CHAPTER 3 Secrets

　　Camila's hands shook as they dragged a suitcase from beneath the bed, her fingers fumbling with the clasps. She threw it open with more force than necessary, the sharp snap of the locks mirroring the crack in her heart. Her tears fell freely onto the fabric lining, each one a silent testament to her shattered dreams.

　　"Stupid," she muttered to herself, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "So stupid to have trusted them."

　　The room echoed with the rustle of clothes being yanked from hangers and drawers, items she had once shared so generously with Layla now reclaimed in a whirlwind of hurt and haste. Camila paused, holding a delicate silk blouse up to her chest- a blouse that Layla had borrowed and paraded around in as if it were her own, soaking up compliments like they were her due.

　　"Remember this?" Camila could almost hear Layla's honeyed voice, dripping with feigned innocence. "Oh, Camila, you're such a lifesaver. I have nothing to wear for tonight's event, and this is just perfect!"

　　With a bitter laugh, Camila tossed the blouse into the suitcase. It wasn't just clothes Layla had taken; it was attention, affection, trust- everything Camila held dear, Layla had reached out with her perfectly manicured hands and snatched away.

　　"Always the damsel in distress, weren't you, Layla?" Camila's voice cracked as she folded a pair of jeans with more force than needed. "And I played right into your little game, every single time."

　　She recalled how Layla had spun tales of hardship, painting herself as the overlooked stepdaughter who needed just a bit more love, a touch more understanding. How easily everyone, including Camila, had fallen under her spell, offering comfort, support, and resources- all the while, Layla had been plotting, conniving.

　　"And I let you," Camila whispered, zipping up a side pocket with a decisive motion. "I defended you, even when my friends warned me. Said you were just adjusting, that we needed to be a family."

　　But family didn't betray family. Not like this. Not with such calculated cruelty. Camila's vision blurred again, but she blinked the weakness away. There was no room for tears now, only the cold clarity of betrayal and the resolve to escape it.

　　"Guess I was just another stepping stone, huh, Layla?" The sassy edge that usually defined Camila's tone was dulled by grief, but it still carried the weight of her realization. "Another rung on your ladder to the top."

　　With every item packed, Camila shed another layer of vulnerability that had made her an easy target. By the time the suitcase was full, she felt lighter, not just from the material weight but from the unburdening of her soul.

　　"Goodbye, Layla," she said to the empty room, her voice now steady and sure. "Enjoy your hollow victory. I'm reclaiming my life."

　　Camila zipped up the last compartment, her movements now purposeful and free from hesitation. She wouldn't look back; she couldn't. There was nothing left for her here but the echoes of deceit and the shadows of a love that had never truly been hers.

　　A thud echoed in the room, jolting Camila out of her bitter reverie. She turned sharply towards the sound, her heart skipping a beat. Amongst the disarray of packing, a book lay splayed open on the floor, having tumbled from the overstuffed shelf.

　　"Great," she muttered, scooping it up with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "Now even gravity's conspiring against me."

　　Her fingers brushed over the cover, feeling the familiar embossing, and without thinking, she was about to toss it into the box for charity. That was when she noticed the paper sticking out, a corner bent from the fall. Instinctively, she pulled it free, expecting to find one of her countless design drafts forgotten in the haste of her departure.

　　"Wait a minute..." Her brow furrowed as she unfolded the document, her eyes quickly scanning the header. It wasn't her elegant script that greeted her; these were cold, hard figures, graphs, and names she shouldn't know - competitors to Blake's company.

　　"Of all the dirty..." Her voice trailed off as the depth of betrayal sunk in. The pieces clicked together like a puzzle she had been too blind to see before. This was espionage, corporate theft nestled among her sketches and swatches. Had Blake used her all along? Was this why he had been so insistent on her using this particular bookshelf for her work?

　　"Unbelievable," she hissed, her mind racing. Should she confront him? Use this as leverage? Her hands trembled with a cocktail of rage and uncertainty. What game had she been an unwitting pawn in?

　　The shrill ring of the phone sliced through her turmoil, making her jump. She eyed the caller ID with a mixture of apprehension and longing before swiping to answer.

　　"Hey, Dad," she greeted, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear as she sank into an armchair, its fabric still smelling faintly of cardboard from the recent move.

　　"Camila, mija, I was thinking you could come home for dinner tonight." His voice held the familiar warmth that had always been a balm to her spirit. "It's been too long since we've seen you."

　　She pictured the opulent dining room, the table set with crystal and fine china, and Layla's smirking face at the other end. Her stomach clenched. "I'd love to, Dad, but there's a mountain of work waiting for me here. The company needs my full attention right now."

　　"Is this about Layla?" Concern laced his words. "You know you don't have to avoid coming home because of her."

　　"No, no, it's not just about Layla," Camila lied smoothly, her voice steady even as it betrayed none of the chaos churning within her. "I really am swamped with work. But rain check?"

　　"Of course, mi corazón. Whenever you're ready."

　　"Thanks, Dad. I'll talk to you soon." Ending the call, Camila let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Avoiding Layla was only half the truth; the mere thought of sitting across from her, playing nice while knowing she thrived on Camila's heartbreak, was unbearable.