SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan) novel Chapter 226

Chapter 226

Victoria Kane stepped out of Kane Industries at precisely 6:30 PM, flanked by two security guards who had been assigned to protect her after James's direct threat. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the sidewalk as her black sedan waited at the curb, engine running, ready to take her to meet Camille for dinner at their favorite restaurant.

Camille emerged from the building seconds later, her own security detail creating a protective barrier around her as she moved toward the car. The past twenty-four hours had been exhausting - coordinating with the FBI about the manhunt for James, visiting Alexander in the hospital, implementing new security protocols for everyone James had threatened.

"Ready?" Victoria asked as Camille approached the sedan.

"More than ready," Camille replied, sliding into the back seat beside Victoria. "I need a normal evening after everything that's happened."

The security guards performed their final check of the vehicle and surrounding area before taking their positions in the escort car that would follow them to the restaurant. Everything appeared routine, professional, secure. Victoria's head of security had assured her that James Whitfield would not be able to get close to them with these precautions in place.

Victoria's sedan pulled away from Kane Industries and merged into the heavy Manhattan traffic. The escort car followed at a discrete distance, maintaining visual contact while avoiding the appearance of an obvious security convoy.

Neither Victoria nor Camille noticed the utility van that had been parked across the street for the past three hours, or the way it smoothly joined the flow of traffic behind the escort car.

"How's Alexander feeling?" Victoria asked as they drove through midtown.

"Better. The doctors say the sedative is almost completely out of his system. He should be discharged tomorrow morning." Camille's voice carried relief mixed with lingering fear. "Victoria, I keep thinking about what would have happened if he hadn't activated that emergency alert."

"Don't think about it," Victoria said firmly. "Alexander survived because he was smart and prepared. That's what matters now."

But even as Victoria spoke reassuring words, she felt tension coiled in her chest like a spring. James Whitfield had already proven willing to commit murder. The fact that he had failed to kill Alexander didn't mean he would give up - it meant he would be more desperate and dangerous than ever.

The sedan turned onto Fifth Avenue, heading toward the Upper East Side restaurant where they had reservations. Traffic was heavy but moving steadily, and Victoria began to relax slightly as they put distance between themselves and the business district where James had last been seen.

That's when everything went wrong.

The utility van accelerated suddenly, swerving around the escort car and ramming into the side of Victoria's sedan with devastating force. The impact sent their car spinning across two lanes of traffic before it slammed into a parked delivery truck.

Victoria felt her world explode into chaos - the screaming of twisted metal, the sharp crack of breaking glass, the acrid smell of leaking fuel and deployed airbags. Her head struck the side window with enough force to leave her dazed and bleeding.

"Camille!" Victoria called out, her voice weak and disoriented.

"I'm here," Camille replied, but her voice sounded strange, muffled. Victoria could see her daughter slumped against the opposite door, a thin line of blood running down her forehead.

The escort car had been forced to stop by the collision, and Victoria could see her security guards jumping out of their vehicle, weapons drawn, shouting into their radios for backup. But they were too far away to help immediately.

The doors of the utility van opened, and three men in tactical gear emerged. They moved with military precision, ignoring the chaos of the traffic accident and the approaching security guards. Two of them carried what looked like riot control weapons, while the third held a device that Victoria recognized with growing horror as a gas dispersal unit.

James Whitfield stepped out of the van's passenger seat, no longer bothering to hide his identity. He wore a bulletproof vest over his expensive suit and carried himself with the confidence of someone who had planned every detail of this operation.

"Victoria Kane," James called out, his voice carrying clearly over the noise of the accident. "It's time for our final conversation."

One of James's men fired a canister through the sedan's broken window. Victoria heard the hiss of escaping gas and immediately tried to hold her breath, but it was too late. The chemical filled the car's interior within seconds, and Victoria felt her consciousness slipping away even as she tried to reach for Camille.

The last thing Victoria saw before the sedative took full effect was James's face pressed against the car window, smiling with cold satisfaction.

"Sweet dreams, Mrs. Kane. When you wake up, we'll finish what my father started twenty years ago."

---

Alexander sat in his hospital bed, impatiently waiting for the doctors to complete his discharge paperwork, when his phone buzzed with an emergency alert. The message was from Kane Industries security: "Code Red. Principal assets compromised. Immediate response required."

Alexander's blood turned to ice as he read the brief details. Victoria and Camille's sedan had been attacked on Fifth Avenue. Both women were missing. The security escort had been neutralized with riot control gas. No sign of the attackers or their vehicle.

Alexander threw off his hospital gown and grabbed his clothes, ignoring the protests of the nurse who had been monitoring his recovery. He had to get to the scene immediately. He had to find Camille and Victoria before James could carry out whatever he had planned for them.

By the time Alexander reached Fifth Avenue, the area was swarming with NYPD vehicles, FBI agents, and emergency responders. The twisted wreckage of Victoria's sedan sat in the middle of the street like a monument to James's escalation from corporate sabotage to direct violence.