Friday rolls around quickly enough. I don't allow a word of Collin taking me as his date to leak to anyone. I skip school to collect the dress Vivian had put away for me, visit doc for our monthly fixture and then send another deposit to my mother's account.
I didn't tell Linda of my plans; afraid Belinda is paying her extra to pry any details from me. But I still had blackmail over her. No real proof but she didn't need know that. I did wonder if she pitied me, for what I was doing to get the cash to my mother. All to avoid Belinda and my dad from getting to her. There were so many lies spun to keep it together.
If only my mother knew, the people she hated and collectively depended upon had already stopped giving a shit about her. They only used her as a threat now. Maybe I should get her out of the country. Somewhere they won't find her. Then I could join her when all this blows up. If they don't kill me first.
After seeing my dad and Belinda out the door, I hurried to get dressed. The twins were thankfully sleeping over at their friend's, and so they couldn't report back to mommy about what I was up to. I bypassed fancy hairstyles and excessive makeup to greet Collin by 6.20.
When we arrive, no one is acutely aware of my presence for which I was thankfully of. I stick to Collin's side as he greeted a few people at the entrance.
I spot Michael and just in time, he turns, his eyes falling to us. Or me specifically. He frowns, surprise showering his face. He grits his teeth next and clenches his fist discreetly, shoving the hand into his pocket.
That's when I realise. It was him. The association kicked my name of because he made them.
I turn my head abruptly. He saw me, so now he was going to do everything in his power to stop me. Idiot. You had to seek him out like always.
"Camille, you alright? You're cutting off my blood circulation there," Collin gestures with his index figure at my hand clutching his bicep like I would fall if I didn't hang on.
I loosen my hold immediately. "Oops, sorry. Big crowds." He wraps the arm around my waist instead, trying to be the knight in shining armour.
"Don't worry. You're with me. Nothing will go wrong." He then turns his head in Michael's direction but I don't dare look, already knowing the glare awaiting me.
Oh darling you have no idea how wrong it is about to go.
I smile at him, like the damsel in distress I am playing alongside the enigmatic beauty. "Can we sit down?"
"Sure. Let's go." We tread down the spectacular room, passing tables with so many people dressed head to toe in expensive couture, tailored suits and diamonds. Each person at every table had at least a net worth of five million dollars. It was truly amazing.
I was marvelling at everything and sheer magnanimity of being in this room with all this influential people while knowing a secret they all held dear. It was a dream come true in both ways.
The little girl in me, who always wanted to see all this and sit at a table like this with the title of being an entrepreneur, was stunned. She was so close to her dream. She could be here every year. And in the next few years, she could be sitting here as her own person.
Sure this wasn't some conference with all the businesswomen and men, but everyone knew these balls were more high class and exquisite anyway. Everyone showed up here to get to know you. This is where you build connections, a title, and a reputation that travels far.
The tiny dream of mine to be well known, loved and successful took centre stage in my mind now. The glittering chandeliers and velvet clothes, shining champagne glasses and silk dresses. The mingling. Something I hated but wanted so bad, however the introvert in me was always too shy.
But the reality of their wealth sources set in heavier than the amazingness of it. The reminder of who I used to be and what I became knocked me out of the dream.
I was older, smarter and sharper. I was all that I wanted to be. Confident and stylish, but for all the wrong reasons.
The smile slipped of my face. I gulped back my throat dry.
I was here to wreck that dream. For everyone here. And even for myself.
I am here to tear down that illusion, to make sure any oblivious person sitting here, as I could have been, knows what happens behind that curtain the wealthy people protect.
Good god I am dramatic.
I look down at my hands, folded on my lap. I had taken a seat next to Collin and I hadn't even registered it.
These hands used to be so innocent. But now they are made for destruction.
I'm sorry 10 year old me, who still thought she could make a difference.
You can't always make a difference. Because when you try to change something so constant, the backlash is never pretty. But someone has to take blame. Someone has to be there to stand up to them and not back out. Someone has to be the voice of change.
I look up, finally. My hand reaching for the flute of glittering gold in front of me. Across the tables I lock eyes with another pair.
Someone has to be hated.
I take a small sip, not risking the aftereffects. I was here on business. The ice blue pair averted gaze to her husband. He took a look at me too. He mumbled something to his wife, and then blinked. He wonders what I am up to no doubt.
