Ch. 151..155: SCORNED EX WIFE Chapter 151-155

Chapter 151

Jason moved silently through the service corridor, his flashlight beam sweeping across the walls and floor. Twenty years in private security had taught him to trust his instincts, and right now every nerve in his body screamed danger. When Alexander Pierce had ordered a full sweep of the building, Jason had chosen to check the basement himself.

"East corridor clear," crackled a voice through his earpiece.

"Copy that," Jason replied. "Moving to check the electrical room."

The door to the electrical room was unlocked, the first red flag. Hotel policy required all maintenance rooms to be secured at all times. Jason drew his weapon before pushing the door open with his shoulder.

The room appeared empty at first glance. Rows of circuit breakers lined the walls.

The constant hum of electricity filled the air. Jason moved his flashlight methodically across the space, checking every corner, every shadow.

Then he saw it.

Attached to the main circuit panel was a black device the size of a paperback book. A small screen displayed glowing red numbers: 15:42... 15:41... 15:40... Jason's throat went dry. He'd seen similar devices during his military days.

"Sir," he said into his comm, voice tight. "I've found something in the electrical room. Southeast corner, basement level. It appears to be an explosive device. Timer shows fifteen minutes and counting."

Alexander's response was immediate. "Stay there. Bomb squad is on site. They're coming to you now."

Jason didn't touch the device but moved closer to examine it. The timer continued its relentless countdown. 15:22... 15:21... 15:20...

He could hear footsteps approaching fast, the bomb squad, he hoped. But fifteen minutes wasn't much time to disarm a device, especially if there were others hidden throughout the building.

The Grand Plaza Hotel housed over eight hundred guests tonight, not counting staff. Eight hundred lives now hanging in the balance.

Jason had never been a religious man, but in that moment, he found himself praying.

*** **

Alexander Pierce stood at the edge of the ballroom, his face carefully blank despite the chaos erupting in his earpiece. Reports flooded in from his security team:

"Suspicious device found in the ventilation room."

"Another one near the main support column in the west wing."

"Device located in the kitchen, attached to a gas line."

Six devices discovered so far. Six bombs scattered throughout the building. All with the same countdown timer.

Alexander checked his watch. Fourteen minutes until detonation.

He caught Stefan Rodriguez's eye across the room and gave a slight nod. Stefan had been right. The threat was real. Now they needed to move eight hundred people to safety without causing a deadly panic.

Alexander pressed a button on his phone, sending a pre-arranged signal to the hotel manager. Within seconds, the man appeared at Alexander's side.

"We have a confirmed threat," Alexander said quietly. "Multiple explosive devices throughout the building. We need to begin emergency evacuation immediately."

The manager's face drained of color, but his voice remained steady. "Understood. We'll use the fire alarm protocol. Security will direct guests to the appropriate exits."

"No alarms," Alexander countered. "The sound might trigger the devices. We need a quiet evacuation."

The manager nodded. "I'll alert the staff. We'll announce a power issue, ask guests to exit calmly."

"Fourteen minutes," Alexander reminded him. "Not a second more."

As the manager moved away, Alexander touched his earpiece again. "Status on the bomb squad?"

"They're examining the first device now, sir," came Jason's voice. "But there's a problem. They say it's sophisticated, booby-trapped to detonate if tampered with. They're not sure they can disarm all of them in time."

Alexander's stomach dropped. "Understood. Continue the search. Find every device."

He scanned the ballroom, locating Victoria at the head table. Camille stood nearby, surrounded by admirers after her speech. Neither woman knew the danger they were in.

Not yet.

Alexander moved through the crowd with purpose, nodding politely at those who tried to engage him but never stopping. When he reached Camille, he placed a hand gently on her elbow.

"Excuse us," he said to the group around her. "I need to borrow Ms. Kane for a moment."

Camille's smile remained fixed, but her eyes questioned him as he guided her toward Victoria's table.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Not here," Alexander replied, his voice barely audible.

Victoria looked up as they approached, instantly alert to the tension in Alexander's posture.

"We need to talk," he said. "Now."

They moved to a quiet corner of the ballroom, Alexander positioning himself to block others' view of their faces.

"We've found explosive devices throughout the building," he said without preamble. "Six so far. Timers show less than fourteen minutes until detonation. Bomb squad is on site but doesn't believe they can disarm them all in time." Victoria's face remained composed, though her eyes widened slightly. Camille gasped, instinctively moving closer to Victoria as if to protect her.

"Rose," Camille whispered, her voice tight with anger and fear. Alexander nodded. "Most likely. We're beginning evacuation procedures now. I need you both to leave immediately through the private exit. A car is waiting." Victoria straightened her spine, years of crisis management taking over. "How are you handling the evacuation?"

