Chapter 154

Rose stood on a rooftop across from the Grand Plaza Hotel, her face illuminated by the orange glow of flames. The night air carried smoke and screams, a symphony of destruction that quickened her pulse. She laughed, the sound erupting from her throat in wild, uncontrolled waves.

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

From this height, she saw everything: flashing firetruck lights, ambulances lining the street, police pushing back the crowds. The once-beautiful hotel was a blazing skeleton, its west wing collapsed, windows shattered like broken teeth. The ballroom where Camille had stood proudly just hours before was now a pit of flames and black smoke.

Rose’s laughter ceased, replaced by a strange, hollow silence. She stepped closer to the edge, 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, carrying a stronger smell of smoke. Rose inhaled deeply, as if trying to consume the disaster she had created. Her fingers gripped the railing, knuckles white with tension.

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

Not knowing gnawed at her. Rose had wanted to see Camille's face when the first bomb detonated, to witness her sister's realization that Rose had won, had destroyed everything she'd built. Instead, she'd watched from a distance, guessing at the outcome.

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

She pulled out her phone, checking news sites. 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 Camille Kane's name. No mention yet of her fate. The uncertainty was maddening.

Her phone rang. 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 composure 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 interrupted. “Not after everything I’ve done.”

“Foolish,” Mikhail said bluntly. “You stay, you get caught.”

Rose laughed again, the sound sharp and brittle. “They need to know it was me. They need to know their perfect world burned down around them.”

“They will know. But you won’t be there to see it if you’re in prison.” Mikhail’s voice hardened. “Payment was for the job, not a suicide mission.”

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

“I’m going closer,” she decided. “I need to see.”

“No!” Mikhail’s voice rose in alarm. “Too dangerous!”

Rose ended the call. She had come too far to remain in the shadows. She needed to see the destruction up close, to feel the flames on her face, to know with certainty that Camille had been erased.

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

The stairwell was dark, lit only by emergency lights casting eerie shadows. As Rose descended, her laughter echoed, a chorus of madness.

By the time she reached the bottom floor, the laughter had transformed into a wild delight. Her entire body tingled. Every sense was heightened: the smell of smoke, the distant wail of sirens, the taste of success on her tongue.

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

Nothing.

Rose pushed open the door and stepped outside, immediately engulfed by chaos. The street was 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, unnoticed. Rose pulled on the wig and glasses. The transformation was simple but effective.

As she neared the police barriers, she caught snatches of conversation:

“…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 said. “Victoria Kane. She collapsed right after they rescued her adopted daughter.”

Rescued. The word hit Rose like a blow. Camille had been rescued. She wasn’t dead.

A scream built in Rose’s throat, but 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 to the ambulances. Medical personnel rushed between them, carrying the injured. She scanned each face, each stretcher, looking for her sister.

There, a flash of blue fabric—the color of Camille’s gown. Rose moved closer, peering into an ambulance. A woman lay inside, an oxygen mask covering her face. But it wasn’t Camille. Just another guest in a blue dress.

Frustration boiled inside her. Rose turned in a circle. 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 a look of shock and concern. “I’m sorry. I was looking for my friend at the gala.”

“All victims are being transported to Memorial Hospital or City General,” the officer said. “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 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 glanced at her strangely, but in the chaos, a laughing woman seemed no stranger than people crying or shouting or staring in shocked silence.

Her laughter was unrestrained. The sound of something breaking free. 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.