So I might have not been doing this just for the 'change'. This may have started out as revenge. But now it's more about this utter fraud and the annoyance I feel. It's about outing their crimes.
I might as well be labelled an activist on the journals in the coming newspapers and articles. But I know they'll just use the common tag of rebel teenager. Destroy credibility because I'm only a teen. What do I know? Because their dumb little brains hate it when a kid stands up to them.
Let them write. I have a reputation to destroy anyway. In front sit the poor adults that have yet to bear full witness.
This will be fun.
-*-*-*-*-*-
I had sat there diligently, waiting for my time all throughout dinner. It was painstaking. I spotted familiar faces among the crowd but refuse to make eye contact. I feared that could lead to a break in my resolve. I can't have that again.
"How about a dance baby?" I look at Collin's blue eyes, awaiting my response.
"I don't think so darling. I'm not feeling good. I'll just sit here. You should go dance with someone else."
"But I came here with you Camille. I want to dance with you."
"Well, I'm a terrible dancer. And I just don't feel so great," I place a hand on my stomach for emphasis.
He leans close then, "I can make you feel better. Just say the words, and you'll be upstairs with me."
His lustful gaze on my body was clue enough what he desperately wanted from me since day one. While he was absolutely mouth-watering and would be a great score, I was just not feeling it. I didn't find the idea of him and I on a bed that entertaining or even satisfactory. Though I'm sure that thought had crossed his mind more than twice.
Collin's hand snaked its way around my waist, trying to pull me close. He didn't even care whether the others stared, though I was sure they were.
I place my hand on his chest, "I know. And that is just sweet of you. But frankly, I might just hurl on you, if I move."
That gets him to move back.
"Are-"
"I'll be fine I swear." I move my other hand to his shaven face. "You go enjoy. Who knows, maybe I'll be perfectly better by the end of this."
"Really?"
"Honestly. You go ahead." I kiss him on the lips and he tries to shove his tongue through. Just to keep the enigma alive, I bit his lip and back off.
A little short of breath, he looks into my dark eyes, "Later then." He rises, unwinding his arms from me and walks towards the dance floor in search of a partner.
Oh that simpleton. Always just looking for a good fuck.
My eyes leave him and search for the one I need to stop. I find the burgundy clad boy, walking briskly away from the room.
What was he up to?
I get up and follow suit, exiting without being spotted. Out in the hallway, I spot his figure, making a turn at the end of the corridor. Stupid long legs of his.
I hurry after him but once I make the same turn, I find no one. The winding hallway is empty and there were a couple of doors along the left side.
I try the first door only to find it to be an empty storage closet. The next door was the men's washroom, but it was locked. I knock on it.
"Occupied!" the deep voice calls out. Bingo.
"Open up."
The other side is quiet for five seconds. Both of us knew something was going to happen. This wasn't how anything was supposed to play out, but none of us expected to see each other, although I should have. I was too busy riding the waves of triumph.
Only one of us was going to get back to that ballroom with a win under their belt.
A click sounds and the door opens slowly. My eyes rise up to find his dull green ones. The stench of defiance was in the air. He looks down at me, as if searching if I had something to club him with.
I didn't even bother to bring my clutch.
The gap widens and I slip inside. He shuts it quietly and locks it with a bronze key, then shoves the keychain into his coat pocket. I realise then, I had fallen into his trap.
"Are you planning to lock me in here with you?"
"If that's what I have to do, so be it." He folds his arms, as if to be strict.
"Don't you have a speech to give?"
"They won't miss me. They're used to my absence."
"Your integrity diminishes."
He leans against the door, strengthening his security. "I'm Michael Thompson. I think I'll be fine."
I prop myself on the white counter, legs swinging under the dress. "So were you praying to god I'd follow you? Or were going to kidnap me from the table?"
"I was hoping to have a dance with you before the kidnapping actually. Too bad you were dumb enough to follow me."
"Why?"
"A sort of parting gift before you get stuck in here for the next hour or so."
"How sweet."
He raises a dark brow, "I expected at least a little bit of resistance. Did you come here on purpose to be trapped? So you have reason to console yourself as to why you didn't ruin everyone's reputation?"
The mask slips. For a moment, it slips and I don't know why.
Maybe because he might have been utterly and completely correct. Maybe because he was hitting home with the analysis. Maybe because he had voiced the flittering thought at the very back of my mind.
I blink and take a breath in.
