Chapter 372
Camille's sudden collapse sent shockwaves through the room. Arnold didn’t hesitate—he scooped her up and rushed to the nearest hospital, his fingers dialing Evadne’s number before he even reached the car.
He knew his sister. If he kept this from her any longer, the fallout would be catastrophic.
The next morning, Evadne stormed into the hospital, Jason trailing behind her like a shadow. Her usually composed face was twisted with worry, her nails digging into her palms.
“What the hell happened?” Her voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. “Since when does Camille have a heart condition?”
Arnold exhaled sharply. “The doctors said it’s mild, but she’s always been fragile.”
A heart condition?
Evadne’s knees nearly gave out. Jason caught her elbow, steadying her before she could collapse.
Guilt gnawed at her. Camille wasn’t just her student—she was family. And yet, Evadne had been blind to her suffering.
The memory of Camille’s phone call the night before flashed in Arnold’s mind. His jaw tightened. “She was upset. That’s what triggered it.”
He’d already told Evadne about their chance encounter, but he’d left out the ugly details. The screaming. The tears. The way Camille’s voice had shattered.
“Upset about what?” Evadne demanded, her eyes blazing.
Camille was sunshine personified. Nothing ever shook her.
Arnold rubbed his temples. “Ask her yourself when she wakes up.”
Jason cleared his throat. “Mr. Ashbourne, you stayed with her all night?”
Evadne’s eyebrows shot up.
Her brother—the man who recoiled at the mere thought of romance—had brought a woman home?
Arnold didn’t flinch. “She needed help.”
Evadne grabbed his arm. “What else happened?”
He flicked her forehead. “Nosy.”
But his pulse betrayed him. Did Camille remember the kiss? The way she’d melted against him?
The door creaked open. A nurse stepped out.
“She’s awake.”
Evadne didn’t wait. She shoved past, her heart in her throat.
Jason lingered, studying Arnold’s flushed face. “You okay?”
Arnold blinked. “Fine.”
Inside, Camille sat propped against the pillows, her skin as pale as the sheets. The morning light made her look ethereal—and heartbreakingly fragile.
“Camille.” Evadne’s voice trembled.
Camille flinched, tucking her IV-laden hand under the blanket.
“Who hurt you?” Evadne demanded.
Camille bit her lip.
“Tell me,” Evadne growled. “I’ll burn them to the ground.”
“It was just low blood sugar.”
“Bullshit.” Evadne grabbed her hand. “You have a heart condition. My brother said you got a call last night. Who was it?”
Camille’s lashes fluttered. “Evadne, please. Some things… I need to keep to myself.”
“No.” Evadne’s grip tightened. “You’re my family. Whoever did this will pay.”
Camille’s breath hitched. “Stay out of it.”
The words were a slap. Evadne recoiled.
When she stormed out, Jason stayed behind. She dragged Arnold to the hospital café, her mind racing.
“It’s her family,” Arnold said quietly, stirring sugar into her coffee. “I looked into it.”
He handed her his phone. The screen displayed a dossier on Camille Evert—illegitimate daughter of Spencer Evert, CEO of a mid-tier real estate firm.
Evadne’s blood boiled. “They used her?”
Arnold nodded. “Those men at the club were business associates.”
Evadne slammed her cup down. Coffee sloshed over the rim. “I’ll handle Spencer. You stay with Camille.”
Arnold hesitated.
“Promise me,” she snapped.
“Fine.”
Her phone buzzed. Cassius.
“Thaddeus will be at the gala tonight,” he said.
Evadne’s stomach twisted. “I’ll go.”
Back in Camille’s room, Arnold found her by the window, her voice shaking with rage.
“I’ve given enough!” she hissed into the phone. “What more do you want? My blood?”
Arnold snatched the phone.
Camille whirled, her tear-streaked face a mask of shock.
“Hello,” Arnold said coldly.
Spencer’s voice dripped with disdain. “Who the hell are you?”
Arnold’s lips curled. “Someone who’ll ruin you if you bother her again.”
He hung up before Spencer could retaliate.
Silence.
Camille stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Arnold cleared his throat. “I had to say something.”
“I know.” She smiled bitterly. “Thank you.”
He studied her. “Do you remember last night?”
Her brow furrowed. “You saved me.”
So she didn’t recall the kiss.
Disappointment curled in his gut.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked abruptly.
“Pasta.”
Arnold rolled up his sleeves. “With eggs?”
Camille’s eyes softened. “Two.”
He grinned. “Done.”
By seven that evening, the pasta was gone—and Arnold’s resolve had hardened.
He wouldn’t let Spencer break her. Not again.