SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

The hidden cove embraced them in afternoon warmth, waves whispering against smooth rocks worn by centuries of salt and water. Camille spread their blanket on a patch of sand while Alexander uncorked wine with his good hand. The scene should have been idyllic, two newlyweds in paradise, skin golden in Mediterranean sun, the world reduced to blue water and each other's touch.

Instead, Alexander's mind played his uncle's final words on endless repeat: "Victoria Kane has taken everything. There's nothing left. Tell Alexander I'm sorry."

"You're doing it again," Camille said, settling beside him on the blanket. "Going somewhere else while your body stays here."

Alexander poured wine into plastic cups, buying time. "Sorry. Just enjoying the view."

"You weren't looking at the view. You were looking through it." She accepted her cup, studying him over its rim. "I'm starting to think I'm honeymooning with a ghost."

He forced a laugh, though panic fluttered in his chest. Camille saw too much, noticed too much. Victoria had trained her well. "Just tired. These stitches make it hard to sleep comfortably."

Camille's gaze lingered on his face before she nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation. She stretched out on the blanket, adjusting her bikini strap to avoid tan lines. Alexander used the distraction to check his watch. Four hours until he needed to access the secure server, view whatever documents "Guardian" had uploaded, move the pieces forward in his revenge plan.

Four hours to be the husband Camille thought she had married.

"Come here," she said, reaching for him. "I'm feeling neglected."

Alexander set aside his wine and moved toward her, drawn by forces he couldn't resist even when divided. Her body welcomed him, skin warm from sun, lips tasting of wine. For precious moments, as they moved together on the sun- warmed blanket, hidden from the world in their private cove, he managed to silence his uncle's final words.

"Victoria Kane has taken everything."

Not everything. Not yet. Not Camille.

But his uncle's ghost whispered: That too will come. When she learns the truth. When she has to choose. You'll lose her too.

** **

Night fell over Positano, lights from hillside homes and restaurants reflecting in the dark water below their villa. Alexander sat on the terrace, laptop open, secure connection established. Camille had gone to bed early, exhausted from their day at the cove and the bottle of wine they'd shared with dinner.

Perfect timing. The first real opportunity to view the evidence in seven days.

The secure server contained exactly what "Guardian" had promised: scanned documents bearing Victoria Kane's signature, approving strategies specifically targeting Pierce Enterprises and Richard Pierce personally. Highlighted sections detailed the "emotional vulnerability" of the target and ways to exploit it for maximum effect.

Cold, calculated destruction. Black and white proof of Victoria's deliberate campaign against his uncle.

Alexander's hand curled into a fist, pulling painfully at his stitches. Here was everything he needed, the ammunition, the justification, the path forward. He could destroy Victoria Kane now, strip away her carefully constructed image as Camille's savior and reveal the

predator beneath.

A second folder contained police reports, witness statements, forensic findings from his uncle's suicide. Details Alexander had never been allowed to see as a teenager, protected from the truth by well-meaning adults.

He opened the final document, breath catching in his throat. A scanned image of a handwritten note on his uncle's personal stationery. The familiar strong handwriting was shaky, evidence of his deteriorating state:

*Victoria Kane has taken everything. There's nothing left. Tell Alexander I'm sorry. I never meant for it to end this way. The business was supposed to be his future. Now there's nothing to leave him but debt and shame. He deserves better. I'm sorry I couldn't fight anymore.*

*Richard*

Tears blurred Alexander's vision, eleven years of controlled grief breaking free without warning. Hisz uncle had been thinking of him. the end, not just with a passing thought, but with deep concern for Alexander's future. The business had been meant for him. A legacy stolen by Victoria Kane.

An incoming message alert flashed on screen. "Guardian" checking in: *Receivednoveldrama

files? Thoughts on next steps?*

Alexander stared at the message,

mind racing. The evidence was

stronger than he'd dared hope. Civil charges, perhaps even criminal liability for Victoria's deliberate targeting of a vulnerable man leading directly to his suicide. A case that would destroy Victoria Kane's reputation, her company, her legacy.

And, by extension, destroy Camille's world. Again.

"Alex?" Camille's voice came softly from behind him. "Can't sleep?"

Alexander closed the laptop with one swift movement, heart hammering in his chest. "Just checking some emails," he said, turning to find her in the doorway, wrapped in a sheet, hair tousled from sleep.

"In the middle of the night? On our honeymoon?" She stepped onto the terrace, moonlight revealing the concern in her eyes. "What's really going on, Alex?"

For one wild moment, he considered telling her everything. Showing her the documents, the suicide note, the proof of Victoria's true nature. Laying his divided heart bare and begging for understanding.

The moment passed. He could not destroy her happiness, not here in Italy, not when she had already suffered so much loss and betrayal. Not when Victoria's recovery meant everything to her.

"Nothing important," he said, the lie bitter on his tongue. "Just trouble sleeping."

Camille studied his face, seeing more than he wanted to show. "Come back to bed," she said finally, holding out her hand. "Whatever it is, it can wait until morning."

Alexander took her hand, following her inside, leaving the laptop and its damning evidence on the terrace table. His phone buzzed in his pocket, another message from "Guardian," no doubt demanding answers, planning next steps, urging action.

He ignored it, focusing instead on Camille's hand in his, the warmth of her body as they slipped between cool sheets, the trust in her eyes that he had done nothing to deserve.

Tomorrow they would return to New York. Tomorrow the real decisions would begin. Tomorrow he would have to choose between honoring his uncle's memory and preserving his marriage.

Tonight, he could only hold his wife close, knowing each tender touch might be among their last once truth shattered the beautiful lie of their perfect honeymoon.