Chapter 16 #3
He nodded, though she couldn’t see him. Yes. It would come. It was part of his future plans with Camille.
For now, they could play tourist in California. Public places. Daylight. Space. Safety.
He reached for his phone and called Tiffany, instructing her to cancel the jet. When he hung up, he scrolled to Camille’s name. He was about to tap Call when a message flashed across the screen.
Ray: What is this?? Have you seen this??? Call me urgently!
Aaron frowned and opened it.
A photo.
He squinted.
Why was Ray sending him a photo of Camille as Aradia? That was old news. Shadow Peak was old news. They had been through all of that already. What was his problem now?
He shook his head. When it wasn’t one thing, it was another with Ray. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever work with him again. Not the worst producer—but dramatic. Always dramatic.
He tapped Camille’s name again.
Before he could press Call, his phone rang.
Ray.
Aaron stared at it for a few seconds, debating whether to ignore him. But they were still making a movie together. This could be important.
He answered.
“Hello.”
“Aaron. Did you see my message?” Ray sounded breathless. Agitated.
“Yeah. Wasn’t sure what it was about though.”
“Did you know about this?”
“About what?”
“That Camille just filmed additional episodes of Shadow Peak.”
Aaron laughed. A sharp, dismissive sound. “What? That’s ludicrous, Ray. Where would she have found the time?”
But even as he said it, a chill crept up his spine.
“I am told she did it the last few days after her scenes on Esther ended.”
The room seemed to tilt.
This explained everything.
Her disappearance.
How he could never reach her when he called.
How, when she returned his calls, she spoke in hushed tones.
How she couldn’t meet when he asked—always an excuse.
How she couldn’t tell him what she’d been doing these last few days.
A surprise she had said. What kind of a sick surprise was this?
“Aaron! Are you still there?”
“Yes. Yes. I—I don’t know what to say, Ray. I’m as stunned as you are.”
Ray launched into a furious rant. He couldn’t believe he’d been deceived. Fooled by her Christian act. What were they going to do now? How would they sell this to Christian audiences? What damage control would be necessary?
But Aaron barely heard him.
Ray’s voice receded into background noise.
At another time, he would have said, I told you so. He would have reminded Ray that he had warned him about her past. Rubbed it in.
But he couldn’t.
Because he was the one who had been duped.
He was the one who had fallen for Camille like a fool. Believed every word. Trusted her. Loved her—head over heels.
He was the one who deserved to be laughed at. Not Ray.
Eventually, he forced the words out.
“Ray, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later.”
And he ended the call, staring at the wall as everything he thought he knew began to unravel.
~*~*~*~
Rita settled beside Camille on the sofa, leaning in as though she were about to share a delicious secret.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into,” she began, her eyes already sparkling. “Your father.”
Camille stilled, though she kept her expression neutral. There was something unmistakable in her mother’s tone—an energy she hadn’t heard in years.
“At an event last week,” Rita continued.
“We got to talking. And Camille… he looked good.” She laughed softly.
“He asked me to dance. You know what a charmer your father is. Women were eyeing him all night—I didn’t like that one bit—but he planted himself right next to me and didn’t move the entire evening. ”
Camille arched a brow, watching her.
“And when he finally asked me to dance…” Rita shook her head, smiling at the memory. “Still the same. Smooth. Confident. We made quite a show on that dance floor. Honestly, it felt like old times.”
Camille glanced toward the door, then at the neatly packed suitcases waiting beside it. Aaron was supposed to be there any minute. She had told Rita she didn’t have much time, but that hadn’t stopped her.
And now this.
She hadn’t expected her father to stay away from her mother forever—not really. Ever since Rita had thrown him out four years ago, there had always been that flicker between them when they crossed paths. Something unresolved. Something stubbornly alive.
Still… hearing Rita like this unsettled her. Her father hadn’t changed, so what sense did it make trying to start over with him.
Her mother looked beautiful—effortlessly so.
At fifty, Rita still turned heads. Silky black hair cascading over her shoulders, dramatic lashes framing her large brown eyes, gold hoops catching the light with every movement.
