Camille's POV

Wendy gave me a cold once-over and said sharply, “You really care more about pride than survival, huh? Fine, since we’re meeting with an investor today and need someone to serve drinks, how about this? I'll pay you seven grand if you help out. That amount should be more than enough for someone like you to live on for an entire year, right?”

After a moment, Kemp finally spoke up. “Camille, your pride is what’s holding you back. You won’t take money straight up, but surely you’d accept payment for honest work, right?”

I almost laughed. The nerve of these two!

“Do you two seriously have nothing better to do?” I said flatly. “I don’t have time to entertain your ‘rich people playing savior’ fantasy. Do me a favor and stay out of my way.”

What a joke.

I had canceled multiple important surgeries just to take three days off and vacation with my son. And now they were asking me to serve tea and snacks? Unbelievable!

My repeated refusal made Kemp’s face go stiff with anger, and even Wendy, who usually all grace and composure, rolled her eyes in irritation.

As such, people nearby started whispering.

“Mr. Stokes, that woman’s both broke and stubborn. You really trust her to serve someone so important?”

“I’d say forget it. If she offends the investor, today’s meeting could go completely south.”

The hotel staff began to panic, too. One of them quickly ran off and came back with security.

“Get her out of here now!” the waiter snapped. “The investor reception is about to start, and the VIP guest from the top-floor presidential suite could be coming down any second.”

He glared at me like I’d ruined everything and continued, “Ma’am, today’s attendees are some of the city’s biggest names. Especially Mr. Smith from Sydney. His wife and kid were also with him. We've never hosted someone of that level before.”

“If this were any other day, I’d turn a blind eye to you digging through the trash. I might’ve even given you some cardboard to sell. But not today. If you cause trouble now, it’ll ruin the hotel’s reputation with elite guests from both cities. And I’m just a staff member, I can’t afford to take that fall. I’m begging you, please just go,” he begged suddenly.

Security, who had been holding back, now stepped in and tried to drag me out.

But I struggled against them. “I can leave on my own!”

Finally, seeing that I was walking away, everyone around us let out a collective sigh of relief.

But then, Kemp suddenly barked at me. “Wait!”

His eyes were locked on the seashells in my hand. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

“Camille,” he said hoarsely, “Why don’t you get it? I don’t need those shells anymore.”

I looked down at the seashells in my palm, and suddenly, memories came flooding back.

It was the year he broke up with Wendy that his family started sponsoring me.

Kemp had completely shut down. Every day, he just sat on the beach, staring at the ocean. No crying, no smiling, just hollow silence, like a ghost of himself.

His mother was worried and asked me to check on him from time to time.

I took that to heart.

I’d sit beside him at the beach for hours, keeping him company without saying much. Just being there.

One day, he got swept up by a wave. Luckily, I pulled him out of the water with everything I had, but I passed out from exhaustion.

He held me and sobbed like a child. And when I came to, I picked up a small shell and handed it to him.

“Kemp,” I’d whispered, “From now on, every time I give you a shell, will you smile for me?”

His eyes were red, but he nodded and smiled.

After that, every time I went to the beach, I’d collect a handful of seashells as I wanted to see him smile a few more times.

So many years had passed. I’d nearly forgotten all about that until he brought it up today.

I stood there, quiet and still, when suddenly Wendy let out a snide laugh.

“Oh, please, Camille. That whole box of seashells in his room? He threw them out years ago.”

She looked at me with mock pity and smirked, “You’re not seriously thinking a handful of childish shells is going to win him back, are you? That was just a little game he played to humor you back then. And you actually believed it all these years?”

Camille's POV

Kemp gave me a sidelong glance, his voice calm and detached. “Camille, Wendy and I are getting married soon. Whatever we had, it’s long gone.”

Uninterested in their drama, I didn't bother to reply. I just turned and headed toward the elevator.

That was when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Just as I reached for it, the waiter snatched it from my hand.

He turned it over suspiciously, eyeing the latest iPhone model with clear contempt. “A phone like this? There’s no way you could afford it. Did you steal it or something?”

I froze, fury bubbling in my chest. I held it in and said slowly, word by word, “That’s. My. Phone.”

Wendy let out a small, mocking laugh, clearly enjoying the show, then gestured to the waiter. “Well, if it’s really yours, then unlock it and prove it.”

I tried fingerprint recognition, but the mud on my hands made it fail. Then I attempted face unlock, but my messy hair kept covering the camera.

I was just about to type in the password when the hotel manager appeared. Without hesitation, he grabbed the phone from the waiter.

“Send it to the front desk and have them check with the guests to see if anyone reported a missing phone,” he said firmly. Then, turning to security, he ordered, “Call the police now.”

Just as the guard reached for his radio, Kemp suddenly spoke up. “Wait. For my sake, let’s just let this go.”

Wendy quickly chimed in, playing the voice of reason. “I’m a lawyer. Stealing a phone of that value can land you at least two years in prison. But clearly,” she glanced at me dramatically, “she’s not in the right mental state. Maybe it was just a moment of confusion—”

“I didn’t steal anything,” I cut her off. “And since you’re a lawyer, you should know false accusations can get you two years too.”

The hotel manager’s face darkened, and he became even more resolute than ever. He signaled the guards to restrain me, then picked up his phone to call the police.

Just then, the elevator doors opened with a soft ding.

A small boy, no older than three, stood inside, his cheeks streaked with tears. The moment he saw me, his little arms reached out and he ran toward me crying.

I crouched down and held out the bag of seashells I’d found for him, but before he could take them, Wendy suddenly slapped them out of my hands.

“Camille! Are you out of your mind? Trying to abduct a child in front of everyone?!”

The boy was startled and burst into loud sobs.

Wendy immediately scooped him into her arms, her voice soft and coaxing. “She’s a bad woman, sweetie. I’ll take you to find your real mommy, okay?”

But my son thrashed in her arms, crying harder. “No! I want Mommy! I want Mommy!”

My heart twisted at the sight of his tear-stained face.

“Let go of my son!” I shouted, fighting to break free.

But the security guards held me down tightly, not letting me move an inch.

Around us, whispers turned into cruel ridicule.

“Crazy woman! Sees a random kid and calls him her son. Someone call the cops!”

“She’s clearly unstable! What if she hurts someone next time?!”

“Mama… Mama…” His tiny hands reached toward me, his voice hoarse from crying.

I forced down the lump in my throat and tried to sound calm, even while struggling. “Don’t cry, baby. Mommy found your seashells. I’m coming, okay?”

Just as our fingers were about to touch, a guard suddenly yanked my arms behind my back and began tying me up roughly.

Then, Kemp let out a deep sigh. He stepped forward, pulled me out of the guard’s grip, and said flatly, “I’ll handle this. Wait for me outside. Once the investor meeting is over, I’ll come and find you.”

He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the exit.

“Let go of me!” I cried. “Kemp, don’t make me hate you!”

I kept looking back. My son was still in Wendy’s arms, sobbing quietly, his lips trembling with confusion and fear.

But Kemp ignored me completely, pulling me along like none of it mattered.

Just then, the elevator doors slid open again, and a tall figure stepped out.

A perfectly tailored beige suit outlined his tall, lean frame, and every movement he made radiated effortless authority and elegance.

The moment he stepped out, the room fell silent.

“Mr. Smith,” everyone greeted respectfully.

I met those deep, piercing eyes, and tears welled up in mine.