"I'm tired." My taut voice mutters the lame excuse. "I know you're not going to move Michael. And I'm impressed. I actually didn't think of you trapping me in here. Guess when you fly too high, you're bound to fall hard."
I close my eyes and lean back against the cool mirror.
Was I really giving up?
I guess, I am.
"Why are you tired?"
Why am I tired? Should I give him the smart reply or the truth?
With my eyes still shut, I reply, "You try keeping up with Collin."
"What does that mean?" he asks, hesitant, curious and loud. I shrug.
"He's quite the handful."
He was frowning no doubt, "Is that double meaning?" Oh the confusion in his voice. The desperation to know. I chuckle. At least I'm stuck here with a joke.
"Why are you laughing?"
"Why are you asking?" I open my eyes to find his hands stuffed in his pockets. "It shouldn't matter to you Michael." I say in a matter-of-factly, moving my eyes to the ceiling away from his scowling face.
"It doesn't." The tightness in his voice seems to imply otherwise. But with him, and his words, you never know.
I felt the need to have the last word. "Thought so." Then I felt the anger rise in me again. "How about that dance?"
"What?" he frowns, absolutely confused. Good.
"I'm not going anywhere. So I want a dance. Might as well actually enjoy the only form of dancing I can manage." I give him a causal shrug. Still he looks suspicious. But under that suspicious gaze was something else. Undetectable something that pulled him close to me.
One foot from me, he raises his hand forward, palm up, exactly like Collin had 20 minutes ago.
Still slightly annoyed he hadn't come all the way to me, I push off the counter, landing on my heels rather stable than I had months ago. I smile to myself in victory before lifting my head up and taking his hand.
The music from outside, filtered through, ever so lightly, and we fell in rhythm to it. My hand wound around his shoulder and he clasped the other tightly. His right hand was on my back, guiding me through the waltz.
The piano notes were ringing in the air, still thick with tension, when he spoke up.
"You're surprisingly decent at this."
I rolled my eyes and hit him lightly on the shoulder. "I've had practice." Not wanting the silence to ensue between us, I continue, "My dad taught me. He would dance with me when I was little, teaching me the waltz. We even tried the salsa once. It was all good until we actually wore shoes. I learned that day, that a heel is a painful thus effective tool."
Michael chuckles, but I don't look up at his face. "Coincidentally, I was expecting you to even use your shoe at me to get out of this."
"I guess it's still not late to." His grip tightens, and I laugh. "I'm just joking. I know when I've lost Thompson."
"Yeah, but you always have some trick up your sleeve to turn the cards your way, even for a millisecond."
"Endearing huh?"
"There are other words babe." His small smile diminishes then, "I wanted to talk with you."
"Aren't we talking right now?"
"Before this I mean. But we were both too angry, so I put it off a lot. Now we have no choice," he shrugs.
I hesitated, "This sounds bad already, so we can make the choice of not talking. I don't mind the silence." Even if it is deafening.
The corner of his mouth lifts, "I know you don't. But I do." We were still moving I realised, still swaying with the music. "I know you heard me that day." My heartbeat picks up and I become irrevocably aware of my sharp breathing. I only hoped he couldn't feel my speeding heart through the layers of silk and netting.
"Which day?" I quirk my eyebrow.
He tilts his head down, "I think you know what day. I meant what I said."
"What exactly did you say?" I let out a little laugh, covering up the nervous lip biting. I brush away my hair, tucking it behind my ear. Everything suddenly felt warm and cold all at once.
"I said, that you are beautiful." I gulp, unable to look away from his eyes. His hand had come up to cup my jaw and I was finding it harder to breath properly. "And I meant it."
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I give an awkward smile then, "Well, of course. I mean, have you seen me?"
He smirks, "I have. And I'm not joking."
I sigh then, "What are you trying to say Michael?"
"That...maybe you and I-"
"No. We went over this. Not happening. You don't even do girlfriends."
"Who said that?" I give him a look. "Why are you so against it C?"
I bit my lip, "Why can't we just make out instead? Its better than complicating it with feelings."
"Great argument, where's the evidence?"
"Did you or did you not have a good time with me without a label holding us down?" I lean closer, trying to take control of this situation before I lost completely and drowned under the emotions.
The music had stopped long ago, but we had lost track of it.
Brushing my lips on his jaw, I murmured, "Give in."
"Haven't I already?" the low whisper sends shivers down my spine.