"Hotel staff will announce a power issue requiring the building to be emptied. Security will guide guests to the nearest exits." Alexander checked his watch again. "We have thirteen minutes."

"Eight hundred people in thirteen minutes," Victoria said, calculating the odds. "It will be close."

"Too close," Camille murmured, scanning the crowded room. People laughing, drinking, completely unaware of the danger ticking beneath their feet.

The hotel manager had reached the stage now. He tapped the microphone, gaining everyone's attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the interruption. We've been informed of an electrical issue that requires us to temporarily vacate the building. Please proceed calmly to the nearest exit, where our staff will direct you. This is only a precaution, but we do need to move quickly."

Murmurs of confusion rippled through the crowd. Some guests stood immediately, while others lingered, finishing drinks or conversations.

"They're not moving fast enough," Camille said, tension building in her chest.

"They will," Alexander assured her. "Now please, both of you, head to the private exit. I've already arranged for Victoria's medical team to meet you at the safe house."

Victoria nodded. "Come, Camille. There's nothing more we can do here."

But Camille didn't move. Her eyes remained fixed on the ballroom, where elderly guests were struggling to rise from their seats, where waitstaff looked confused about whether to help or evacuate themselves, where mothers were calling for children who had wandered to the dessert table.

"Camille," Alexander said more urgently. "We need to go. Now."

She could feel the weight of Victoria's hand on her arm, trying to pull her toward

safety. But a deeper instinct held her in place.

"I can help," she said. "I can make them move faster."

"That's security's job," Alexander insisted. "Your job is to stay alive." Through the growing chaos, Camille spotted her parents near the far exit, helping an elderly couple navigate the crowd. She saw donors who had contributed millions to her foundation, staff who had worked tirelessly to make this night possible, children who had no idea of the danger they were in.

All these people had come tonight because of her. Because of the Phoenix Foundation. Because they believed in her vision of helping others.

How could she run to safety while they remained at risk?

The timer in her mind continued its countdown. Twelve minutes. Maybe less.

"Alexander." Camille's voice had changed, taking on the steel she had learned from Victoria. "Get Victoria out. Now. I'll be right behind you."

"We go together or not at all," Victoria said firmly.

"No." Camille met Victoria's gaze directly. "You're ill. You need to leave immediately. I'll help with the evacuation and follow."

Alexander stepped between them. "Both of you need to leave. That's non- negotiable."

But Camille had already made her decision. She turned toward the stage, toward

the microphone that could reach every corner of the ballroom.

"I can make them move faster," she said over her shoulder. "I can save more

people."

Alexander grabbed her arm. "Camille, listen to me. Rose did this. She set these bombs. She's targeting you specifically."

"I know." Camille's eyes flashed with determination. "That's exactly why I can't run. She wants me to be afraid. To panic. I won't give her that satisfaction." Victoria's voice cut through the tension between them. "Alexander, get the car ready. We'll be there in two minutes."

Alexander hesitated, torn between his duty to protect both women and the knowledge that Victoria's authority still outranked his in Camille's mind.

"Two minutes," he repeated, then moved toward the private exit to prepare their

escape.

Once he was gone, Victoria turned to Camille. "You have one minute to help, then we leave. Together. Understood?"

Camille nodded, already moving toward the stage. The hotel manager looked relieved as she took the microphone from him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, her voice steady and clear. "This is Camille Kane. I need your attention."

The crowd quieted, all eyes turning toward her.

"We need to evacuate this building immediately. This is not a drill. Please move quickly to the nearest exit. Parents, carry your children. If you see someone struggling, help them. Leave all belongings behind."

The urgency in her voice cut through the confusion. People began moving more purposefully toward the exits, staff stepped up to assist elderly guests, the crowd's pace visibly accelerated.

Victoria appeared at the edge of the stage. "Time's up," she said. "We need to

go."

Camille looked out across the ballroom, still half-full despite the increased pace of evacuation. The bitter knowledge that not everyone would make it out in time twisted in her stomach.

"Camille," Victoria's voice grew sharper. "Now."

From somewhere in the building, a muffled boom sounded-the first device detonating early. Screams erupted as the lights flickered, panic threatening to overtake the ordered evacuation.

Camille grabbed the microphone again. "Stay calm!" she ordered. "Continue moving toward the exits in an orderly fashion."

Her voice seemed to steady the crowd, but now people were pushing, the evacuation becoming more frantic.

Victoria had reached the stage steps, her face pale but determined. "The car is waiting. Alexander says we have less than ten minutes."

