Chapter 1

CAMILLE’S POINT OF VIEW

Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days of striving to be the perfect wife, and this was my reward: divorce papers on our anniversary. I stared at Stefan’s signature on the final page, the ink still wet. He must have signed them that morning, likely after I’d left the handmade card on his desk—a foolish gesture from someone still clinging to fairy tales.

The anniversary card remained untouched on the kitchen counter. Three years of marriage, summarized by a handmade gift he couldn't be bothered to open. I'd spent hours on it the previous night, pouring my heart into words I believed held meaning.

My coffee had grown cold. It’s funny how you notice such details when your world is crumbling.

“Sign here. And here,” Stefan said, his voice distant and detached. He’d laid out the papers like a business contract, sticky notes marking each signature line. “The highlighted sections need initials.”

My hands trembled uncontrollably. “You’re doing this today? On our anniversary?”

“Camille,” he sighed, that familiar sound of disappointment I’d heard countless times. “There’s no point prolonging this.”

The morning sun illuminated our kitchen, catching the diamond on my finger—three carats, princess cut, chosen by his mother. “Not your style, dear, but it’s what a Rodriguez wife should wear,” she’d declared. Like everything else in my life, it had never truly felt like my own.

“Is there someone else?”

The question hung heavy between us. Stefan adjusted his tie, Italian silk, the blue one I’d given him for Christmas. “Yes.”

One word. That’s all it took to obliterate three years of striving for perfection.

“How long?”

“Two months.” He avoided my gaze. “She came back to town and…”

“Two months,” I repeated. All those late nights at the office. The missed dinners. The way he’d stopped kissing me goodbye. “Were you ever going to tell me? Or just keep lying until the papers were ready?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

A bitter laugh escaped me, harsh and unfamiliar. “That’s thoughtful.”

My hand knocked over my coffee mug, sending it crashing to the floor. Dark liquid spread across the pristine tiles, staining the grout I’d scrubbed on my hands and knees last week because his mother was visiting.

“Let me get that…” Stefan reached for the paper towels.

“Don’t.” My voice cracked. “Just… don’t pretend to care now.”

I bent to pick up the broken pieces. A photograph slipped from between the papers, landing face-up in the spilled coffee.

The world stopped.

I recognized that smile. Those eyes. That perfectly poised expression that had haunted every family photograph since I was twelve.

“Rose?” My sister’s name tasted like poison. “Your first love was Rose?”

Stefan’s silence answered my question.

Memories hit me like blows. Rose helping me choose my wedding dress. Rose toasting at our engagement party. Rose calling weekly to check on my marriage, offering advice on keeping Stefan happy.

My adopted sister. My parents’ favorite. The one they’d chosen to love.

“She never left town, did she?” The pieces were falling into place. “She’s been here the whole time, waiting. Playing the supportive sister while you both laughed at stupid, naive Camille.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Stefan ran his hands through his hair, a gesture I once found endearing. “We tried to fight it. But some people are just meant to…”

“If you say ‘meant to be,’ I swear I’ll throw this mug at your head.” My fingers tightened around the broken ceramic. “How long were you together before? Before me?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Four years. Until she got the job offer in London.”

Four years. The same time I’d started dating Stefan. The same time Rose had become my biggest cheerleader, pushing me toward him.

“She set this up,” I whispered. “All of it. And I fell for every piece.”

“Camille, you’re being dramatic. Rose cares about you.”

“Like she cared when she told my first boyfriend I was damaged goods? Or when she convinced my parents I was too unstable for college?” The broken mug cut into my palm, but I barely registered the pain. “She’s been sabotaging me my whole life, and I kept making excuses because that’s what good sisters do, right?”

Blood dripped onto the divorce papers. Stefan reached for my hand, but I pulled away.

“Don’t touch me.” I grabbed a dish towel, wrapping it around my palm. “Where is she now? Waiting to comfort me through my divorce? Planning your next wedding?”

“She wanted to be here, but I thought it would be better…”

“Better?” I laughed again, hysteria lacing my voice. “Yes, you’ve both been so concerned with what’s better for me. Such caring people.”

I picked up the pen, the Mont Blanc he’d given me on our first anniversary—the one Rose had helped him choose.

“Camille, wait. We should talk about this properly.”

I signed every page, my signature unwavering. Let them see I wasn’t breaking. Let them think they’d won.

“I’m done talking.” I gathered my purse, the signed papers, and Rose’s photo. “Done pretending. Done being the good sister, the perfect wife, the daughter who never complains.”

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you. Away from her. Away from everyone who thinks Camille Lewis is someone they can use and discard.”

My phone buzzed; Rose’s smiling face illuminated the screen. Right on cue.

I declined the call and walked to the door. Behind me, Stefan called out, “You can’t just leave. We need to discuss arrangements, the house, the accounts…”

“You can have it all.” I turned to face him one last time. “The house, the cars, the life you built on lies. I don’t want anything that reminds me of either of you.”

“Camille, please…”

“Goodbye, Stefan.” I smiled, and something in my expression made him recoil. “Give Rose my love. Tell her thank you, actually.”

“For what?”

“For finally showing me the truth. About her, about you, about who I need to become.”

I walked out of that house, out of that life, leaving bloody fingerprints on the door handle. Let them try to erase those as easily as they’d erased me.

Three years of pretending. Three years of swallowing pain and making excuses for people who never deserved my loyalty.

My phone buzzed again. Rose. Then my mother. Then Stefan. One by one, I blocked them all. Every connection to the life I thought I had to live.

In my rearview mirror, I saw my reflection. Tears streaked my makeup, blood stained my dress, my hair was unbound. I looked nothing like the polished wife Stefan Rodriguez had married.