Chapter 12 - Marianne’s Last Secret
Camille did not cry.
Not immediately.
She read.
Hospital records.
Toxicology.
Statements.
Marianne had developed symptoms over months.
Heavy-metal poisoning.
Margot’s network was suspected.
Never proven.
Petar had spent years collecting evidence.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I had suspicion, not proof.”
“You let me believe she died naturally.”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t your decision.”
“No.”
The simple admission disarmed some of her anger.
Petar did not defend himself.
“I was wrong.”
Adrien watched.
He understood the lesson.
Protection without consent could become another form of control.
Petar finally had proof.
A former employee of Margot’s had confessed.
Combined with recovered financial records, prosecutors could connect Margot to payments made to someone working near Marianne.
It did not restore Camille’s mother.
But truth mattered.
Weeks passed.
Margot remained in custody.
Charges expanded.
Henri pleaded guilty to financial crimes and obstruction.
Celeste visited him once.
She did not forgive him.
She told Camille later that forgiveness, if it ever came, would belong to the future.
Ardan House prepared to open.
Camille hired five employees.
Then eight.
Her first major client booked a winter charity gala.
She expected Adrien to interfere.
He did not.
He sent flowers.
She sent them back.
He sent a note.
They were for the lobby.
She kept them.
Petar visited Adrien.
Their relationship began awkwardly.
Two men trained by the same family to distrust emotion had little idea what to do with each other.
Camille found it hilarious.
Adrien did not.
“You enjoy my suffering.”
“Only the harmless varieties.”
One evening Adrien arrived at Ardan House.
No security entourage.
No business folder.
“Why are you here?”
“To ask you to dinner.”
Camille blinked.
“A business dinner?”
“No.”
“Family obligation?”
“No.”
“Security briefing?”
“No.”
“Shipping crisis?”
“No.”
She folded her arms.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“I’ve never had to ask you before.”
“That is precisely the problem.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
Camille looked around her office.
Her office.
Her future.
Adrien was standing inside it without trying to own any part of it.
“What time?”
His expression changed.
“Seven?”
“I finish at seven-thirty.”
“Eight.”
“I choose the restaurant.”
“Fine.”
“You don’t send security inside.”
His jaw tightened.
“Outside?”
“Across the street.”
“Done.”
She smiled.
“Then yes.”
Their first date was terrible.
Adrien chose nothing because Camille had insisted on choosing everything, then became visibly uncomfortable with not knowing the plan.
Camille laughed so hard she cried.
Their second date was better.
Their third involved Adrien helping assemble shelving after a contractor canceled.
He was terrible at that too.
Their fourth ended with a kiss.
Slow.
Careful.
Nothing like six years of restrained feeling should reasonably have been.
Camille pulled away first.
Adrien rested his forehead against hers.
“I’ve wanted to do that longer than I’m willing to admit.”
“How long?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Coward.”
“Absolutely.”
Then the alarm at Ardan House sounded.
They separated.
Adrien instinctively moved in front of her.
Camille instinctively stepped beside him.
Together.
Tomas called.
“Do not enter the ballroom.”
Adrien frowned.
“Why?”
“Someone bypassed security.”
They reached the corridor.
The ballroom doors stood closed.
A shadow moved beneath them.
Camille reached for the handle.
May you like
It turned before she touched it.
Someone was waiting on the other side.
