SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 158

Rose sat in the dingy motel room, the glow of the television casting harsh shadows across her face. Her newly

dyed black hair hung in wet strands around her shoulders, dripping onto the worn carpet. The cheap hair dye

had stained her fingernails dark, making them look dirty no matter how she scrubbed.

"Breaking news in the Grand Plaza Hotel bombing," the anchor announced. "The FBI has released security

footage clearly identifying the main suspect."

Rose leaned forward, breath caught in her throat.

Her own face filled the screen, not her current disguise, but her real face, captured in perfect clarity as she

placed an explosive device near the hotel's kitchen. The footage showed her checking her watch, attaching the

bomb, and then looking up briefly, giving the camera a clean shot of her features.

"The FBI has identified the suspect as Rose Lewis, 28, the adopted sister of Camille Kane, whose Phoenix

Foundation was hosting the charity gala targeted in the attack."

Rose grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

"A nationwide manhunt is now underway for Lewis, who is considered armed and extremely dangerous. The

bombing killed six people and injured more than forty others. Sources close to the investigation say Lewis had a

long-standing grudge against her sister."

Photos flashed across the screen, Rose at social events, Rose with Stefan, and finally, a photo of Rose and

Camille together years ago, before everything fell apart. The sight of that last image made Rose's stomach turn.

She had been smiling at the camera, arm around Camille, looking for all the world like a loving sister while

secretly plotting her destruction.

"The FBI has released these images to airports, bus terminals, and border crossings nationwide," the anchor

continued. "Citizens are warned not to approach Lewis if spotted, but to contact authorities immediately."

Rose muted the television as they switched to an interview with a terrorism expert. She stood and moved to the

grimy window, peering through a gap in the curtains at the nearly empty parking lot. No police cars yet. No

flashing lights. But it was only a matter of time.

She'd been careless. Too focused on ensuring the bombs were placed perfectly to notice the security cameras.

Too confident in her disguise. Too eager to watch Camille's triumph turn to ash.

And now her face was on every screen in America.

Rose turned back to the television, which now showed footage of Camille leaving the hospital, Alexander Pierce

at her side, both surrounded by security personnel. The caption below read: "Bombing victim Camille Kane visits

her adopted mother, Victoria Kane, who remains hospitalized after the attack."

So Victoria had survived. And Camille was still standing, still moving forward despite everything Rose had taken

from her.

Something hot and ugly twisted in Rose's chest. No matter what she did, no matter how perfectly she planned,

Camille always emerged from the ashes. Always found a way to rebuild.

"Why won't you just break?" Rose whispered at the screen, at Camille's composed face and straight shoulders.

"Why won't you stay down?"

The answer cas she watched Alexander guide Camille into a waiting car, his hand protective at the small of

her back, his body angled to shield her from the cameras. And then the broadcast cut to footage of Victoria

Kane, being wheeled into the hospital days earlier, Camille clutching her hand as if afraid to let go.

Of course. While Rose had destroyed the Phoenix Foundation, the hotel, the physical things Camille had built,

she hadn't destroyed what truly mattered to her sister. She hadn't taken away the people Camille loved.

Victoria and Alexander. The new family Camille had built to replace the one Rose had stolen. The source of her

strength, her resilience, her ability to rise again and again.

Rose grabbed her notebook from the bedside table and began to write, ideas flowing faster than her pen could

capture them. Not buildings this time. Not foundations or projects or material things. Those could be rebuilt.

Those losses could be overcome.

No, this tshe would strike at the heart. At the two people who gave Camille the strength to withstand

everything Rose had done so far.

"The mother and the lover," Rose murmured, circling the words she had written. "Take them away, and what's

left of the mighty Camille Kane?"

She knew the answer: nothing. Just a shell, empty and broken, like Rose herself had been after being forced from

the Lewis family, after watching Camille take everything that should have been hers.

The television changed to footage of the hospital where Victoria was being treated. Security guards stood at

every entrance. Reporters clustered nearby, hoping for updates on the powerful woman's condition.

Rose studied the building's layout, noting the ambulance entrance, the service doors, the helicopter pad on the

roof. So many ways in, if you were clever enough. So many vulnerabilities, if you looked with the right eyes.

But first, she needed to change her appearance again. The black hair wasn't enough. She opened her bag and

pulled out the items she'd purchased at a discount store that morning, scissors, colored contact lenses, makeup

designed to alter facial structure, and clothes nothing like her usual style.

