SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

The car rolled up the long driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Alexander sat motionless in the passenger seat, his face a mask as he stared at the mansion ahead. Camille drove, giving him the freedom to absorb the sight of his childhood home after seven years away.

"We can still turn around," she said softly.

Alexander shook his head. "No. I need to do this."

The Pierce estate stood proud against the autumn sky, all gray stone and tall windows. A place built to show wealth, not to give warmth. Two figures waited on the wide front steps, Eleanor and Edward Pierce, standing close yet somehow apart.

"They look nervous," Camille observed.

"Good." Alexander straightened his tie, a gesture Camille recognized as his way of gathering strength. "They should be."

She parked near the entrance, turning off the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy.

"Remember," she said, taking his hand. "Whatever happens in there, I'm with you."

Alexander's fingers tightened around hers. "The last time I walked out these doors, I was nineteen and they told me not to come back until I 'saw reason.' Until I stopped 'slandering' my brother."

The bitterness in his voice made Camille ache for the young man he'd been, wounded, betrayed, alone.

"Let's go," he said, opening his door before she could respond.

The air smelled of cut grass and autumn leaves as they walked toward the house. Eleanor took a half-step forward, then stopped, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles shone white. Edward stood rigid, his face unreadable beneath his silver hair.

"Alexander," Eleanor said, her voice trembling slightly. "Thank you for coming."

Alexander gave a curt nod, offering nothing more.

"Please, come inside," Edward said, his deep voice less steady than Camille had expected.

Alexander took her hand as they followed his parents into the house. The entrance hall loomed vast and cold, marble floors and high ceilings creating an echo chamber. Family portraits lined the walls, generations of Pierces staring down with identical blue eyes. Camille noticed the most recent portrait, a younger Alexander standing behind his seated parents, James at their side. Alexander's eyes lingered on it as they passed.

"We can sit in the library," Eleanor suggested, leading them down a hallway.

The library felt warmer than the rest of the house, lined with books from floor to ceiling. A fire burned in the massive stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on leather chairs and heavy wooden tables. It looked like a room where people might actually live, not just exist for show.

"You've kept it the same," Alexander said, the first words he'd spoken since entering.

Eleanor nodded. "It was always your favorite room."

Alexander moved to the window, looking out at the manicured gardens. His shoulders were tense under his tailored suit.

"Would you like something to drink?" Edward asked, moving to a sideboard where crystal decanters gleamed in the firelight.

"No." Alexander turned to face his parents. "I didn't come here to pretend this is a social visit."

Edward's hand paused above a decanter. Eleanor sank into a chair, her eyes never leaving her son's face.

"No," she agreed. "You came because we have things that need saying. Things that are years overdue."

Camille stood quietly by the door, giving Alexander space while remaining close enough for support. This was his battle, his pain to navigate.

Edward moved away from the drinks, standing behind his wife's chair. "Son, we know words aren't enough. What we did was unforgivable."

"Yet here you are, asking for forgiveness," Alexander said coldly.

"Not asking," Eleanor corrected. "Not expecting. Just... hoping. Someday."

Alexander laughed, a harsh sound that filled the quiet room. "Seven years of silence, then four years of letters and calls I never answered. And now you hope?"

"We were wrong," Edward said, his voice cracking slightly. "We chose to believe what was easier, not what was true. We failed you as parents."

"Yes," Alexander agreed. "You did."

He moved away from the window, walking the perimeter of the room. He stopped

at a shelf, touching a small bronze sailing trophy tucked between books.

"You still have this," he said, surprise softening his voice momentarily.

"I've kept everything," Eleanor said. "Your trophies, your school reports, newspaper clippings about your company..."

"Does that make you feel better?" Alexander's hardness returned. "Collecting mementos of the son you threw away?"

Edward flinched. "We deserve that. And worse."

"Yes," Alexander agreed again. "You do."

He picked up the trophy, studying it as if it belonged to someone else. "Do you know what I've accomplished since I walked out of this house? Since you chose James over me?"

Neither parent answered.

"I built Pierce Enterprises from nothing. No family connections, no Pierce money, just my own intelligence and determination." Alexander's voice grew stronger. "I became a trillionaire without a single call or message of support from either of you."

Eleanor's eyes filled with tears. "We tried to reach out after James died. All those calls, those letters...."

"Too late," Alexander cut in. "Four years too late. After James wrapped his car around a tree, drunk again, just like the night of our accident. After he died." He set the trophy down harder than necessary. "After he was gone and I was all you had left."

Edward moved from behind Eleanor's chair. "We were wrong to shut you out, Alexander. When James died, the truth hit us like a tidal wave. Everything you'd said was true. All those years lost because we couldn't face it."