Today she wore wide-legged white trousers and a silk halter blouse tied at the front, bangles chiming softly at her wrist.
She had come to discuss a script.
Instead, she was reminiscing about Carlo.
“He told me he stopped by to see you the other day,” Rita added casually. “Said you weren’t very welcoming.”
Camille’s gaze sharpened. “Are you about to lecture me? Because I’m not in the mood. You, of all people, should understand why I wasn’t welcoming.”
Rita lifted a hand. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to feel angry.”
“I’m not angry, Mom,” Camille said quietly. “I’m tired. I don’t trust him. And you shouldn’t either.”
“I know exactly who he is,” Rita replied. “He’s not perfect. But who is? He’s still got good qualities.” A small pause. “I’m meeting him for lunch.”
Camille shrugged. “Fair enough. Listen, not to change the subject but I have something to tell you,” she said.
Rita’s expression shifted. “What?”
Camille hesitated, then told her everything—Simon’s lawsuit, how it threatened Esther, her reluctant agreement to the Shadow Peak episodes.
Rita’s reaction was immediate.
“What?” she snapped. “I’m your manager, Camille. I should not be hearing about this after the fact.”
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Camille said, shaking her head. “I felt cornered. I didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t… my best moment.”
Rita’s anger softened as quickly as it had come. She leaned back, exhaling.
“Well… it’s over now, isn’t it?” she said, her tone shifting toward relief. “The lawsuit is behind you. That’s what matters.”
Camille stared at her. “It doesn’t feel like a win.”
“No?”
“I deceived Aaron, Mama.” Her voice dropped. “I don’t feel good about that.”
Rita waved a hand lightly, dismissing the weight of it. “Oh, sweetheart, it’ll be fine.”
Camille frowned. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Rita said, leaning forward again. “Look, I don’t think I ever told you the story about your grandfather, Afonso.”
Camille straightened slightly. “What about him?”
Rita’s tone shifted—lower now, more reflective.
“He wasn’t always the man you knew. In his youth… he was involved with Comando Vermelho. One of the worst gangs in Rio.”
Camille blinked. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t want you to see him in a bad light,” Rita said with a small shrug. “But you’re old enough now. Mature enough.”
She continued, her voice steady but threaded with something heavier.
“He grew up with nothing. His parents were killed when he was young. He was practically a street kid. Joining them… it felt like survival. They offered him power, protection, belonging.” She paused. “But it cost him pieces of himself.”
Camille found herself leaning in despite everything.
“Then he met your grandmother, Helena,” Rita said, a soft smile touching her lips. “She was a good Catholic girl. Volunteered at a community center in a favela. He showed up one day—rough, guarded—but protective of the children. And she saw something in him. Something worth saving.”
“And she loved him,” Rita continued, “but not blindly. She told him the truth. If he wanted a real life, he had to leave that world behind.”
Camille’s voice was quieter now. “Did he?”
Rita nodded slowly. “Yes. But walking away wasn’t simple. When he told them he was done, they came after him. They didn’t let people leave.”
Camille’s stomach tightened.
“They caught him,” Rita said. “Brought him to their leader. And instead of killing him… he gave him a choice.”
“What kind of choice?”
“One last job,” Rita said. “A hit.”
Camille’s breath caught. “On who?”
“A rival gang leader.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Did he do it?” Camille asked.
Rita held her gaze. “Yes.”
Camille leaned back, stunned.
“And after that,” Rita went on, “he ran. They still came after him. He had to flee Brazil—fast. Mama went with him. Even though she was angry… she understood. She stayed. Through everything. Sleeping in bus stations, hiding, crossing borders with nothing.”
Camille stared at her mother. “What does this story have to do with me and Aaron?”
Rita reached for her hand. “What I’m saying is this—people make impossible choices when they’re trying to escape something. Your grandfather did. And he still found redemption. He still built a life. A good one.”
She squeezed gently.
“You made a hard decision to break free of your past. Aaron will see that. Just like my mother saw my father’s heart, Aaron will see yours.”
Camille swallowed, her throat tightening.
“I hope so,” she said softly.