Camille looked at the frightened faces below her, then at Victoria, the woman who

had saved her life, who had given her a second chance, who was now dying and still thinking of others first.

"You go," Camille said. "I'll be right behind you. I promise."

Victoria's expression hardened. "I won't leave you here."

"You have to." Camille held Victoria's gaze steadily. "The foundation needs at least one of us to survive. And you need medical attention."

Another small explosion sounded from somewhere deeper in the building. More screams. More panic.

"Go," Camille urged. "Please. Let me do this. Let me help these people." Victoria stood frozen for a moment, torn between her instinct to protect Camille

and the logic of her argument. Finally, she nodded.

"Two minutes," she said. "Then you follow. Swear it."

"I swear," Camille replied, though they both knew it might be a promise she

couldn't keep.

Victoria moved toward the private exit, where Alexander waited. As she disappeared from view, Camille turned back to the crowd.

Nine minutes left. Hundreds still inside. Including her.

But she wouldn't leave. Not yet. Not while she could still help.

Rose had designed this attack to destroy everything Camille had built. To kill her,

yes, but also to shatter the foundation that bore her name. To turn a night of triumph into one of tragedy.

Camille wouldn't let that happen. Even if it meant risking everything. "Keep moving!" she called into the microphone. "Security personnel, please assist

with the elderly guests. Everyone else, please allow children and those needing

assistance to exit first."

From the corner of her eye, Camille saw Alexander reappear at the private exit, his face taut with frustration and fear. He gestured urgently for her to come. Camille shook her head. Not yet. Not until she had done everything possible to save these people who had trusted her enough to come tonight.

Not until she had proven, once and for all, that Rose's attempts to destroy her had

failed.

Eight minutes remained on the countdown. Eight minutes to define who she truly

was.

And Camille Kane would not run.

 

Chapter 152

The first explosion hit without warning.

One moment, Camille was helping an elderly woman toward the exit, her arm supporting the frail body. The next, a thunderous boom shook the building. The floor beneath them trembled. Crystal chandeliers swayed dangerously overhead.

The blast came from the kitchen area, not the main ballroom. But the sound alone was enough to shatter the orderly evacuation into panic.

People screamed. Pushed. Ran for the exits. The elderly woman in Camille's arms stumbled and nearly fell.

"I've got you," Camille promised, tightening her grip. "We're almost there."

Thick smoke began pouring from the service corridors, filling the ballroom with a choking gray cloud. Through it, Camille could make out security personnel directing guests toward exits, their flashlights cutting through the haze.

"This way!" she called to a group of confused guests who had frozen in place. "Follow the security lights!"

A second explosion rocked the building, stronger than the first. Plaster rained down from the ceiling. A woman nearby screamed as debris struck her shoulder.

Camille handed the elderly woman to a security guard. "Get her out," she ordered, then turned back into the smoke-filled room.

More people needed help. More lives she could save.

***

Victoria Kane sat rigid in the back of her armored car, her eyes fixed on the hotel's main entrance. Security personnel surrounded the vehicle, blocking her from exiting despite her repeated demands.

"Let me out," she ordered for the third time. "Camille is still in there."

The head of her security team, a former military man named Curtis stood firm. "Ms. Kane, I have direct orders from Mr. Pierce. You are to remain in the vehicle."

"To hell with Pierce's orders!" Victoria's voice rose with fury and fear. "That's my daughter in there!"

The words silenced everyone in the car. Victoria had never publicly referred to Camille as her daughter before.

Before Curtis could respond, a thunderous boom echoed across the plaza. Victoria watched in horror as windows along the hotel's west side shattered, spraying glass onto screaming crowds below.

"Get this car moving!" she shouted at the driver. "Now!"

But Curtis placed a hand on the driver's shoulder. "Hold position."

Victoria's fury turned icier. "You're fired, Curtis. Effective immediately."

"With respect, Ms. Kane," Curtis replied calmly, "you can fire me tomorrow. Tonight, I'm keeping you alive."

A second explosion, louder than the first, rocked the hotel. The force of it sent panicked guests stumbling down the grand entrance stairs. Smoke poured from doorways and broken windows.

Victoria pressed her hand against the window, her face a mask of anguish as she watched the destruction. Somewhere in that chaos was Camille.

"Please," she whispered, the word unfamiliar on her lips. "Please be safe."

***

Alexander Pierce had just reached Victoria's car when the first explosion hit. The force of it nearly knocked him off his feet. He spun around, staring in horror at the hotel he had just exited.

Camille was still inside.

