The Waitress With a PhD Who Silenced a Arrogant And Rude Billionaire
Chapter 15
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The rest of Camille's shift passed in a blur. She served other tables, collected other tips, smiled other smiles. But part of her mind was somewhere else, replaying Theodore's words:Empty shell. Nothing more.On the bus ride home, those words wouldn't stop echoing. She stared at her reflection in the window, seeing a woman in a burgundy uniform, her hair pulled back, her eyes tired. Was that all she was now? A servant? Nothing more?No. She had to believe that wasn't true.At home, her mother was already in bed. Camille checked on her, making sure her medications were laid out for morning, then retreated to her own room. She opened her laptop and pulled up her dissertation. The words on the screen blurred as tears filled her eyes. She'd written this. She'd researched and analyzed and created something meaningful. She was more than a waitress, more than Theodore Lancaster's punching bag. But knowing that and feeling it were two different things.Her phone buzzed: a text from Bethany.You okay? You seemed off tonight.Camille typed back:I'm fine. Just tired.Another buzz, this time from James:Lancaster's the worst. You're a saint for dealing with him.She didn't feel like a saint. She felt like a coward, someone who took abuse because she had no other choice.Camille closed her laptop and lay down on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The bright streetlight outside cast patterns across the white paint, the same pattern she'd been staring at for months. She thought about Paris: about the Sorbonne library with its high ceilings and walls of books, about the apartment she'd shared with two other students (tiny, but full of laughter and debate), about the professors who respected her mind, valued her contributions, saw her as an equal.That woman felt like someone from another lifetime.A sob caught in her throat. Camille pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to stay quiet so her mother wouldn't hear. But the tears came anyway—hot and bitter and exhausting. She cried for the life she'd lost, for the dignity Theodore was slowly stripping away, for the woman she used to be and the woman she was becoming.When the tears finally stopped, Camille felt hollow, empty, just like Theodore had said. But beneath the emptiness, something else stirred—something small but stubborn, a tiny voice that whispered:This isn't forever. This isn't who you are. Hold on just a little longer.Camille closed her eyes and held onto that voice. It was all she had.The next morning, her mother's condition took a turn. Gloria woke up dizzy and nauseous, her blood sugar dangerously low despite taking her medication. Camille called the doctor, who adjusted the prescription and warned that they needed to monitor her more closely."These medications are keeping her stable, but they're expensive," the doctor said over the phone. "Is cost going to be an issue?"