Chapter 10 - The Secret in the East Wing
The heavy brass key turned in the deadlock of the East Wing guest suite with a sharp, echoing snap. I pushed the heavy mahogany door open and stepped into the dimly lit room, the scent of expensive perfume and nervous sweat hanging heavily in the air. Camilla was sitting curled up on the edge of the plush velvet sofa, wrapped tightly in the heavy red silk cloak I had given her on the shipyard gantry hours earlier. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup completely ruined, and her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and lingering defiance as she looked up at me. “Are you here to kill me, Christian?” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the howling wind outside the reinforced glass. I closed the door quietly behind me, slipping my hands into the pockets of my tailored trousers as I walked slowly across the Persian rug toward her. “Kill you?” I repeated calmly, stopping a few feet away from the sofa. “That would be far too merciful, Camilla. Death is a quick release for people who break oaths. You’re going to live a very long, very quiet life.” She flinched, clutching the silk cloak tighter around her throat. “My father is gone... our accounts have been seized... what’s left for me?” “Exactly what you earned,” I replied, my voice devoid of any pity. “A lifetime of irrelevance. Tomorrow morning, a private car will take you to a secluded estate in the Swiss Alps. You will live there under an assumed name, with a modest monthly stipend—just enough to survive, but never enough to touch the high-society world you tried to manipulate.” Camilla’s breath hitched. She stared up at me, the last vestiges of her arrogant high-society pride finally shattering completely into dust. She burst into violent, shuddering sobs, burying her face in her hands as the full weight of her exile crashed down upon her. I watched her for a moment longer, my expression unchanging, before turning my back and walking toward the door. Just as my hand touched the brass handle, her trembling voice stopped me. “Why did you save me from Rostov?” she choked out, her shoulders shaking. “On the gantry... when he raised his gun... you could have let him finish it.” I paused, looking back over my shoulder at her broken figure wrapped in my mother’s red silk. “Because justice isn't handed out by foreign syndicates in my shipyard, Camilla,” I said quietly. “And because true power isn't about how many enemies you kill. It’s about who gets to decide when they live or die.” I pulled the door open, stepped out into the hallway, and locked the deadbolt behind me for the final time.