Without hesitation, he turned and ran back toward the burning building, his security team shouting after him. He ignored them, focused only on reaching the private entrance he had used moments before.

Smoke billowed from the doorway as he approached. He pulled his jacket over his mouth and pushed inside.

The corridor that had been clear minutes ago was now filled with smoke. Emergency lights cast an eerie red glow through the haze. Alexander moved quickly, staying low where the air was clearer.

"Camille!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "Camille, where are you?"

No answer came.

He pushed deeper into the building, toward the main ballroom. The smoke grew thicker, making his eyes burn and his lungs ache with each breath. Somewhere ahead, he could hear voices, people still trying to escape.

The second explosion hit as he reached the ballroom entrance. The force of it threw him against the wall, pain shooting through his shoulder. Debris rained down from the ceiling. Fire alarms screeched, adding to the chaos.

When his vision cleared, Alexander saw the ballroom was now a scene from hell. Tables overturned. Decorations burning. Smoke so thick he could barely see ten feet ahead.

But still he moved forward, ignoring the pain, ignoring his body's demand for clean air.

"Camille!" he shouted again, desperation making his voice crack. "Camille, answer me!"

Through the smoke, he caught glimpses of movement. People crawling toward exits. Security personnel helping the injured. But no sign of Camille.

Another section of ceiling collapsed with a deafening crash. Alexander barely jumped clear as chunks of plaster and metal struck the floor where he had stood. The heat was becoming unbearable, flames spreading rapidly across what remained of the elegant decorations.

And still he searched.

Because somewhere in this inferno was the woman he loved. And he would not leave without her.

 

Chapter 153

Camille crouched beneath a table with three young women in evening gowns, all sobbing in terror. The second explosion had blocked their path to the main exit with burning debris.

"Listen to me," Camille said firmly, her voice cutting through their panic. "There's another way out. Through the service corridor. But we need to stay low and move fast."

The women nodded, their faces streaked with tears and soot.

"Follow me," Camille ordered. "Stay close. Cover your mouth with your dress if you can."

They crawled from under the table into the thickening smoke. Camille led them along the perimeter of the room, away from the worst of the flames. Her eyes burned. Her lungs screamed for clean air. But she pushed forward, guiding the terrified women toward safety.

The service door appeared through the smoke, its outline barely visible. Camille reached it first, pulling it open to reveal a relatively clear corridor beyond.

"Go!" she urged the women. "Straight ahead. You'll reach an exit in thirty seconds."

As the last woman stumbled through, Camille turned back to the ballroom. Were there others still trapped? Anyone she had missed?

A third explosion rocked the building, this one closer than the others. The force of

it sent Camille flying backward into the wall. Pain exploded across her back and shoulder. Her vision blurred.

When it cleared, she saw the ceiling directly above her beginning to crack. In seconds, it would collapse.

Camille tried to move, but her body refused to respond. The smoke was too thick now. Each breath brought more pain than air.

So this was how it would end. Not in victory over Rose, but buried beneath the rubble of her triumph.

As consciousness began to fade, Camille thought she heard someone calling her name. A familiar voice, desperate and determined.

"Alexander?" she whispered, the word lost in the roar of the flames.

Then strong arms were around her, lifting her from the floor. A voice close to her ear saying, "I've got you. Stay with me."

Alexander had found her. Even through the smoke and flames and chaos, he had found her.

As he carried her toward safety, Camille's last thought before darkness claimed her was that Rose had failed again. Failed to destroy what mattered most.

Because even in this moment of destruction, she was not alone.

***

Victoria watched from her car as flames engulfed the west wing of the Grand Plaza Hotel. Emergency vehicles surrounded the building, their lights painting the night in flashes of red and blue. Paramedics treated injured guests on the plaza. Police officers established a perimeter. Firefighters battled the blaze with seemingly little effect.

And still, no sign of Camille or Alexander.

Victoria's hand gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles had turned white. She had called Alexander seventeen times. No answer.

"Curtis," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "If you don't let me out of this car right now, I will ensure you never work in security again. Anywhere. Ever."

Before Curtis could respond, Victoria's driver pointed toward the hotel's side entrance. "Look!"

Through the smoke emerged a figure carrying what appeared to be a body. As they moved closer, Victoria recognized Alexander, his face blackened with soot, his clothing torn and burned. In his arms lay Camille, motionless.

Victoria's heart stopped.

"Move!" she ordered, pushing past Curtis to open the car door herself.

She stumbled onto the plaza, her legs weaker than she would ever admit, and hurried toward Alexander. As she approached, she saw Camille's eyes flutter open. Relief flooded through her with such force she nearly collapsed.