I lean closer, finally kissing him. He closes his eyes, deepening the kiss, his hands pulling me impossibly close. His rough lips move across mine desperately, urgently, like I was going to disappear. It evokes the spark hiding in my stomach, burning me from the inside.
But I'm hyperaware of everything around us, where we are and what we were doing. My hands move on their own, languid and suave.
All of a sudden, his hand is on my wrist and he's pulling back.
"You sneaky girl-" I knee him quickly and rip my wrist from his hands, still clutching on to the key ring I slipped out from his pocket.
Yes, I did the obvious sneak attack. Fucking sue me bitches. It was the most effective for so many reasons.
"Camille!" he screams in agony.
"Take a dump you asshole!"
I shove him into the stall, picking up my dress and rush to the door. I jam the key into it, thanking the universe that it's the right key when I'm able to turn it. Once I'm out I shut the door with a light bang, lock it and let out a breath. And with it, I bury Michael's words.
I scan the hall with vigilant eyes, glad to see no one present. Without waiting to hear him bang the door, I speed walk out of the hallway and back into the giant hall.
The last speaker before Michael was on the stand, her tone implying the end of her speech. Everyone was laughing and smiling at her jokes about last year. I didn't know what happened last year but looking over to my father he clearly did.
Last year, this time, he was on a business trip. Now I know he was sitting here, beside Belinda Evan, enjoying life's riches while we were cutting costs because his business was staying afloat.
The memories rise up, and I taste the bitterness. It's what ultimately fuels me to stalk toward the podium and walk past the greying woman who just finished.
Thank you dad for the final boost. I could have never done it without you and our selfish ways.
I tap the tiny microphone, pulling it close while narrowing my eyes at the woman who wants to take me out. My glare works and she backs off, not ready to ruin the event's prestige by causing a scene.
Oh honey, you are so fucked.
"Good evening everyone. I'm Camille Sanders as most of you would already know. I'm sorry to interrupt the organised proceeding, but I just have a few important things to say about this very generous foundation."
All the adults suddenly looked alert. I don't even look at the people I do know: Collin, Vivian, Rose, Isaac and Katrina even. Their bodies seem to angle in my direction and their ears strained to pick up on my every word. Me, the teenager that just crashed the event. I give them a poster child smile. Comforting, reassuring and most of all, submitting.
"I had only recently heard about this foundation, The something foundation for orphaned children. As I read about it, it seemed like the most heart-warming resolution, to help these kids without their mothers or fathers." My hand stretched out to the crowd, "What are we without our parents?
"So I wish to congratulate the founders of this great cause and all the donators here tonight. And I do mean congratulate. Because you all are gaining so much more than warmed hearts of joy and the pleasure of helping someone. No."
I pause then. As I neared the ending of the speech I had prepared, the faces in the room turned cautious, questioning. They were all on the edge of their seats, wondering the same question, What does she know?
"No. You all gain the spectacularly incognito way of paying each other off. A money laundering scheme! Or just plain ol' stealing off the donations," my eyes run around the room full of shaken faces. "Maybe it's not all of you. Maybe it's just a few of you. The slimy greedy ones, desperate ones, the illegal ones," I look at the founders, "stealing of this foundation!"
Then the whispers start. The clueless ones start talking, the volume rises. But the ones who know that it isn't a lie, don't move. They sit still barely paying attention to the gossiping ladies and men. They all look at me instead.
So I give them a smirk. The tattletale sign of a proud winner who knows that they grabbed the price, executing everything perfectly to dazzle everyone.
"In fact, I have a few names I'd like to mention. Maybe this way you'd know who to trust and who not to in this society of yours." And at that point I was truly the outsider.
I look at the table of people colluding among themselves. "Here we have the ultimate colluders, Mr Gordon and his partner Mr Vanderson, then Mrs Goldberg from Johns Holdings. And dear Mr T-"
Suddenly, I'm pulled off the raised platform. Someone yanks me out through a side door and I barely get a chance to catch the looks on the faces of everyone one last time. When we stop again, I spot the burgundy cufflinks before looking up at Michael.
His face was red, livid and very expressive about his anger. The hand around my wrist was tight and more bounding than a handcuff.
"You ruined everything!" he shouts, pushing me into an alcove in the wall. I stand my ground a placid expression on my face.
I shrug, "It's what I do Thompson. Everyone knows it."
