Chapter 9 - THE AFTERMATH IN BOSTONThree hundred miles north, in a dreary, rain-slicked neighborhood of Boston, Camille Duval sat in a dimly lit espresso bar, stirring a lukewarm cappuccino with a plastic straw.
The sapphire pendant around her neck was gone—pawned four months ago to pay for overdue rent on a cramped studio apartment she shared with a roommate she barely knew. The designer clothes, the VIP galas, and the promises of a high-society life with Julian Whitfield had vanished like smoke in a hurricane.
The television mounted above the espresso machine was playing a financial news segment.
"...and in tech news today, Vance Neural Dynamics announced a record-breaking third-quarter earnings report, solidifying CEO Nora Vance’s position as one of the most influential innovators in modern defense technology..."
Camille stared at the screen, her chest tightening with bitter resentment.
A woman sitting at the next table over leaned down, scrolling through her phone. "Hey, did you see this article about Julian Whitfield's mother? Apparently, Margaux is living in some cheap public housing complex across town. Total fall from grace. Can you imagine going from Boston elite to absolute zero overnight?"
Camille didn't answer. She looked down at her reflection in the dark, swirling surface of her coffee.
She remembered the day at the airport—standing beside Julian, watching Nora board that one-way plane, feeling a smug sense of superiority as she touched the sapphire at her throat. She had thought she was stepping into a crown.
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Instead, she had stepped onto a sinking ship, hand-selected by a man whose entire existence was built on borrowed time and stolen genius.
The barista called out an order. Camille stood up, grabbed her coat, and walked out into the cold New England rain, pulling her hood tight against the wind, finally understanding the true cost of being a placeholder for a man who had nothing left to give.