"She's alive," Alexander gasped as Victoria reached them. "Smoke inhalation. Some burns. Maybe a concussion from debris."

Victoria touched Camille's face with trembling fingers. "Camille? Can you hear me?"

Camille's eyes focused on Victoria, recognition dawning. "You... should be... in the car," she whispered, her voice hoarse from smoke.

A laugh that was half sob escaped Victoria's lips. "And you should have followed me out. We both disobeyed orders."

Paramedics rushed forward with a stretcher. Alexander gently placed Camille on it, reluctant to let her go even for a moment.

"Stay with her," Victoria told him. "I'll follow in the car."

Alexander nodded, his eyes never leaving Camille as the paramedics began treating her.

Victoria turned back toward her vehicle, suddenly aware of the weight of her own exhaustion. The excitement, the fear, the relief, all of it came crashing down at once. Her vision swam. Her chest felt tight.

She took one step, then another. The third step never came.

Instead, Victoria felt her knees buckle. Darkness edged her vision. The last thing she heard was Curtis shouting for a medic.

Then nothing.

Camille regained consciousness in the ambulance, oxygen mask covering her face, monitors beeping steadily around her. Alexander sat beside her, holding her hand, his face a mask of worry and relief.

"Victoria?" Camille asked, pulling the mask aside.

Alexander hesitated. "They're taking her to the hospital."

Camille tried to sit up, panic giving her strength. "What happened? Is she hurt?"

"Easy," Alexander said, gently pushing her back down. "She collapsed after seeing you were safe. Could be exhaustion, could be smoke inhalation, could be..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

It could be the cancer. The disease that was already killing her, now accelerated by tonight's trauma.

"I need to be with her," Camille insisted, trying again to rise.

This time, Alexander didn't stop her. "The ambulances are heading to the same hospital. We'll find her as soon as we arrive."

Camille nodded, settling back but keeping hold of Alexander's hand. "How bad was it? The hotel?"

"Bad," Alexander admitted. "At least three bombs detonated. Maybe more. The west wing is destroyed. The ballroom... there's not much left." "Casualties?" Camille asked, dreading the answer.

"Unknown yet. Many injured, but most guests got out before the first explosion."

Camille closed her eyes, picturing the beautiful ballroom in flames, the charity gala turned to ash, all her hard work destroyed in minutes. Rose had won this round.

But Rose hadn't taken what mattered most. Camille was alive. Alexander was alive. And Victoria...

Victoria had to survive too. She had to.

The ambulance swerved suddenly, throwing them sideways. Camille heard the driver curse, then the squeal of brakes. They had stopped.

"What's happening?" she asked.

Alexander moved to the front, spoke briefly with the driver, then returned. His expression was grim.

"There's been a multi-car accident ahead. All lanes blocked. They're finding an alternate route, but it's going to delay us."

"And Victoria?" Camille's voice rose with panic. "Is she stuck too?"

"Her ambulance went ahead of us. It should have reached the hospital by now."

Camille felt cold fear wrap around her heart. Every minute mattered with Victoria's condition. Any delay could be fatal.

"We need to get there," she whispered. "Now."

Alexander squeezed her hand. "We will. I promise."

But promises weren't enough. Not when Victoria's life hung in the balance. Not when the woman who had saved Camille, who had become a mother to her, who had shown her how to rise from the ashes of her old life, might be taking her last breaths alone in a hospital room.

Camille closed her eyes, silently pleading with whatever power might be listening. Not yet. Please, not yet. Not like this. Not because of Rose.

The ambulance finally began moving again, sirens wailing as it sought a path through the chaos of the city. But to Camille, it felt as though they were barely crawling.

And with each passing second, the distance between her and Victoria seemed to grow, a gulf she feared might become permanent before she had the chance to cross it one last time.

***

Victoria Kane lay on a hospital gurney, oxygen mask covering her pale face, as doctors worked frantically around her. Her body, already weakened by cancer and treatment, struggled to process the smoke she had inhaled, the shock she had endured.

"Blood pressure dropping," a nurse called out. "Oxygen levels at 84 percent."

"Push another milligram of epinephrine," the doctor ordered. "And get me her full medical records. Now."

Victoria heard their voices as though from a great distance. She tried to speak, to ask about Camille, but no sound emerged. Her body felt disconnected, floating, drifting away from the pain and noise of the emergency room. Somewhere deep in her mind, Victoria knew this might be the end. Not the dignified, prepared death she had planned, but a chaotic scramble in an emergency room, surrounded by strangers.

She had told Camille there would be time. Time for proper goodbyes. Time for final instructions. Time for one last moment together.

