Lincoln sat in his office chair, fingers raking through his hair as his eyes stayed locked on the monitor. The architectural team had just sent over a rough sketch, and he was painstakingly redesigning it, trying to distract himself with work.
Bam!
Camilla slammed a card on his desk, startling him.
"Prepare my reward by the end of this week. Don't mess with this opportunity," she said sharply, her chin lifted high, pride glowing in her eyes. She pointed at the Executive Equals card before striding out of the room.
Lincoln leaned back, stunned. His headhunting team had chased this very card for six months and failed. Now Camilla had it, as though it had simply fallen into her hands. He stared at the golden sheen of the card, but instead of excitement, a cold wind brushed past him through the open window. His gut tightened—an unshakable feeling, as if something precious was slipping away.
Elsewhere, Camilla sat before her laptop, searching listings of houses for sale in Country V. She whispered to herself, It's time. A new life, a new name. Not for Lincoln, not for anyone—but for me and my baby. She had spent years carrying other people's burdens, but that ended now. From this day, her emotions, her family, her healing came first.
Lincoln's phone chimed. He entered his password and froze. A bank alert confirmed a large sum had been transferred into a new account under Camilla's name. His hands trembled as he rushed upstairs, only to find her laptop left open on the bed. Scrolling through it, he realized the truth—Camilla had already booked tickets. She was planning to leave him this weekend.
"Alex!" Camilla called, rushing into her son's room. "We're leaving. I've already bought our tickets to Country V. We'll finally be free!" Her face glowed with excitement.
"Really? Is this your plan?"
Camilla's smile faltered. She spun around. Lincoln stood in the doorway, his eyes cold, unreadable.
"I'm sorry, Lincoln," she whispered. "But I need to heal. And I can't do that while living with my pain every day."
Lincoln's expression didn't change. "No problem. You can leave… when you're ready." His voice was flat, but the weight in it was heavy enough to freeze the room. He turned and walked away, his back stiff, his silence louder than any threat.
Alone in the garage, he slipped the golden card from his pocket and stared at it in the dim light. His face remained stone-like, but inside, his thoughts were spiraling. Camilla's determination was clear, her departure inevitable. lincoln felt powerless for the first time in years, he grabbed the keys to his BMW and drove out heading towards the echoes team headcourters.
***************************
[Five days later]
[ Carmela's POV]
I felt graced for ever crossing paths with Lincoln, and deep down I knew I loved him—though I hated myself for it. Love, however, could not survive in me while vengeance and justice still lay buried. Not for my mother. Not for myself.
It had been five long days since Lincoln last spoke to me. Each evening he came home either drunk or carrying a storm in his chest, grumpy and unreadable. His silence cut sharper than words, and even Alex was no longer spared his coldness.
I sat alone by the poolside, the glow of my iPad reflecting against the dark water. My fingers scrolled through Samson's page. There he was—beaming beside Evelyn, as though he had finally found a life worth living. My once treasured jewelry sparkled proudly on her neck and wrists, like they had always belonged to her. Even my personal belongings had been desecrated—bent, sold, or thrown away in the name of charity.
Once, I would have wept. But not anymore. The tears had dried, replaced with a furnace of anger that burned hotter each day. My chest tightened until I could no longer bear it, and with a furious cry, I hurled the iPad into the pool. The splash echoed through the still night, leaving ripples that mirrored the chaos inside me.
Minutes passed before I managed to steady my breathing. I walked back into the mansion, trying to compose myself. But when I pushed open the bedroom door, my heart stilled.
Lincoln stood tall by the French window, the city lights framing him like a dark silhouette. His hand clutched a glass of whiskey, and he lifted it slowly to his lips, his gaze fixed on something far beyond the glass. His silence filled the room, heavier than the liquor in his veins.