Page 48 of Corrupt Vows

I unconsciously hold my breath, waiting for him to lash out, but he nods at the doorman and leads me inside in silence. He greets my father with cool respect as though he didn’t just trash him to his own daughter and then, to add insult to injury, hands said daughter to him in mock expectation.

The layers of deceit and animosity stack on top of my head and exacerbate my headache. I greet my father with enough poise to rival royalty. My mother would be proud if she were here.

They dismiss me without fanfare. I stand alone in the foyer for a few minutes, willing my heart to beat again, and head up the stairs when I don’t feel like shattering into a million pieces anymore. With each step, I gather my shields around me and reinforce them as best I can.

Nico ruined my sense of security and abandoned me. The past twenty-four hours catch up with me, and I stop to brace myself on the hall table at the top of the stairs.

He knew exactly what buttons to press, didn’t he?

I square my shoulders and shove my emotions into tidy little boxes in my mind, knowing the practice won’t last, but willing to do anything to prevent my meltdown just a little longer.

Two fully laden food trays sit on the floor outside of Camilla’s room. Both are cold.

It’s almost dinnertime.

I knock. No one answers, so I crack the door open.

“Camilla?”

All the lights are off. Water runs in the bathroom, but it’s not the heavy rush of the shower. I push into the room and turn on the overhead lights. Fear squeezes my heart as I notice the empty pill bottles lying on the bed and side table, but I breathe easier when I round the corner of the bed and find pills scattered all over the floor.

“Camilla?”

I call out my sister’s name and rush into the bathroom. Smears of blood line the counter. The sink spits out water at full power. I turn off both the hot and cold handles and fight through a surge of nausea as I eye the blood-soaked hand towel on the floor.

I follow the trail of blood to the water closet. Bloody hospital grade disposable underwear overflow the trash can. Crimson stains the toilet seat.

“Camilla!”

Panic sharpens my senses. I rush to the only room left—her walk-in closet—and halt in the doorway as terror sweeps through me. Camilla lies balled up in the corner on her side, partially hidden behind the hanging clothes. I dart around the jewelry stand, bench, and hatrack and drop to my knees beside her.

She’s wearing the same long, flowy shirt she wore to my engagement announcement, which was only yesterday but feels like a lifetime ago, but no pants.

When I call her name and she doesn’t respond, terror and panic tunnel my vision. I scream her name again and roll her over.

Her pale face and blank eyes shrivel my soul, but she blinks, and relief pours through me as I realize she isn’t dead.

“Oh my god, why is there so much blood? Camilla don’t go to sleep. Stay awake. I’ll call nine-one—”

She knocks my phone out of my hand with a weak, uncoordinated slap.

“No,” she croaks.

“You’re bleeding. We need—”

“It stopped. I’m fine.”

I open my mouth to argue, but she closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“I’m tired, Senny,” she whispers.

The defeat in her tone drops a rock into my stomach.

“Don’t go to sleep, Cams. Tell me what happened.”

She shakes her head again. I pinch her chin and tap her cheek before checking her limbs. Her cast and fingers have blood all over them, but her thighs have a thicker coating of red.

“I couldn’t do it,” she whispers.

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