The Unexpected Saviour

The Unexpected Saviour


Camila's POV

It had been over thirty-five minutes, and Elias was still nowhere to be seen. My calls wouldn’t even connect... the network was so bad. Sitting cramped inside the car, I felt suffocated. I needed air, badly. But stepping out? Not an option. The media was already having a field day with my viral photos and videos. Facing them again felt like walking straight into a lion’s den.

This was the kind of distraction I didn’t need, not now. Not when I was digging for the truth Edward had buried so carefully for years. Not when my late parents still hadn’t gotten the justice they deserved. And certainly not when Edward had sealed every possible knot that could lead me closer.

As though on cue, my phone rang. The name on the screen made my stomach twist into a knot. Frederick. That cunning fool.

I swiped to answer, my voice carrying zero patience. “You think you’ll get away with this?”

His laughter oozed through the speaker, loud and mocking. “I’m so, so sorry, dear sister-in-law,” he drawled before breaking into another round of obnoxious laughter, like this was all a stand-up comedy show.

“I wish you’d choke on that laughter,” I muttered, gritting my teeth.

He faked a coughing fit, wheezing dramatically, like the lunatic he was. Then, just as suddenly, he dropped his next dagger. “This is only the beginning, Camila. I wonder what Asher’s face will look like when I finally give in to the media’s invitation for an interview. Imagine his ‘perfect wife on camera’ being exposed for begging me to sleep with her.” His cruel laugh echoed again, and I could even hear him slapping his legs in amusement.

Unbelievable. This man was a total loser.

Without another word, I ended the call, tossing my phone onto the driver’s seat. My face was buried into my arms, and the frustration poured out. “Fuck you, Frederick!” I screamed, slamming my fists against the steering wheel again and again until the sting in my hands finally matched the one in my chest.

There are barely four months left on this marriage contract with Asher, and I have no tangible proof against Edward. Yet here I was, dragged into Frederick’s childish power games. My goodness, was there no end to this madness?

The car felt even smaller, like the air itself was pressing against me. I needed to breathe. Grabbing a face cap from the backseat, I shoved it on and stepped outside.

The cold night air slapped against my skin, and for a second, the emotion came in waves… loneliness, exhaustion, that creeping heaviness that made it feel like I was fighting the entire world alone.

I missed my mum so much it hurt. In moments like this, I’d have run straight to her. I’d tell her everything—how much I’d been holding on, how heavy it all felt—and she’d cup my cheeks, whispering those soft, steady words: “Everything’s going to be fine, my baby.” But now she is gone. The thought made my eyes sting, and this time, I let the tears fall freely.

That’s when I noticed it. A taco vendor across the street. Tacos… my favourite street food back when I was still in Pahrump. The sight tugged an unexpected smile from me. What were the odds?

Wiping quickly at my tears, I walked over. “Can I have some tacos?” I asked, mustering a smile.

The vendor looked up, a little too long, and something in his eyes made me uneasy. “Sure,” he smirked. “How many bucks?”

“Fifty,” I replied, already imagining sinking into that familiar flavour, comfort food for a messy heart.

He wrapped them up, I paid, and headed back toward the car, my excitement ridiculous over tacos of all things.

But halfway across the lot, I froze. A cluster of reporters was walking straight toward me.

No. Not again.

My eyes darted back to the vendor. He dropped his gaze quickly, but it was obvious. He’d recognised me and had tipped them off. Shit.

Panic flared. Tugging my cap lower, I quickened my pace. But they closed in fast.

“You’re Mrs Camila, right?” One voice pierced through.

Another shouted, “Why did you cheat on Mr Asher?”

“Did Mr Frederick promise you a share in his company? Was that why you slept with him?”

Their voices overlapped like daggers from every direction, each question colder and harsher than the last.

I pushed through desperately, clutching the brim of my cap, but there were too many. And then one reporter went too far: “Did you also play your ‘mum’s dead’ card at Mr Frederick to get him into your bed?”

What? My blood boiled. That crossed every line.

I couldn’t take it anymore. My hands flew to my ears, blocking their cruelty. My knees buckled, and I dropped to the floor, sobs wracking through me as the flash of cameras exploded all around. They took their pictures shamelessly, feeding off my breakdown.

The weight was unbearable. At that moment, all I wanted was to run to Asher, rip up this contract that had brought nothing but pain, and leave this twisted circus behind. To go back to the normal life I’d once known.

But it was too late for that. Too late to quit when I’d already vowed to see this fight to the bitter end.

I wiped at my tears with trembling hands, abandoning the tacos that had felt like a lifeline only minutes ago. Struggling to my feet, I braced myself to face the mob again—until suddenly, warmth enveloped me.

A jacket draped over my shoulders. Strong arms steadied me.

I turned. And there he was.

Asher Reyes.

The almighty himself, looking maddeningly irresistible in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His piercing grey eyes locked onto me like a hawk watching its prey, sharp and unrelenting. My heart skipped. Why did I suddenly feel so small, so… different?

The reporters pounced immediately, swinging their attention toward him.

“Are you in support of your wife’s actions?”

“Given your feud with your brother, should we expect a divorce?”

Their voices shrilled, merciless, the kind that made me question if any of them were ever really born of a woman.

“Asher,” I whispered through my tears, barely audible.

He didn’t answer. His jaw flexed, his gaze burning with an anger I couldn’t decipher. Was it for me? Or for them? Or both?

“Let’s get you home,” he said finally, low but firm, stepping between me and the mob. His presence was a shield, his anger a wall.

And just like that, for the first time all night, I didn’t feel quite so alone.