Kamille’s POV

As I settled into the backseat of the cab, my mind raced. I placed my hands over my rapidly beating heart, trying to calm myself.

“Everything alright, Ma’am?” the driver asked.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied. He nodded and continued driving.

Zeke’s unexpected appearance had left me reeling. His words echoed in my mind, haunting me. What did he really want? His sudden warmth and sincerity starkly contrasted with his previous coldness. I felt disoriented, questioning his intentions and my own feelings.

I couldn't help but recall countless instances of his indifference—his icy demeanor. From the day he ordered me to sign the divorce papers with cold, unyielding eyes, to the times my homemade meals were met with silent rejection, Zeke had always been distant.

Yet now, his words echoed: “I regret letting you go… I’ll never let you go again.” Was it genuine remorse, or manipulation? I felt the tension between us in the elevator, but that didn't erase the hurt he'd caused.

Quickly pushing aside the confusion, I reminded myself of his past actions. I didn’t need him, I convinced myself. I had moved on, built a life for myself and my children. I didn’t need empty promises or fleeting kindness.

My phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. It was Belle. Her voice was brimming with excitement. “Hey Kam, how are you doing?”

“Hello bestie, I’m great. How about you?”

“I’m great, Kam. How are Reon, Torin, Tyris, and Royer?” Belle’s warm voice was a contrast to my turmoil.

“They’re doing well,” I replied. “I’m on my way to pick them up from school.”

“Alright, Kam. I found a blogger who will help release information on Liz Manor,” Belle said, her tone turning serious.

I scanned my surroundings. I was in a cab, but this was serious. The driver was focused on the road. I also needed to follow up on the car purchase.

Before I could respond, Belle continued, “Liz will have a big fight this weekend—the perfect time to release the information and evidence.”

I was stunned. Belle, always calm and collected, unlike the fiery Amanda, was getting her hands dirty. Worry gnawed at me. This was risky, and I didn't want my friends involved.

“Belle, thank you, but I don’t want you or Amanda directly involved,” I said, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions. “Your names could be published, and that’s dangerous.”

“I know your worries,” Belle interjected. “I approached the blogger anonymously. I won’t watch the Manors get away with what they did to you.”

I sighed.

Belle reassured me, her voice unwavering. “Don’t worry. I’ve sent the blogger’s details to Amanda. The fee is fair. You just need to gather your evidence and send it to Amanda. That’s it. We’ll make sure everything’s fine.”

With a heavy sigh, I agreed. “Alright, Belle. Thank you. I’ll gather the evidence.”

“Okay, Kam. You’re welcome.”

We ended the call. The cab pulled up to the school.

At school, I saw Mr. Christopher helping a child. My children’s voices then distracted me.

“Mummy, I made a new friend!” Tyris exclaimed.

“Mummy, I’m joining the basketball club next year!” Royer added.

Torin whispered something, and they all laughed. I smiled.

“Mummy, where’s our ride?” Reon asked. I pointed to the taxi, and he walked toward it with their lunchboxes.

I took the lunchboxes and walked with them until Mr. Christopher called, “Miss Kamille.”

I turned, but my kids continued toward the cab.

“Hello, Miss Kamille. I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Christopher greeted, smiling. He was handsome, but his eyes held a haunted look; his smile seemed sad.

I returned his smile, noting the sincerity. “No, not at all.” My curiosity was piqued.

His next words surprised me. “I mean no disrespect, but I’d like to take you to dinner. May I?” His eyes searched mine.

Taken aback, I hesitated before declining. “I’m sorry, but our acquaintance ends here, Mr. Christopher.”

He persisted. “I’ll be waiting at La Belle Etoile on Saturday at 7 p.m. If you come, I’ll be grateful; if not, I’ll understand.”

Such audacity!

I managed a smile. “That won’t be necessary. I’m leaving now.”

“Just hear me out. Maybe you can judge me after dinner, but please don’t write me off,” he pleaded.

I paused before leaving. “Bye, Mr. Christopher.”

I hurried to catch up with my kids, ushering them into the cab. Unease lingered.

At home, my kids ran inside while I paid the driver. On the doorstep, a letter awaited. A frown formed on my face.

I opened it to find a chilling message: “What the hell! The lawyer’s accident wasn’t an accident. It was orchestrated.”

I stood there, lost in thought, until Reon called, “Mummy, are you coming in?”

“I am, love,” I replied, entering the house. I smiled as my children enjoyed Nanny Dona’s cookies.

As I reached for their lunchboxes, I remembered the letter. I needed to figure out what happened to the lawyer.