Now, that promise might be broken.

As consciousness slipped further away, Victoria held onto one thought, one image: Camille's face when she had opened her eyes in Alexander's arms. Alive. Safe. Strong enough to continue without Victoria.

That would have to be enough.

The emergency room doors burst open as new trauma patients arrived from the hotel explosion. Doctors shouted orders. Machines beeped urgently. And Victoria Kane, one of the most powerful women in the world, was rushed deeper into the hospital, fighting for each breath, each heartbeat, each remaining moment of life.

Chapter 154

Rose stood on the rooftop of a building across from the Grand Plaza Hotel, her face lit by the orange glow of flames. The night air carried smoke and screams to her ears, a symphony of destruction that made her heart race. She laughed, the sound bursting from her throat in waves, wild and uncontrolled.

"Look at it burn," she whispered, then laughed again, louder this time. "Look at it all burn!"

From this height, she could see everything, fire trucks with lights flashing, ambulances lined up along the street, police pushing crowds back from danger. The once-beautiful hotel was now a blazing skeleton, its west wing completely collapsed, windows shattered across its face like broken teeth. The ballroom where Camille had stood so proudly just hours before was now a pit of flames and black smoke.

Rose's laughter died suddenly, replaced by a strange, hollow silence. She stepped closer to the edge of the roof, her eyes fixed on the destruction below. All those months of planning. All those careful preparations. All leading to this moment of victory.

So why didn't it feel like enough?

The wind shifted, bringing a stronger smell of smoke. Rose breathed it in deeply, as if trying to consume the disaster she had created. Her fingers gripped the rooftop railing, knuckles white with tension.

"Are you dead, Camille?" she asked the burning building. "Are you finally, truly gone?"

Not knowing the answer gnawed at her. Rose had wanted to see Camille's face when the first bomb went off. Wanted to witness her sister's realization that Rose had beaten her, had destroyed everything she built. Instead, she was forced to watch from a distance, guessing at the outcome.

A helicopter circled overhead, its spotlight sweeping across the chaos. Rose stepped back from the edge, moving into shadow. Getting caught now would ruin everything.

She pulled out her phone, checking news sites for updates. The first reports were already appearing:

"EXPLOSION AT CHARITY GALA"

"MULTIPLE CASUALTIES REPORTED IN HOTEL BOMBING"

"PHOENIX FOUNDATION EVENT TARGETED IN TERRORIST ATTACK"

Rose scrolled rapidly, searching for one name, Camille Kane. No mention yet of whether she had escaped or perished. The uncertainty was maddening.

The phone rang in her hand, startling her. Mikhail's number appeared on the screen.

"Yes?" she answered.

"It is done," Mikhail said, his accent thicker than usual. "All devices detonated."

"I can see that," Rose replied, irritation edging her voice. "What about the targets? Camille Kane? Victoria Kane?"

A pause. "Unknown. Many ambulances. Many injured."

"That's not good enough!" Rose shouted, her calm façade cracking. "I need to know if they're dead!"

Another helicopter passed overhead, its roar drowning out Mikhail's response. When the noise faded, he was saying, "...must leave the city now. Police will be looking..."

"I'm not leaving until I know they're dead," Rose cut him off. "Not after everything I've done to make this happen."

"Foolish," Mikhail said bluntly. "You stay, you get caught."

Rose laughed again, the sound sharp and brittle in the night air. "They need to know it was me. They need to know why their perfect world burned down around them."

"They will know. But you won't be there to see if you're in prison." Mikhail's voice hardened. "Payment was for job, not suicide mission."

Rose barely heard him. Her attention had returned to the burning hotel, to the chaos spreading across the plaza below. Somewhere in that mess was the answer she needed.

"I'm going closer," she decided suddenly. "I need to see."

"No!" Mikhail's voice rose with alarm. "Too dangerous. Too many police."

Rose ended the call without responding. She had come too far to hide in shadows now. She needed to see the destruction up close, to feel the heat of the flames on her face, to know with certainty that Camille had finally been erased from the world.

She took the service stairs down from the roof, mind racing with possibilities. The black wig and glasses in her bag would provide some disguise. She could blend with the crowd of onlookers, perhaps even pose as a concerned witness. No one would be looking for Rose Lewis there—they'd be searching for her far from the

scene.

The stairwell was dark, lit only by emergency lights that cast eerie shadows on the walls. As Rose descended, her laughter echoed around her, bouncing off concrete, creating a chorus of madness that followed her down and down and down.

By the time she reached the bottom floor, the laughter had transformed into something else, a kind of wild delight that made her feel more alive than she had in years. Her entire body tingled with energy. Every sense seemed heightened. The smell of smoke from outside. The distant wail of sirens. The taste of success on her tongue.

