Camela woke up fifteen minutes later, the cold sting of oxygen brushing her nose and a drip taped to her arm. Her head spun for a second as the fluorescent lights sharpened into view.
"Sister, how do you feel?" Alex asked, stepping close. His voice trembled between worry and relief. "You scared me…"
"Alex, help me remove this thing," Kamela muttered, already trying to sit up. "I'm fine. I need to be at Hermes Hospital now."
Before he could protest, she yanked at the drip.
"Sister, no!" Alex grabbed her wrists gently but firmly. "Stop. You just fainted—"
"Let me go." Her voice dropped—cold, forceful, unfamiliar. Each second it grew harder, sharper.
Alex froze. This wasn't exhaustion speaking. This was something else.
With a sudden surge of strength, Camela shoved him. Alex hit the ground, stunned. She tore off the oxygen mask, swung her legs off the bed, and stood.
"No one—" she said, straightening herself, "—can stop me from going to that interview."
She walked out.
Alex stared after her, breath caught in his throat. The last time she'd shown that fiery determination was the year before she married Samson. That bastard. The memory made his jaw clench.
"Miss Pierce, how are you feeling?" Charlie called out as she strode past him.
"Are you going or not?" Camela snapped without slowing.
"Yes—yes, right away!" Charlie stumbled after her.
She climbed into the SUV, and the moment Charlie started the engine, she asked, "Whose car is this?"
Charlie kept his eyes on the road. "Honestly? I don't know. I just grabbed the keys and rushed you to the hospital when you fainted."
Camela blinked. He could lose his jobeverything.
"Charlie, stop the car. Return to Hermes Heights before anyone notices."
"It's fine, Miss. We're almost at Hermes Hospital. I'll return it right after I drop you."
He pulled up at the hospital entrance. Camela stepped out.
"Thank you, Charlie," she said softly far gentler than moments before before hurrying inside.
On the seventh floor, Manuel was struggling to keep his composure.
"Mr. Mersarci, is this all you have to offer?" Director Gura asked, flipping through Manuel's design with clear dissatisfaction. "Your concepts are unique, yes, but they don't speak to the patient. I need something with a silent voice of healing and assurance."
Manuel clenched his jaw so tightly he felt it in his ears. If Gurah wasn't his father's closest business partner, he would have walked out or strangled him.
His team exchanged uncomfortable glances. Manuel's expression was darkening fast.
The elevator chimed.
The room turned.
Camela marched in, slammed her drafts on Manuel's table, and boldly, almost playfully winked at him. Then she handed the hospital and villa designs to Director Gurah.
The director blinked, startled. "You again? Leave before I call security."
"No, you won't, Mr. Gurah." Camela crossed her arms. "Remember our deal."
Silence.
Gurah sank slowly back into his chair. He opened the folder. His eyes widened as he flipped through page after page.
He paused. Looked up at her.
Then kept reading.
Two minutes passed long enough for Manuel to feel something unfamiliar twist in his chest.
Admiration.
Or irritation.
He wasn't sure.
Finally, the director closed the file gently and met Camela's gaze.
"Miss… go ahead," he said, giving her the floor.
Camela stepped forward ,ferocious, composed, and ready.