As she began cutting her hair shorter, Rose's mind raced with possibilities. Victoria Kane was already weakened

by cancer, made more vulnerable by the bombing. One well-placed push might be enough to finish what the

smoke inhalation had started.

And Alexander Pierce, so devoted to Camille, so determined to protect her. His very devotion made him

predictable. Made him a target.

Take them both away, and Camille would shatter completely. No foundation to rebuild. No strength to rise again.

Just emptiness and grief and the knowledge that she had failed to protect the people she loved most.

"Perfect," Rose whispered, examining her newly cropped hair in the bathroom mirror. With the right makeup, the

colored contacts, and the change in hairstyle, she would be unrecognizable to anyone not looking very carefully.

She returned to the main room, unmuting the television just as they switched to a press conference. FBI Agent

Diana Chen stood at a podium, flanked by other serious-faced agents.

"We have reason to believe the suspect remains in the greater New York area," Agent Chen was saying. "We're

asking the public to remain vigilant and report any sightings immediately. Ms. Lewis is considered extremely

dangerous and should not be approached."

Rose smiled at the screen. They thought they knew where she was. Thought they were closing in. Little did they

understand that Rose Lewis had spent her entire life hiding in plain sight, pretending to be someone she wasn't.

This manhunt was just another role to play, another mask to wear.

Her phone vibrated

with a news

alert. She opened it to find a new

story: "Bombing Suspect's History of Deception." The article detailed. Rose" past, including interviews with

former associates who described her manipulative behavior. Stefan Rodriguez was quoted saying he "deeply

regretted" his relationship with Rose and called her "dangerously obsessed" with destroying her sister.

Rose threw the phone across the room, satisfaction flaring when it hit the wall with

a crack. Stefan too had betrayed her. Added his voice to the chorus condemning

her. Another nfor her list. Another target for later, after she finished with Victoria and Alexander.

Night fell as Rose continued planning, her notebook filling with details, contingencies, escape routes. The

television droned on in the background, her face appearing regularly between other news stories. Once, they

showed a photo. of her as a teenager, newly adopted into the Lewis family, standing awkwardly beside a smiling

Camille.

Rose paused her writing, staring at that old image. She remembered that day. Remembered the confusion of

being placed with a wealthy family after years in foster care. Remembered Camille's eager attempts at

friendship, her willingness to share everything, her room, her parents, her life.

What Camille had never understood was that Rose didn't want to share. She wanted to take. To possess

completely. To be the only daughter, the only focus of attention, the only one who mattered.

And now, all these years later, nothing had changed. Rose still wanted everything Camille had. Still burned with

the need to take it all away.

"One final act," Rose whispered, turning away from her younger self on the screen. "One last push, and you'll

have nothing left, sister dear."

She returned to her planning, methodically listing what she would need for each phase. Disguises.

Transportation. Weapons. Timing would be crucial. Security around both Victoria and Alexander would be tight

following the bombing. She would need to be patient. Careful. Perfect in her execution.

The news switched to footage of the ruined Grand Plaza Hotel, still smoldering in places despite days of

firefighting efforts. They showed photographs of the six people killed in the bombing, an elderly couple who had

donated millions to children's charities, a hotel security guard who had helped evacuate guests, a waiter working

his first shift, and two young women who had attended the gala as part of their business school program.

Rose watched their faces appear on screen without emotion. They were nothing

to her. Meaningless pieces swept from the board during her gwith Camille. Only two pieces mattered now:

Victoria Kane and Alexander Pierce. Remove them, and Camille would be left defenseless. Broken beyond repair.

Rose closed her notebook and moved to the window again, scanning the parking lot for any sign of police. Still

clear. But she couldn't stay here much longer. Too risky, with her face on every screen, with the FBI closing in.

She packed her few belongings quickly, wiping down surfaces to remove fingerprints. The manhunt had

complicated things, but it hadn't changed her goal. If anything, it made her more determined to finish what she

had started.

Let them hunt her. Let them plaster her face on every television, every newspaper, every phone screen in

America. By the tthey found her, it would be too late. Camille would already have lost everything.

Rose checked her disguise one last tin the mirror, short black hair, brown contact lenses, face subtly altered

with contouring makeup. She barely recognized herself. Perfect.

As she slipped out the motel door into the darkness, Rose felt a calmness settle over her. The manhunt would

force her to move faster than planned, but perhaps

that was better. No tfor doubt. No space for second thoughts.

Just one final act of destruction aimed at the heart of Camille's world.

And this time, Rose would make sure her sister never rose from the ashes again.