Chapter 1: The Woman Camille Threw Into the Pool
Camille Laurent smiled as Sophie hit the water, and for one glorious second, she believed she had just reminded an entire room of wealthy people who mattered and who did not.
Dozens of guests stood beneath crystal chandeliers on the terrace of the Laurent family’s lakeside estate, their champagne glasses suspended halfway to their lips. A string quartet fell silent. Somewhere near the bar, a woman gasped.
Sophie surfaced slowly.
Her white server uniform clung to her body. Wet strands of dark hair covered her face, and one of her black shoes floated several feet away.
Camille laughed.
“This is where a waitress belongs.””
A few guests exchanged uncomfortable glances. Nobody moved to help Sophie.
Nobody, that was, except an elderly woman near the terrace doors, who took one uncertain step forward before Camille snapped her fingers at a nearby employee.
“Get her a towel. And make sure she doesn't drip all over my father's marble.””
The employee hurried away.
Camille adjusted the diamond bracelet on her wrist. At twenty-eight, she had perfected the art of making cruelty look like entertainment. Her father owned Laurent Estates, a luxury property empire that had hosted politicians, celebrities, and European royalty. Camille had grown up believing that money did more than buy beautiful things.
It bought permission.
And tonight, she intended to prove it.
Sophie gripped the pool ladder and climbed out.
Water streamed from her sleeves onto the pale marble. She retrieved her remaining shoe, set it beside the other, and looked directly at Camille.
There were no tears in her eyes.
That seemed to irritate Camille more than any insult could have.
“Are you deaf?”” Camille demanded.
“I said this is where you belong.””
Sophie wiped water from her cheek.
“No,” she replied quietly.
“I heard you.””
“Then apologize.””
“For what?””
The question landed like a slap.
Camille stepped closer, her perfume cutting through the smell of chlorine.
“For embarrassing me. You were standing too close when I told you to move, and you knocked into me.””
“I was carrying a tray when you pushed me.””
“You're accusing me of pushing you?””
“I'm describing what happened.””
Several guests suddenly became fascinated by their drinks.
Camille turned toward them.
“Did anyone see her stumble into me?””
Silence.
She smiled triumphantly.
“That's what I thought.””
A young man in a navy suit shifted uncomfortably. His name was Daniel Reeves, and he worked as an associate director at Laurent Estates. He had watched Camille shove Sophie with both hands.
He opened his mouth.
Camille looked at him.
“Daniel, remember who signed your promotion last month.””
His mouth closed.
Sophie noticed.
She noticed everything.
The elderly woman who had tried to intervene finally approached with a folded towel.
“Here, darling,” she said.
“You must be freezing.””
“Thank you,” Sophie replied.
Camille rolled her eyes.
“Margaret, please don't encourage her. She's staff.””
Margaret Whitmore, a retired judge who had known Camille's father for thirty years, looked at the younger woman with open disappointment.
“Being staff doesn't make someone less human, Camille.””
Camille's expression hardened.
“And being old doesn't make you relevant.””
A collective murmur swept through the terrace.
For the first time that evening, Camille seemed to realize that she might have gone too far. But instead of apologizing, she reached for a champagne flute from a passing tray.
“Fine. If everyone is going to be so sensitive, let's get back to the party.””
She raised her glass.
“To the future of Laurent Estates.””
A few guests lifted their glasses cautiously.
Camille turned back to Sophie.
“You can finish your shift in the kitchen. Actually, no. You're fired. Security will escort you out.””
Sophie folded the towel neatly over her arm.
“I'm not leaving yet.””
Camille blinked.
“Excuse me?””
“I need to speak with the event manager.””
“You need to learn your place.””
Sophie walked past her.
The event manager, a nervous man named Peter Collins, stood near the main entrance, speaking into a headset. He was responsible for the evening's logistics, the catering staff, and the security arrangements.
Sophie approached him with the calmness of someone asking for directions.
“Mr. Collins?””
He glanced at her soaked uniform and frowned.
“Yes? What happened?””
“Please move every vehicle from the front entrance. I need the driveway cleared.””
He stared at her.
“Ma'am, this is a private event.””
“I understand.””
“Then you understand that you can't issue instructions to my staff.””
Sophie reached into the waterproof pocket sewn inside her apron and removed a phone.
Camille, watching from across the terrace, burst into another laugh.
“Is she calling her mother?””
Sophie ignored her.
She dialed a number.
“It's Sophie,” she said when someone answered.
“Bring the cars around.””
A brief pause.
“Yes. All of them.””
She ended the call.
Peter stared at her as if she had just announced that she owned the lake.
“Who exactly did you call?””
“You'll see in a moment.””
Camille marched toward them.
“This is ridiculous. Peter, get her out of here.””
Peter looked between the two women.
“Miss Laurent, I'm trying to—”
“Trying to what? She is a waitress. I pay your salary. She doesn't.””
Sophie turned her head.
“Actually, Camille, you don't pay his salary. Your father's company does.””
Camille's smile vanished.
“How do you know my name?””
Sophie gave her a small, unreadable smile.
“Everyone here knows your name.””
“That isn't an answer.””
“No,” Sophie agreed.
“It isn't.””
Then the low rumble of engines rolled across the grounds.
Every head turned toward the gates.
One black luxury sedan entered the driveway, followed by another, then another. Behind them came two dark SUVs and a long limousine. Their headlights swept over the hedges, illuminating the Laurent family crest carved into the stone pillars.
The lead car stopped directly before the terrace.
A chauffeur stepped out and opened the rear door.
An impeccably dressed man emerged, followed by two security officers carrying black leather document cases.
Peter's face drained of color.
He recognized the silver crest on the sedan's door.
Morel Héritage.
The international investment group preparing to acquire Laurent Estates.
Camille's father had spent six months negotiating that transaction. His company's survival depended on the deal closing before the end of the quarter.
Camille took an involuntary step backward.
“What is this?”” she demanded.
Sophie removed the towel from her shoulders and handed it to Margaret.
Then she faced the terrace.
“My name is Sophie Morel.””
A champagne flute slipped from someone's fingers and shattered against the marble.
Sophie continued.
“My family owns Morel Héritage. And before tonight, I intended to approve the acquisition of your family's company.””
Camille's lips parted.
For the first time in her life, she had no insult ready.
Sophie glanced at the shattered glass, then at the woman who had pushed her into the pool.
“But after what I've seen tonight,” she said, “I think we need to discuss a few things before anyone signs anything.””
The man who emerged from the limousine approached Sophie and lowered his head respectfully.
“Miss Morel, your father is waiting on the telephone. He says the board is ready for your decision.””
Sophie accepted the phone he offered.
Then she looked directly at Camille.
May you like
“Tell my father why I should still save your family's company.””
And for the first time that evening, Camille understood that the woman she had thrown into the pool might be the only person capable of destroying everything she owned.