She paused at the building's exit, watching through glass doors as people ran past. Some were covered in soot, their fancy clothes torn and dirtied. Survivors of her masterpiece. Rose studied their faces, searching for signs of Camille or Victoria among them.

Nothing.

Rose pushed open the door and stepped outside, immediately engulfed by chaos. The street wasz jammed with emergency vehicles, their lights painting everything in pulses of red and blue. Police shouted orders. Paramedics rushed past with stretchers. Smoke hung in the air like fog, burning her eyes and throat.

She moved through the crowd, invisible in the confusion. No one noticed another shocked face, another person staring at the burning building. Rose pulled the wig from her bag and slipped it on, then added the glasses. The

wheel

transformation was simple but effective, no one looking for Rose

Lewis would see her here.

As she pushed closer to the police barriers, Rose caught snatches of

conversation around her:

"

they're saying at least three bombs...."

"... someone targeted the Phoenix Foundation..."

"....dozens injured, maybe worse...."

".... they got Victoria Kane out but...."

Rose froze, focusing on a man speaking to a police officer.

"I saw them take her out on a stretcher," the man was saying. "Victoria Kane. She

collapsed right after they rescued her adopted daughter from inside." Rescued. The word hit Rose like a physical blow. Camille had been rescued. She wasn't dead.

A scream built in Rose's throat, threatening to escape. She swallowed it back, hands clenched so tightly her nails cut into her palms. The pain helped focus her thoughts.

If Camille was alive, then Rose hadn't won yet. The destruction around her, the burning building, the injured guests, the ruined gala, none of it mattered if Camille still breathed.

Rose pushed through the crowd until she reached the line of ambulances. Medical personnel rushed between them, carrying the injured, calling orders. She scanned each face, each stretcher, looking for any sign of her sister.

There, a flash of blue fabric. The color of Camille's gown. Rose moved closer, peering through the open doors of an ambulance.

A woman lay inside, oxygen mask covering her face, paramedics working around her. But it wasn't Camille. Just another guest in a blue dress, another victim of Rose's plan.

Frustration boiled inside her. Rose turned in a circle, trying to see everything at once. Where was Camille? Where was Victoria? Had they already been taken to a

hospital?

A police officer approached, eyeing her suspiciously. "Ma'am, you need to step back behind the barricade."

Rose nodded, forcing her face into an expression of shock and concern. "I'm

sorry. I was looking for my friend. She was at the gala."

"All victims are being transported to Memorial Hospital or City General," the officer

said, more gently now. "You should check there."

"Thank you," Rose whispered, already backing away.

Memorial Hospital. City General. New destinations. New opportunities to finish what she'd started.

As Rose moved away from the police barricade, her gaze returned to the burning

hotel. The flames had grown higher, consuming what remained of the ballroom where her sister had stood so proudly. Where Victoria Kane had watched her adopted daughter shine. Where the Phoenix Foundation had been celebrated.

All of it now ash and rubble.

Rose began to laugh again, softly at first, then louder. A few people nearby glanced at her strangely, but in the chaos of the night, a woman laughing seemed

no stranger than people crying or shouting or staring in shocked silence.

Her laughter was wild, unrestrained. The sound of something breaking free after being caged too long. The sound of madness, perhaps, but also of purest joy. Because even if Camille had survived, Rose had still hurt her. Had still destroyed the foundation she'd built. Had still proved that nowhere was safe, no triumph secure.

And she wasn't finished yet.

Rose turned away from the burning building, her mind already racing toward new plans, new attacks. The hospitals would be chaotic tonight. Security would be focused on caring for victims, not watching for threats. If Camille was there, she would be vulnerable. If Victoria was there...

Rose's laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by a cold smile. Perhaps the night's work wasn't complete after all.

She disappeared into the crowd, just another face in the sea of onlookers. Just another shadow moving through the smoke-filled night. But unlike the shocked bystanders around her, Rose moved with purpose. With certainty.

The destruction behind her was just the beginning. The ruins of the Grand Plaza Hotel were merely the first act in her revenge.

And as sirens wailed and people cried and the building continued to burn, Rose Lewis laughed once more, the sound lost in the chaos she had created, but the feeling of it vibrating through her entire body, a savage pleasure that nothing and

no one could take away.

Not even Camille.

 

Chapter 155

Special Agent Diana Chen's eyes hurt. They were red and dry from staring at screens all night. Cold coffee cups crowded her desk. She hadn't slept. She couldn't sleep. Not until she found what she needed in the videos from the bombed hotel.

