Chapter 252: Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty One
The storekeeper picked up the white teddy bear with the pink ears. He carried it over and handed it directly down to Little Camilla.
As soon as the storekeeper gave her the teddy bear, Little Camilla squealed.
"Eeeee!" she squealed loudly, hugging the soft, fluffy white toy tightly against her chest. Her face broke into a glowing smile of joy.
She turned around immediately. She ran to her father and hugged his legs tightly, burying her face into his trousers.
"Thank you so much dad," Little Camilla said happily, her voice muffled slightly against his clothes. She looked up at his smiling face. "I love you."
She turned her head and looked at her mother standing right beside them.
"I love you too, mom," Little Camilla added, her eyes shining with happiness.
Her mother stepped forward. She bent her knees and crouched down gracefully to match her daughter’s small size. She reached out her gentle hands, touched Little Camilla’s shoulders, and leaned forward. Her mother kissed her very softly, right in the center of her forehead.
Her father stepped closer. He reached his large, strong arms down. He scooped Little Camilla off the floor, lifting her effortlessly into his chest.
Little Camilla chuckled with joy. The sound of her happy, carefree laughter filled the bright store.
Her father held her securely in his strong arms. He looked at her happy, glowing face.
Her father spoke. His deep voice was filled with love.
"Anything for my princess," her father said warmly.
Little Camilla rested comfortably in his arms. She held her new white teddy bear safely in one hand. She reached out her other small arm and wrapped it tightly and securely around her father’s warm neck.
Together, the family of three walked out of the bright store. They walked toward the green park outside, ready for family bonding.
~ • FLASHBACK ENDS • ~
The bright lights of the mall vanished instantly. The soft, sweet memory shattered like broken glass.
Camilla was yanked violently back to reality. She was standing in the quiet fabric store in the lower city. The dusty street was right outside the window.
She was no longer that innocent little girl.
Camilla stared blankly through the glass window, but she was not seeing the street anymore.
Suddenly, she felt a small, cold drop of moisture fall onto the back of her pale hand resting on the window frame.
Plop.
Camilla blinked. She looked down at her hand. There was a tiny, clear drop of water resting on her skin.
She frowned deeply. She was confused. There was no way it would rain inside the store. There was no water leaking from the ceiling.
She slowly raised her right hand. She pressed her trembling fingers against her own cheek.
Her skin was wet.
More drops of water were sliding silently down her face, falling from her eyes.
"Why is my face wet?" Camilla asked herself in her mind. Her internal voice sounded genuinely shocked and deeply bewildered.
She rubbed her fingers against her cheek again, feeling the warm moisture.
"Am I crying?" she asked herself, staring at her wet fingertips.
The realization hit her like a solid brick. She was actually crying. She was weeping over a memory of her dead parents and a fluffy white teddy bear.
Instantly, panic replaced her sadness.
In her past life, after her parents had died, she was sent to the orphanage where she escaped and was taken in by a ruthless, brutal organization. She had been trained to be the Black Widow. She had been taught to kill, to hide in the shadows, and to never, ever show a single ounce of human emotion.
Camilla moved with sudden speed. She raised both of her hands. She quickly wiped her tears away. She rubbed her cheeks aggressively, desperately trying to erase the physical evidence of her sadness.
"Tears are a sign of weakness," Camilla scolded herself harshly in her mind. Her internal voice became incredibly strict, cold, and punishing.
She took a deep, shaky breath, forcing her lungs to steady her racing heart. She locked her emotions back into that dark, heavy iron box deep inside her soul.
"And I must never be weak," Camilla stated to herself, her eyes narrowing sharply. "Rule 67."
It was a strict rule from her assassin training.
Rule 67: Never let an enemy see you cry. Never let an emotion compromise your mission. Attachments get you killed. Longing for the past gets you killed. She had to survive.
She lowered her hands. She stood up perfectly straight, making her posture rigid and unyielding.
"I think I am becoming emotionally weak," Camilla said to herself in her thoughts. She felt a deep, genuine fear rising in her chest.
She thought about how she had acted lately. She thought about how she had felt pity for Allen. She thought about how her heart beat faster when Damon smiled at her.
She was softening. The cold, impenetrable armor of the Black Widow was starting to crack.
"I will have to work on that," Camilla warned herself strictly, gripping the fabric of her green dress tightly. "I have to fix this immediately before it puts me in trouble. In this world, weakness means death. I cannot afford to be soft."
She forced her face to become blank, cold, and emotionless. She took one final, slow breath, completely burying the little girl who wanted to hold a teddy bear.
Just as she finally composed herself, she felt a sudden, unexpected physical contact.
A hand reached out from behind her. It touched her right shoulder gently.
Camilla’s reflexes reacted instantly. The unexpected touch shattered her concentration.
She jumped violently in place. Her shoulders shot up, and she spun around incredibly fast, her hands automatically raising in a defensive, fighting posture.
It was Allen.
Allen was standing right behind her, holding his ledger. He had finished his counting and walked over to speak to her.
When Camilla spun around so aggressively, Allen took a small step backward in surprise.
Camilla saw his face. She realized it was not an enemy. She slowly lowered her defensive hands. She placed her right hand flat against her chest, feeling her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
"You scared the shit out of me," Camilla said out loud. Her voice was slightly breathless, and she used her informal curse words without even thinking about it.
Allen blinked his eyes rapidly. He tilted his head slightly to the side.
He was confused by her choice of words. He was a highly educated noble gentleman from a wealthy family. He had never heard a lady of high status use the word "shit" before. It was a very strange sentence that sounded improper.
But Allen was polite. He saw that she looked slightly pale and startled. He decided not to question her unusual language. He simply let it slide.
"I apologize," Allen spoke softly, bowing his head slightly. His voice was calm and respectful. "I was calling your name, but you seemed engrossed in something else, sister-in-law."
He looked toward the large glass window, wondering what she had been staring at so intently. But the street outside just looked like the normal lower city.
Camilla realized she had been caught staring into space. She needed to change the subject immediately before he asked any questions about her wet eyes.
Camilla cleared her throat softly.
Ahem.
She composed herself. She smoothed down the front of her green dress, pushing her shoulders back and lifting her chin proudly.
"It is nothing," Camilla said smoothly, completely waving away his concern.
She looked into his eyes, shifting the conversation back to their work.
"Might I suggest something?" Camilla asked.
Allen pulled his eyes away from the window. He looked at her serious face. He held his ledger firmly against his chest.
"Go ahead," Allen replied politely, nodding his head. He was always ready to listen to her brilliant ideas.
Camilla gestured with her hand toward the massive, clean room behind them. She pointed at the perfectly organized shelves of colorful silk and cotton. She pointed at the resting chairs and the clean floorboards.
"Why wait when the store is ready?" Camilla spoke clearly, presenting her argument. "The inventory is fully stocked. The prices are tagged. The staff is hired and trained. Waiting until the end of the week is a waste of good time and potential profit."
She lowered her hand and looked at him with a determined spark in her eyes.
"I suggest we open tomorrow," Camilla stated firmly.
Allen looked around the beautiful, finished store. He looked at the fabrics. He looked at the young carpenters packing up their tools. She was absolutely right. There was no reason to delay their success any longer. They were fully prepared to welcome the public.
A wide, excited smile spread across Allen’s face. He felt a sudden rush of eager anticipation. He was ready to prove himself to his family.
Allen nodded his head firmly in absolute agreement.
"Very well then," Allen replied. He closed his ledger with a solid thud. "Tomorrow it is."
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