Kamila's heels echoed down the dim hallway of the building in the older part of the city. No marble floors, no glass walls—just cracked paint, old carpet, and a security camera that didn't even turn. Chris had made the arrangements. This was where she'd find the best of the best—if she could convince them to help her.
When she pushed open the door, the scent of old coffee and printer ink hit her nose. A few heads turned, eyes narrowing as they caught sight of her designer coat and sharp demeanour. It wasn't every day a CEO walked into a rundown private investigation office looking like she belonged on a magazine cover.
A man seated at the centre desk didn't even bother to stand. "Can I help you?" he asked flatly.
"I'm looking for George Tamer," Kamila said, adjusting her coat.
"That's me."
"I have a case," she said, stepping further into the room. "And I need it handled discreetly."
The office erupted into low chuckles. One of the younger guys whispered something, and another laughed openly. George didn't join in, but he leaned back in his chair with an unimpressed expression.
"Lady, we don't do PR clean-ups," he said. "Whatever scandal's chasing your shiny new business, you'll have to take it up with your press team."
Kamila didn't flinch. She reached into her bag and pulled out a thin, black envelope. She placed it gently on the desk.
George raised a brow. He opened it slowly. His eyes widened just slightly as he flipped through the contents—photos, contracts, an access badge, and a check. A very generous check.
He whistled low. "You're serious."
"Dead serious," Kamila said. "Someone in my company covered up an abuse case. They tampered with CCTV footage. I need to know who. I need to know when. And I need it fast."
George's crew had gone quiet. He glanced up at her, then down at the envelope again.
"You're not scared of what you'll find?"
"I'm scared of letting it fester."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he stood, offering his hand.
"Alright, Ms. Vernz. You've got yourself a deal."
Back at his desk, George plugged in the drive containing the CCTV footage Kamila had managed to get. His eyes scanned the timestamps, watching for any signs of unusual cuts. Kamila stood behind him, arms crossed.
"There," he pointed. "That's a jump cut."
She squinted at the screen.
"See how it goes from 12:02:17 to 12:07:03? That's five minutes gone. Clean slice. Someone knew what they were doing."
Kamila's throat tightened. "So it really was tampered with."
George nodded. "And not by some intern, either. This was deliberate. Strategic."
Kamila's fists clenched. Rage pulsed through her. Not only had the abuse happened under her company's name, but someone inside had tried to cover it up. The deeper she went, the uglier it became.
"Go home," George said, turning off the screen. "You look like you haven't slept in days. Let me dig. I'll find the leak."
"I can't," she muttered.
"Yes, you can," he said, his voice firmer. "You hired me. Trust me to do my job. You've got a kid, right?"
Kamila looked away.
"Go to him."
The city was quiet by the time Kamila's driver pulled up outside her home. Her mansion stood tall and silent, its lights dimmed, its warmth waiting.
She stepped inside, her heels silent against the marble. The scent of lavender lingered in the air. She hadn't been home in days. Her room was untouched, her bed still neatly made. But the real ache pulled her toward the hallway—toward Callum's room.
She pushed the door open gently.
There he was. Her little boy. Curled beneath his blue comforter, his small fists clenched around his pillow, his brows furrowed. He was mumbling in his sleep, tossing lightly.
"No… don't go…"
Her heart cracked.
She rushed to his bedside, kneeling down. "Callum," she whispered. "It's okay. Mommy's here."
He twitched, then whimpered softly. She gently ran her hand across his forehead, brushing away his sweat-dampened curls.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I should've been here…"
The tears came before she could stop them. Hot, silent, shuddering sobs. She cradled his little hand in hers, kissing his fingers as guilt poured from her chest.
She had been so focused on Cinz, on revenge, on survival… that she had forgotten to be present for the one person who truly needed her. Her son.
"I promised I'd never leave you," she murmured. "And I broke that."
He stirred again, but this time, his features relaxed slightly. As if her presence alone brought him peace.
She didn't leave his side. She sat there on the floor, her head resting against his mattress, her hand never letting go of his. The moonlight filtered in through the window, casting soft shadows across the room.
In that moment, Kamila Vernz wasn't a CEO, or a woman with a vendetta, or a business mogul drowning in scandal.
She was just a mother.
And she was tired.
So very, very tired.
But as her eyes finally closed—cheek pressed against her son's bed—she knew something with absolute certainty.
No matter how dark the storm, she would fight through it. For her son. For herself. For the future she was still trying to rebuild.
And this time, she wasn't fighting alone.