"Play it again," she told the tech guy sitting next to her. Her voice was rough from too much coffee and not enough rest. "Slow it down when it hits 9:42."

The screen flickered as the video went backward. It showed a hallway near the hotel's electrical room. This camera had survived when most others got destroyed in the blast. The time at the bottom showed 9:41 PM. Chen leaned in close. Her whole body tense with hope.

A woman walked into view. She wore a hotel worker's uniform with a cap pulled down to hide her face. She moved like she knew exactly what she was doing. She checked her watch, then looked around to make sure no one saw her. At the electrical panel, she stopped. She took something from her pocket and stuck it to the wall.

"Stop it right there," Chen said, her heart pounding in her chest. "Zoom in on her face."

The tech hit some keys, and the image got bigger. The woman had turned a little toward the camera as she left, giving them a glimpse of her face.

"Make it brighter," Chen said, barely breathing. "And sharpen the contrast."

As the image cleared up, Chen felt a jolt run through her body. Even with the cap and uniform, she knew that face. She'd spent weeks burning it into her memory, studying every line and curve.

Rose Lewis.

"It's her," Chen whispered, then louder, "It's her! We've got her on camera planting the bomb."

The tech nodded. "We have her on other cameras too. Same woman, different bombs."

Chen grabbed her phone and called her partner with shaking hands. "Morgan, it's Chen. We've got her. Clear video of Rose Lewis planting at least four bombs. It's definitely her."

She listened for a moment, then hung up. "Print everything," she told the tech. "I need pictures from every angle. And send me all the video files right now."

Within an hour, Chen stood in the FBI office's meeting room. Pictures from the cameras covered the walls. Agents crowded around as she pointed to the clearest photo, Rose Lewis attaching a bomb to a column near the hotel kitchen.

"This is who did it," Chen said, her voice hard with anger and relief. "Rose Lewis, 28 years old. The adopted sister of Camille Kane. She has a history of twisting the truth and hating both Camille and Victoria Kane."

Agent Morgan stepped up beside her. "We also have Herod Preston's statement linking her to planning the bombing. And we found bomb-making stuff in a storage unit she rented under a fake name."

"So we have why she did it, how she did it, and now proof she did it," the field director summed up. "Where is she now?"

"We don't know," Chen admitted, frustration making her chest tight. "Last time anyone saw her was near the hotel right after the first explosion. We think she stayed to watch what she'd done."

"People like this often do that," Morgan added. "They want to see the pain they caused."

The field director looked at the photos, his face dark with worry. "This was an attack that killed six innocent people and hurt over forty more. We need to find her. Now."

"We've already frozen her bank accounts," Chen said, counting off on her fingers. "Flagged her passport and ID. Put alerts at all airports, train stations, and borders."

"Not enough," the director cut in. "We need to go public. Full media coverage. I want her face on every TV and phone screen in America by noon."

The agents scattered to do their

jobs. Chen stayed behind, staring at the wall of pictures, Rose Lewis sneaking through the hotel in

different disguises, carefully placing bombs that would kill people who had done nothing wrong, alt because she couldn't let go of her hate for her sister.

Chen stepped closer to the largest photo, her fingers lightly touching the image of the woman's face. "I'm coming for you," she whispered, hot tears welling in her eyes. The faces of the victims flashed in her mind, a father of three, a honeymooning couple, a retired teacher People who should be alive today.

"No matter where you run," Chen promised, her voice breaking with exhaustion and fury, "no matter how deep you hide. I will find you. I will make you face what you've done."

She pressed her forehead against the cold wall, letting the tears fall freely now. This case had burrowed under her skin in a way none other had before. Perhaps it was the senselessness of it all. Or maybe it was because she'd spent so many sleepless nights studying Rose's face that she felt like she knew her, knew the twisted mind behind those eyes.

"You wanted attention," Chen mumbled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Well, now you've got it. The whole country will know your face by sundown."

She straightened her shoulders, drawing a deep breath. The moment of weakness had passed. Now there was only the hunt. And Diana Chen was a hunter who never gave up.

Behind her, the door opened. Morgan stood there, holding two fresh cups of coffee.

"You okay?" he asked, concern etched on his tired face.

Chen nodded, taking the offered coffee. "I will be. When we put her in cuffs."

"We will," Morgan said. "She's smart, but she's not smarter than all of us."

Chen looked back at the wall of evidence, the fruits of her sleepless nights and dogged determination.

"No," she said softly. "She's not. And her mistake was thinking she could get away with this."

She sipped the hot coffee, the bitter taste matching her resolve. "Let's bring her

in."