"And I couldn't face you," Alexander said, his voice tight. "Not after all that time. Not when your reaching out felt like second place. Always second to James, even in death."

Eleanor wiped tears from her cheeks. "We don't blame you for shutting us out. We earned that."

Alexander moved to the fireplace, watching the flames. "Did he tell you before the crash? That he was driving that night years ago? That he was drunk then, too?"

Eleanor nodded. "Yes. The week before his accident. He'd been carrying that guilt for years. He said he'd tried to tell you too, but you wouldn't see him."

"He came to my office," Alexander confirmed, his back still to them. "I sent him away. Told him it was too late for apologies."

"And then he died," Edward said quietly. "And we finally understood the weight you'd been carrying alone all those years."

Alexander turned to face them. "How did that feel? To know you'd chosen the wrong son? To know your golden boy had been lying all along?"

Edward's steps were unsteady as he approached his son. "Like dying every day. Like knowing we'd done something that could never be repaired."

Alexander watched his father approach, his face giving away nothing.

"I'm not asking you to forgive us," Edward said, stopping a few feet away. "I'm just asking you to know that we've lived with our mista every day since James died. That we would give anything, anything, to go back and change what we did." Cóntent

"You can't," Alexander said simply.

"No." Edward's shoulders slumped. "We can't."

Silence filled the room, broken only by the crackling fire. Camille watched the three of them, Alexander rigid with years of pain, his parents bent under the weight of their guilt.

"I built my life without you," Alexander said finally. "I learned to stand alone. To trust my own judgment when everyone told me I was wrong. In some ways, what you did made me stronger."

He glanced at Camille, something softening in his expression. "And I found people who believe in me. Who stand by me no matter what."

"We're grateful for that," Eleanor said, looking at Camille with genuine warmth. "That you found happiness despite us."

Alexander moved to a leather chair,

sitting down slowly. It was the first time he'd relaxed his stance since entering the house. "I didn't come here topunish you. I've realized that carrying this anger hurts me more than it hurts you." noveldrama

His parents remained still, barely breathing, as if afraid any movement might shatter this moment.

"I can't forgive you. Not yet." Alexander's voice grew quiet. "But I think..... I think I can learn to. Someday."

The hope that bloomed on Eleanor's face was painful to witness. "That's more than we deserve."

"Yes," Alexander agreed. "It is."

Edward took another step toward his son. "Can we... would it be possible to know you again? To hear about your life, your work? Your wedding plans?" Alexander looked at his father for a long moment. "Small steps. A dinner, perhaps. In a month or so."

Eleanor pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to contain her emotion. Edward nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Alexander stood, straightening his suit. "I won't pretend we can go back to being a family. Too much has happened. But we can try to build something new. Something based on truth this time."

"That's all we ask," Edward said, his voice rough.

Alexander moved to Camille, taking her hand. "I'm ready to go now."

As they walked toward the door, Eleanor called after them. "Alexander? The engagement party Victoria Kane is hosting. Would it be... would we be welcome?"

Alexander paused, looking back at his mother. "I'll think about it."

Outside, the

autumn air felt cleaner somehow, easier to breathe. They walked to the car in silence, leaves crunching beneath their feet. Behind them, the mansion seemed less imposing now, just an old house filled with painful memories.

"Are you okay?" Camille asked as they reached the car.

Alexander looked back at the home he'd grown up in, at the window where his parents stood watching.

"No," he said honestly. "But I think I will be."

He opened Camille's door, then walked around to the passenger side. As they

drove away, he didn't look back again.

"I told them I couldn't forgive them yet," he said after they'd turned onto the main

road. "The truth is, I'm not sure I ever can completely." "Forgiveness isn't a single moment," Camille said. "It's a process. I'm still working on it with my parents."

Alexander reached for her hand across the console. "Does it get easier?" "Yes," she said. "When you stop expecting it to erase what happened and start seeing it as a way to free yourself."

They drove in silence for a while, leaving the wealthy neighborhood behind.

"I told them we might have dinner. In a month." Alexander sounded surprised at

his own words. "I'm not sure where that came from."

"From hope," Camille suggested. "The part of you that's always wanted them to see the truth. To choose you."

Alexander looked out the window, watching the world pass by. "I was so angry for

so long. It became part of who I am."

"And now?"

"Now..." He considered the question carefully. "Now I'm just tired. Tired of carrying

it all. They were wrong. Terribly wrong. But holding onto that anger hasn't hurt

them, it's only hurt me."

As the distance between them and the Pierce estate grew, Camille felt Alexander's tension gradually ease. He wasn't ready to forgive, not fully. But he'd

taken the first step on a path he'd thought forever closed to him.

And sometimes, that first step was the only one that truly mattered.