Chapter 007

TWO YEARS LATER...

As the music blares, the thumping bass vibrates through Camila's every cell. This wasn't her typical hangout—the club—but something about the pulsating lights and the anonymous crowd drew her in. Maybe it was the desire to lose herself, to blend in, and forget her troubles. Or maybe it was the thrill of being in a place where no one knew her, where she could be anyone.

Strobe lights flash, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the crowded dance floor, but Camila was a few feet away from the chaos, swirling a glass of whiskey in her hand like she had no care in the world.

It's a ruse, a way to lose herself.

"You want another shot, beautiful? I got just the thing," a voice purred beside her.

She turned to see the bartender, leaning against the bar, a towel draped over his shoulder. He leaned closer, his face inches from hers.

"I'll mix you a drink that'll make you forget all about your woes, sweetheart," he whispered, his breath tickling her face. "What do you say, gorgeous? Want me to shake things up for you?"

Camila smiled—the kind that tells you don’t mess with me. "Use that tone on me again, and I'll rip your tongue out."

"Woah, you don't have to be an aggressive baby girl." The bartender chuckled, raising his hand in surrender.

Camila's laughter was a low, throaty sound, but it was laced with venom. "Aggressive? You think that's aggressive? You have no idea what aggressive looks like."

She leaned in closer, her eyes flashing a warning. "And don't. Call. Me. Baby. Girl. Again."

The bartender's smile faltered, his hands still raised in surrender. "Okay, okay, no need to get feisty," he said, his tone casual.

Camila's smile grew wider, but her eyes remained cold and hard. "Feisty? You have no idea."

The bartender laughed, intrigued, his hand hovering over the bottle, still staring at Camila. "You know you're quite—"

"Just give me the goddamn whiskey and shush." Camila cut him off.

The bartender's smile faded, and he quickly poured her a shot. "As you wish," he said, and finally slid the glass down the bar.

Camila's fingers wrapped around the glass, her gaze flicking up to meet the bartender's. "Thank you."

"You're a scary woman, you know that?"

"I've been told," Camila said, a reminder that she wasn't a woman to be trifled with. The bartender's eyes held hers for a moment before he nodded, with a small, cautious smile.

"Well, scary woman, enjoy your drink," he said, before turning to serve another customer, his eyes flicking back to hers, as if to make sure she was still there, still watching him.

Meanwhile, Camila let out a sigh, taking a sip of her drink.

Finally, he shushed.

However, the peaceful moment didn’t last long; just as she began to unwind, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out, but the name displayed on the screen caused her to huff in irritation. For a moment, she forgot about the music and the crowd, her hand hovering over the screen.

She wanted to dodge the calls like she always did, but she knew her brother was persistent—he wouldn't stop until he knew she was thriving.

After what felt like forever, she answered the call and didn't let Cole speak first.

"I'm sorry, but the number you're trying to call is unavailable at the moment. Please try again later—"

"Cut it out, Camila. Not this again." Cole interrupted. "I know you're avoiding me, and I know something's going on. You can't just keep shutting me out, Cami. What's going on?" Cole's voice was firm but laced with concern, and Camila could almost picture him pacing back and forth.

She forced a smile, wishing Cole could see it from wherever he was, to convince him that she was okay, that she was thriving, that she had moved on from her trauma. Yet she knew just how futile her attempts were.

"Nothing's going on, Cole. Just drop it, okay?" She protested and grabbed her whiskey from the table and gulped it all at once.

"Camila, are you drinking?" Cole snapped, and again, Camila could picture how his eyes went wide.

"Seriously, can we not do this?" Camila shot back. "You're not my dad; you're my twin, for God's sake. Stop being a parent."

Cole exhaled heavily. "Camila, I care about you....I know you're still hurting."

"Oh please, cut the bullshit, will you? I said I'm fine, I'm happy. I have a new life... so I'm... good..."

"Are you?" Cole repeated, his tone skeptical. "Or are you just saying that to shut me up?"

Camila's lips curled into a sarcastic smile, and she raised her glass in a mock toast, but her eyes betrayed her, flashing with something deeper she didn't want to admit.

"Maybe a little bit of both," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but Cole's sharp ears picked up on it.

"Look, I just called to wish you an early birthday, so... Happy early birthday, sis," Cole said, his tone softening, and for a moment, Camila's defenses faltered. She felt a pang of guilt for snapping at him earlier, and her eyes dropped, avoiding the imaginary gaze of her brother.

"Thanks, Cole," she said, her voice a little softer. "I appreciate it."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Camila knew Cole was waiting for her to open up, to tell him what was really going on. But she wasn't ready—not yet.

"So," he began, his tone shifting to a more serious note, "about next tomorrow..."

Camila sighed, knowing what was coming. "Cole, I’m not coming back."

"Camila, It’s been two years. And it’s our birthday. We always celebrate together."

"I know," she said, her voice filled with regret. "But... I can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

"Don’t say that," Cole interrupted. "You’re strong, Camila. You’ve been through so much. You said you're fine, so to prove it, you have to return home, or is it about—"

"It’s not about him, Cole," she said, her voice rising slightly. "It’s about me. I need this. I need to be here, away from... everything."

"But I miss you," Cole pleaded. "I want you home."

Camila didn't respond, while Cole, on the other hand, went silent as though expecting her to say she missed him too. But Camila's heart was set... and there was nothing he could do to change it.

"I'm sorry, Cole. I said I'm not coming, and I'm not coming. Bye bye."

"Camila, don’t you dare hang—"

"See you later, bro. And it's not Camila; it's Hazel. Get my name right," she said and immediately ended the call, her eyes fixed on the phone screen.

It showed her reflection—what she had become. The cold and calculating gaze that stared back at her was a far cry from the bright-eyed and carefree housewife she used to be.

For a moment, she was lost in the depths of her own eyes, once blue but now brown. The blonde hair was stripped away, replaced by chocolate brown—the perfect look she wanted. This is the person she had become.

Hazel. A new face that hid her pain, her vulnerability, but it seemed to slip, and now it was just a glimpse of the broken and fragile woman she had been trying to keep hidden.

She chuckled, slipping her façade back on. "Camila sucks, but Hazel doesn't..." She smirked, raising her glass in a silent toast to her alter ego. "Hazel can handle her liquor and her life," she said, turning to the bartender. "Another round, please."