and the baby go enjoy the blossoms. I’ll catch up.”

After that, she boarded, while I stayed.

I simply stood at the gate, gazing into the emptiness, hands in my pockets as if I were waiting for a train that wasn’t coming. Eventually, I pulled out my phone and called the house.

“Is Camilla still asleep?” I asked the housekeeper.

There was a pause before she said, hesitantly, “Mr. Doyle… Miss Camilla didn’t come home last night.”

I froze.

Then I let out a bitter laugh. “Perfect. If she doesn’t want to come back, then wipe her fingerprints from the door system. All of them. And let the staff know—she doesn’t set foot in the house again without my say-so. Ever.”

I hung up before she could answer and went straight to the office, diving straight into paperwork.

...

Five days had passed since the incident. Still, there was no word. No trace of Camilla.

It was as if she had disappeared into thin air.

I buried myself in the office, letting work consume me, hoping it would distract me from the gnawing feeling inside. It was already late, and I’d been grinding through a project for the whole day.

With that, I decided to head back home.

To my bed. To sleep from my exhaustion.

But when I opened the door to the bedroom, I stopped.

Someone was there.

At first, I only saw the curve of her body under the blanket. Her loose hair spilling over the pillow. Everything in me tensed up.

I walked straight over and grabbed her wrist.

“So much for your whole ‘I’m too good for you’ speech,” I snapped. “What, five days alone was enough to change your mind?”

She stirred and turned her face.

I went cold. “Sabrina…? What the hell are you doing here?”

She looked up at me, eyes a little red but smiling like this was all normal. “I was bored. Missed you. Thought I’d come back early and surprise you.”

Then she tilted her head, studied me. “Brandon… did you think I was Camilla just now?”

"Of course not!" I clenched my jaw and continued, “I had too much to drink tonight. That’s all it was.”

I lied.

I hadn’t had a single drop.

Still, I smiled, softening my tone. I sat beside her until the shivers in her shoulders eased and her breathing evened out. Once she was asleep, I stood, loosened my tie, and walked into the bathroom.

I flipped on the light, leaned over the sink, and stared into the mirror.

Hands braced. Jaw tight.

Brandon’s POV

I stood in the bathroom, staring at the row of toiletries she used to obsess over. Shampoo, serum, face mist—lined up just the way she liked them.

Nothing touched. Nothing moved.

I frowned and pinched the bridge of my nose.

How long had it been now? A week?

Had she really decided not to come back?

But this weekend, it was my birthday.

And every year, without fail, Camilla would go over the top. She’d bake the cake herself, hand-mix the frosting, even decorate the damn living room like we were throwing a kid’s party. Traditions meant everything to her. She never missed a birthday.

No way she’d miss this one.

My thumb hovered over my phone screen, halfway to sending her a message.

But then I scoffed, locked it, and slid it back into my pocket. 'Forget it.'

Later that night, I walked into the private suite with Sabrina on my arm. The birthday party was already in full swing—drinks flowing, voices loud, the usual crowd making noise like they owned the place.

“Oh, look who finally showed up—the bride and groom!” someone called out, halfway through their champagne.

“Don’t even need to guess why they were late,” another guy added with a grin. “Just look at Sabrina’s lipstick. Brandon probably snuck in dessert before dinner!”

The room roared with laughter.

I gave a faint smile, looked around at the faces—same circle, same fake jokes, same loud, rich people.

But something felt off.

Someone was missing.

And I realized it when I caught myself glancing at the door.

Camilla.

My smile started to fade.

...

A few drinks later, someone muttered, “Man… look at the time. Where’s Camilla? She’d usually be clinging to Brandon by now, right?”

That got quiet real fast.

Everyone suddenly remembered they didn’t know what side of the line they were standing on.

I leaned back in my chair, took a slow sip of whiskey, and said, “What’s up? You sound curious about my wife.”

The guy laughed nervously, hands up. “Nah, I just remembered last year. You got her so wasted that she puked bile all over her shoes. That night was nuts.”

Sabrina perked up and clapped her hands. “Wait, play the video! You know, the one where Camilla’s totally drunk. Put it on the screen.”

And the staff did what Sabrina requested. They played the clip on the big screen, full volume.

There she was, Camilla, drunk, stumbling, humiliated, everyone laughing like it was comedy gold.

The room was howling, except for me.

Distracted, I picked up my phone, opened her contact, and typed out a message:

[Camilla, where the hell are you?]

Red dot. I was blocked.

I stared at the screen for a second too long, like maybe it would change if I just waited.

Sabrina leaned in. “Something wrong?”

I forced a short laugh. “Nothing. Just got a little tipsy. Gonna get some air.”

Right there, I stepped out into the hallway and found a quiet corner near the exit.

I dialed Camilla's number, but her voice didn't come out.

Just that cold, automated voice: 'The number you have dialed is not in service.'

I called again. Same result.

So, I texted her again, but there was no reply.

The back of my neck started to tighten, but before I could think it through, I felt a familiar grip slide around my waist.

Sabrina’s voice in my ear whirled me out of my thoughts. “Brandon, your cake’s here. Come in and blow out the candles.”

Before I could answer, she pulled me back into the suite.

I was greeted by my tall birthday cake.

Nine layers, over-the-top, ridiculous.

Expensive as hell and not even close to what Camilla would’ve made.

Still, I asked the waiter, “Who ordered this?”

“It's Miss Sabrina,” he said. “She made the arrangements herself.”

I nodded, jaw tight. Said nothing.

We blew out the candles together. Or, well—she did. I barely moved.

Then came the parade of gifts.

Watches. Keys. Stock. All the usual gestures from people who didn’t know me.

Then Sabrina stepped forward with a small envelope in hand.

“Brandon,” she said, smiling. “We’re having a boy.”

My head went blank for a second.

I opened the envelope, stared at the results, then said, “That’s great, Camilla, we—”

Silence.

Complete, dead silence.

It hit me right after the words left my mouth.

I’d said her name.

Camilla.

Sabrina’s expression went cold in an instant. Her smile dropped. She stood up, shoved past the chairs, and stormed out without another word.

I was about to go after her when I heard Nathan’s voice behind me.

“Brandon,” he said. “Camilla asked me to give you something.”