Chapter 132

Chapter 132

The sun felt warm on her skin.

Camilla closed her eyes, savoring the long-missed breeze.

The sunlight chased away much of the darkness clouding her mind. She even started planning the composition for her next painting.

She wanted to paint sunflowers. Morning sunflowers still wet with dew, just opening their faces to the sun. Vibrant and alive, without a trace of despair.

Just then, a strange man appeared under the trees nearby.

He wore an oversized black coat, a baseball cap pulled low, and a black mask covering his face—wrapped up tight.

He stood behind a thick camphor tree, staring hard at Camilla in her wheelchair.

The man's hand slowly slid inside his coat, gripping a metal folding knife.

The blade caught the light, flashing cold and sharp.

He tugged his cap lower and crept toward Camilla, step by step.

The garden was silent except for the rustle of wind through the leaves.

Camilla pulled out her phone, opened WhatsApp, and found Atticus's profile.

She held down the voice message button.

"Atticus, I've been thinking—we should go with that spot in the South District Cultural Arts Park for the studio. The rent's a bit higher, but the art scene there is strong. Perfect for exhibitions."

She released the button. Message sent.

Atticus replied quickly with a text: [Focus on getting better. I'll handle the location scouting. Don't worry about it.]

Camilla looked at the screen, a faint smile touching her lips.

Her caregiver Briar, seeing Camilla in good spirits, rubbed her hands together and approached. "Ms. Lavien, are you thirsty? I can run to the vending machine and get you some hot milk."

Camilla nodded. "Thank you, Briar."

Briar turned and headed toward the nearby vending machine.

The four bodyguards were stationed at the four corners of the garden, each about forty feet from Camilla.

It was a brief but critical gap in coverage.

The man in black seized the opportunity.

He burst from behind a bench and charged toward Camilla's wheelchair at full speed.

As he ran, he frantically tore off his mask and cap.

Beneath was a young face twisted with madness. Bloodshot eyes. Pure insanity.

This was one of Serena's extreme fans—the one with hundreds of thousands of followers who'd led the cyberbullying campaign against Camilla, who'd threatened to send her funeral wreaths.

"Bitch!" The man's voice cracked into a shriek that shattered the garden's quiet. "You destroyed Serena! You're the one who put her in jail!"

He gripped the four-inch folding knife tight, its point aimed straight at Camilla's chest.

"You evil women—Serena was so kind she wouldn't even step on an ant! She has depression and you still pushed her like this!"

He ran and cursed, his heavy footsteps pounding the grass.

"Why do you get to sit in the sunshine while Serena suffers in a holding cell! I'll make you pay with your life!"

The sudden attack caught everyone off guard.

The bodyguards at the four entrances went pale.

"Stop!"

"Get down!"

All four men sprinted toward her.

But they were too far away.

Flowerbeds and landscaping blocked the path. The lead bodyguard vaulted over a planter's edge, rolling as he landed—his ankle twisted, costing him two precious seconds.

Briar had just bought the milk. She turned, saw what was happening, and her hands went slack. The hot milk hit the ground. She collapsed, screaming.

Camilla sat in her wheelchair, watching the maniac charge at her with the knife.

She wanted to move.

But her body was too weak. She didn't even have the strength to stand. Her legs were pinned to the footrests, useless.

She gripped the armrests with both hands, trying to wheel herself backward, but the brake was locked. The chair wouldn't budge.

There was no escape.

The knife's point grew huge in her vision.

Camilla closed her eyes in despair.

Images flashed through her mind like a slideshow.

Caspian's bloodshot eyes.

Holden clinging to her leg, calling her Mommy in that sweet voice.

Ollie's tear-streaked face just moments ago in the hospital room, begging for forgiveness.

She wasn't ready.

She'd just clawed her way back from death's door. She'd just started to see a path forward. She couldn't die at the hands of a lunatic.

In that split second—

A violent rustling erupted from the bushes nearby.

A small figure shot out like a missile, moving so fast it stirred the air.

Four-year-old Ollie's expensive clothes were torn to shreds by branches. His face was streaked with mud and scratches.

He'd waited until Theodric zoned out in the living room, then snuck out of the villa. He'd run all the way back to the hospital, following the route from memory.

He'd been hiding in the bushes, too scared to come out, afraid Camilla was still angry at him. But when he saw someone running at her with a knife, his body moved before his brain could catch up.

"Don't you touch my mommy!"

Ollie's voice cracked into a raw scream.

Fear didn't even register. He threw his short little arms wide and hurled himself in front of Camilla's wheelchair.

His tiny body became a shield between the sharp folding knife and Camilla.

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaving his back exposed to the crazed man with the knife.

The dull sound of the blade sinking into flesh echoed across the quiet garden.

Ollie's small body jerked backward, slamming against the wheelchair's footrest.

Blood poured out instantly, soaking through his dirty, expensive clothes.

"Ollie!"

Camilla's scream tore through the air, raw and broken.

She tried to reach for him, but her arms had no strength left.

Terror and agony ripped through her already fragile nerves.

"Mommy... it doesn't hurt..."

Ollie's face went deathly pale. His small hands pressed against his stomach.

He looked up at Camilla, trying to smile, but tears streamed down his cheeks instead.

"Ollie!" Camilla's stomach twisted violently. Her vision went black.

She swayed and toppled from the wheelchair, hitting the grass hard.

Her cream-colored wool hat tumbled off.

She lost consciousness completely.

"Die! All of you die!"

The fanatic yanked the bloody knife free and lunged at Camilla again.

But the four bodyguards finally reached them.

The lead guard's flying kick caught the man square in the back.

He screamed and flew several feet, the folding knife clattering to the ground.

The guards swarmed him, pinning him to the grass.

"Let me go! I'm doing what's right! Serena is innocent!" The man thrashed wildly, still screaming curses.