"You...You didn't have to do that. We could have easily found another option. But you really want to play the bad girl villain." He shakes his head, condemning me, giving up. "You're going to pay for that." The determination on his face was inadmissible. His eyebrows sloped in anger, teeth gritted like a wolf. Anything soft about him had vanished.
Waving my hand I say, "That's what they all say. But I haven't had to pay for anything since I got here." I laugh with realisation and I notice his fists clench. I was essentially signing my death certificate.
"You messed with me Camille. You messed with the Thompson name. You will pay. Mark my words. You'll be burning in hell soon enough."
I smirk, "Can't wait. Hope to see you down there at the stake then. I'll be the one in red sitting on the Devil's throne."
With the final word said, I turn around and leave before he managed to lock me in a fist fight. As if, I think and laugh.
-*-*-*-*-*-
I leave immediately, managing to hail a cab out of there. I silenced my phone as several people called at once. Collin, my dad, Vivian, Francine, Isaac and even Rose and of course Belinda.
But she knew where I'd go after my announcement and soon she was screaming my name from entrance. Still not having changed I left the safety of my room to stare down at her from the top of the staircase.
"You! You little bitch. You ruined everything!"
I gave her my best smile.
"You told me I ruin everything I touch, so here I am. Your ruination."
"How dare you?" she climbed up the steps meeting me halfway. "Why in the world of hell did you accuse so many people of stealing money?"
"Well, I was after you of course when I stumbled across these odd financial statements. Donations, investments, bonuses. It was all very strange. So I did my research and I found evidence It was a shock to find out that a foundation that started in the honest name of Hope Quinn is trashed in the eyes of top executives. Poor old Hope. She must be devasted. And the Van Der Woodsons too.
"I just made the announcement. Gave them the push they needed to search their biggest donors and top handlers. Now they'll see they have sleazy employees and worse friends. Unless your name was said up there, you shouldn't have too much of a problem."
Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. I had destroyed their reputation up there by merely mentioning my name. Whether they were involved in the scheme or not wasn't important, as long as everyone knew I was related to Belinda Evan and Eric Sanders.
"Where's Eric? Finally realised he got married to a loco investor? Or did he piece together that he would be losing his company's reins soon?"
"Don't play smart Camille. You don't know anything."
"So everyone keep telling me. But so far, I've got to know almost too much. Wouldn't you think Garner? Or do you go by Mrs Sanders now? Finally ditch your late husband's name since you already got his riches."
I didn't see it coming of course. Because I didn't think any of my words were working. But the minute I mentioned the late Frank Evan, the slap was inevitable.
The echo of the smack resonates in my ears as my hands fly up to my cheek. My widened eyes stare at her cold blue ones fixated on my face. Her chest heaved with anger and I took a step back up the staircase.
"Oh so now you're scared? Is that what you needed? A real dose of consequences? Punishment? Is that what your mom did to keep your bad attitude in check?"
I bite my tongue as my mind gives me unwanted flashes of my mother's anger directed at me. Those punishments had shaped me, for better or worse.
"Is that what I needed to do to keep you in line?! Why didn't Eric just tell me?" she laughs bitterly, "My life would have been so easy."
"And mine would've have been so much easier if you didn't exist."
"Oh no. It isn't my fault your father was so willing to cheat on your damned mother. How was I supposed to know he had a wife and kid? Hmm? It's not fair that you ruin my life because they ruined yours. I'm just as much a victim Camille. And now you've gone and ruined our reputations."
"You? A victim? Please. You had all the time in the world to get to know him, and enough resources to find all the details. Don't tell me love blinded you from doing a routine background check. No billionaire marries a commoner without a valid reason, and love," I spat out, "is not one of them. You help build his company just to steal it from him."
"It's not stealing; it's called a merge you stupid girl. But what would you know? Its not like you actually learn anything in school when you're causing so much pointless drama."
"Oh fuck off Belinda," I reply with confidence and anger returning to me in full force. "You're just another ruthless businesswoman who slept with my dad for his company."
"And you say that with what proof? You're just an angry kid because her parents divorced. You're mad at the world and I've given you all the resources to ruin my reputation. You're no better than the tabloid writers who call themselves journalists, writing fake stories about how I got to the top. I don't need to hear shit from you.
"And you can consider me ruined, but if you dare utter another word of what you supposedly found to the press, lawyers or judges, that death threat won't remain a threat. Mess with me again, and I'll be aiming for your mother's head next." She backed away with a sneer, "You clearly don't care about your own life."
-*-*-*-*-*-
A/N: ...