Chapter 4

Chloe leapt from her bed, heart pounding. "Seriously?"

"Absolutely," Damien confirmed.

"Then why didn't Selene mention it earlier?"

"It was just finalized. She doesn't know yet."

Chloe's excitement bubbled over. "Dad, let's keep this from Selene. Imagine her face when we surprise her back home!"

"Deal."

"You're amazing, Dad! Love you!"

After hanging up, Chloe twirled around her room, humming to herself.

Then her thoughts drifted to Camille. For days, she'd avoided her calls—leaving early, keeping her phone off. The silence had been bliss.

But guilt crept in. What if Camille was furious?

Yet, knowing Camille, she'd never stay quiet if upset. She'd demand answers immediately.

Chloe's chest tightened with sudden longing. Before she could second-guess, she dialed Camille's number.

The moment it connected, reality hit. Returning home meant seeing Selene—but also Camille's inevitable interference. Her joy dimmed.

Across time zones, Camille stirred at midnight to her ringing phone. Chloe's name flashed. She reached for it—only for the call to drop.

Despite their strained relationship, worry gripped her. She redialed instantly.

Chloe saw the incoming call and turned away.

Panicked, Camille contacted the villa's landline. Marianne answered. "Ms. Hartwell? Chloe's fine—asleep when I checked earlier. Let me verify."

Relief washed over Camille. "Thank you."

Upstairs, Chloe brushed her teeth aggressively as Marianne entered. "Your mother was concerned. Everything alright?"

"Pocket dial," Chloe muttered, avoiding eye contact.

Marianne left, none the wiser.

Chloe exhaled sharply, resentment simmering.

Camille, now wide awake, dragged herself to work exhausted the next morning.

Meanwhile, Damien absentmindedly packed the forgotten divorce papers into his briefcase before their flight home.

"All set," he announced, ushering Chloe into the limo.

Camille remained oblivious to their return.

Two weeks into solo living, Camille relished her newfound peace. That Saturday, sunlight streamed through her curtains as she watered plants. The doorbell rang.

Freya Finch stood there with a basket. "Hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Not at all," Camille smiled.

"Freshly baked goods—my small thanks for saving Maisie from that dog last week."

"You're too kind."

After Freya left, Camille settled with coffee, scrolling through news of Briarwood College's centennial. Alumni photos made her fingers tremble.

She could've been among them.

Impulsively, she drove to campus that evening.

As she wandered familiar halls, a voice called, "Camille?"

At a nearby café, Gabriel Ashcroft poured her tea. "How have you been?"

Camille traced the cup's rim. "Well... I'm getting divorced."

Gabriel paused. "I'm sorry."

"What's next? Returning to the company?"

"I want to, but—"

"The team needs you," he urged. "You belong there."

Camille bit her lip. Six years away from AI's rapid evolution—could she still lead?