Swapping a Broken Heart for a New Start novel Chapter 382

Why… why did everything have to change just when things were finally starting to look up? Out of nowhere, Camila Davis was suddenly revealed as the heir to a legendary medical legacy—the protégé of the Miracle Doctor himself! Overnight, her status skyrocketed. She’d jumped up several rungs on the social ladder, just like that.

Even the Smith Group—usually untouchable—would have to think twice before crossing her now.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Camila was supposed to be my rival, my stepping stone. She was never meant to outshine me, to be so dazzling, so… untouchable.

Maybe it was the stress of tonight’s charity gala, or maybe it was the humiliation of thinking about my own precarious standing in the Smith family, but the realization hit Sandra Taylor hard. She could already imagine Jordan Smith’s parents looking at her with disappointment. After tonight, her position in Harrisburg’s high society would never be the same.

Sandra could barely think straight. All she could see was Camila’s infuriatingly calm face.

It's all her fault. That wretched woman! If only she didn’t exist!

Fueled by blind rage, Sandra snapped. Before anyone could react, she lunged forward and shoved Camila hard.

“Watch out!”

No one had expected Sandra to lose it and get physical—not even Camila herself. Caught off guard, Camila stumbled backward, heels skidding on the polished floor.

Directly behind her, a towering champagne pyramid—glass after delicate glass stacked in a sparkling display—waited like a trap. Camila’s back hit the table. The entire tower wobbled, then crashed down with a spectacular shatter.

Glass exploded across the floor. The crowd gasped in horror, some people ducking away, terrified they’d get caught in the flying shards.

Camila, thrown off balance in her high heels, flailed for support. But there was nowhere to grab, and she was teetering on the edge of disaster—about to fall right into the sea of broken glass.

“Camila!” Walter Wilson called out, panic in his voice as he rushed toward her.

“Camila!” Mr. Morris shot up from his seat, alarm written all over his face.

“Oh God, this is a disaster…”

“Poor Ms. Davis…”

Guests whispered, some squeezing their eyes shut, dreading the bloody spectacle that seemed inevitable.

Camila’s heart plummeted. She could barely keep her footing—her heels were slipping, her ankle twisting. She braced herself for the pain.

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