Ellen’s POV

Staring at Kamille, disbelief and shock washed over me. My hands gripped my phone and purse, my knuckles white with the pressure. I needed to be sure it was really Kamille, and not my imagination running wild. I dropped my purse and quickly took several photographs of Kamille and Belle together on her front porch.

"Let's go," I told the driver.

"I thought you'd never ask," he replied, and we drove off.

The image of Kamille on her porch replayed in my mind, a relentless, surreal loop. How could she be alive? How had she hidden for so long? How had we missed this?

The familiar city sights blurred as the car sped toward our mansion. My thoughts were consumed by questions and emotions – anger, confusion, and an unexpected surge of relief. At least I wasn't going mad.

The world outside seemed insignificant compared to the revelation that had upended everything.

"We're here, ma'am," the cab driver said.

I paid him, adding, "Keep the change." I leaped from the car and rushed inside, slamming the door behind me. Bursting into the living room, I found my parents sitting there.

My voice trembled with urgency. "Mom! Dad! Kamille is alive!"

They looked up, startled. My father stood, concern etched on his face. "Ellen, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Kamille!" I repeated, my voice shaking. "I saw her! She's alive!"

My mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Are you sure, Ellen? How could this be?"

"Can you prove such nonsensical claims?" my father interjected.

"I took a picture," I said, fumbling with my phone. My trembling hands made it difficult to find the photo. I showed it to my father, who stared at the screen, his expression shifting from skepticism to shock. He passed the phone to my mother, who looked at the image with wide eyes.

"This… this is unbelievable," she whispered. "How could she have survived?"

"I don't know," I said, my voice breaking. "But I saw her. I followed her friend until she arrived at this address, and Kamille answered the door! We need to do something, and fast!"

My father's eyes hardened. "We need to find out everything we can. This changes everything."

"Yes," my mother agreed, her voice firm. "We need to get to the bottom of this."

Then it hit me. Belle's baby girl's hat. Oh, no.

I slumped onto the sofa, cursing.

"Ellen, what is wrong?" my mother asked.

"Dad, Mom, Belle bought a baby girl's hat and took it to Kamille. I followed her because of it," I explained, still reeling from the implications.

"What does that change?" my father asked angrily.

"What are you insinuating?" my mother echoed.

"What if Kamille had Zeke's child?" I asked, confused.

"That's impossible, Ellen," my mother said. "They had a strained relationship. And as you said, Zeke never slept with her."

"But what if he did later, and didn't mention it?" my father added.

"Damn it," I cursed again. They hadn't even been married when I lied to Zeke about Kamille's infertility. He had hated her and slept in a separate room. It wasn't possible he'd slept with her while they were married. Or was it?

"Father, what do we do?" I asked, feeling stressed and exhausted.

"We need to be calm and re-strategize. This could mean Kamille was behind Liz and Gabriel's leaked videos and other incriminating evidence," he replied, looking older and more stressed himself. My mother looked equally strained.

"What do you suggest?" I asked.

"For now, don't confront her. I'll have someone watch her and report on her daily schedule."

"And what good will that do?" my mother asked weakly.

"Once we know her routine, we'll know how to strike," he replied calmly.

Fear and anger filled the room. Kamille's survival had shattered our world. Catching my breath, I knew nothing would ever be the same.

"Damn it," I cursed again. "I need to be alone." I started up the stairs, but my father called out.

"Ellen."

I stopped. "Father?" I replied indifferently.

"Concerning Zeke, we need to accelerate our plans," he said.

I returned downstairs. "What do you have in mind?" I was willing to do anything to keep my position. If I was back in Zeke's house, he couldn't marry anyone else or consider bringing Kamille back.

"I'll accuse Zeke of sexual assault and physical abuse," my father began. "He won't want to come, but we have evidence—his security and housekeepers as witnesses, and the CCTV footage."

I nodded. I had a leverage point, too. Zeke had always been weak for my seductive side. I'd use that to pressure him into taking me back. Hopefully, he'd still fall for it.

"Remember, you said you were pregnant. What will you do if he brings that up?" my mother asked.

"Miscarriage," I said without hesitation. "I've had others, so what's one more?"

"Evidence?" my father asked.

"I'll contact Becky," I replied.

"Good. Then I'll proceed," he said, picking up his phone. "Mr. Finley," he said into the call.

Kamille, I hope you regret not staying dead.