Del Sol Valley,
Starlight Boulevard Cemetery

The funeral, held at one of Del Sol Valley’s exclusive cemeteries, was a solemn yet grand affair. Blaine Cameron’s status as a legendary figure ensured the event was far from private. Despite the family’s attempts to maintain discretion, the media frenzy surrounding Blaine’s passing was unavoidable. From the moment the news broke, reporters and photographers had swarmed, eager to capture every detail of this high-profile day. The cemetery gates were lined with paparazzi, cameras flashing incessantly as the Cameron family gathered to bid farewell to the patriarch of their empire.

The Camerons, dressed in immaculate black designer attire, cut striking figures against the backdrop of the sprawling crypt where Blaine was laid to rest alongside his wife, Scarlett, and his parents. Blaine’s children—all VIPs in their own right—stood united, though tension ran just beneath the surface. Vivien Cameron, the eldest and once a world-famous pop icon known as “ViVa,” remained stoic beside her husband Liam, a powerhouse attorney. Blake, a retired actor grappling with health challenges, looked frail but dignified. Caitlin and her novelist husband Heath held hands discreetly, their decision to step away from the spotlight years ago evident in their subdued presence. Fallon, bold and outspoken as ever, stood next to Bear, her husband and business partner. Blythe, quieter by nature, remained close to her husband Jensen, who had long served as Blaine’s trusted attorney. Gavin and Bianca, glamorous socialites from the upscale coastal city of Brindleton Bay, added an air of effortless refinement to the gathering.

Beyond the immediate family stood a sea of Camerons—spanning four generations and nearly 100 strong. From elders leaning on canes to infants cradled in their parents’ arms, the extended family formed an impressive crowd of mourners. They had come from across the country and even abroad, uniting in grief and remembrance for the man whose legacy had shaped their lives. Among them were several royals, including Blaine’s granddaughter, Aria Grace, the Queen Consort of Henfordshire, whose husband, King Maximilian Cromwell, had accompanied her. The dignified royal guards stationed discreetly throughout the cemetery added a quiet but unmistakable formality to the occasion. Despite their numbers, the tight-knit group maintained a composed dignity, their sorrow palpable as they joined in honoring Blaine.

As the Camerons filed out of the cemetery, a fleet of sleek black limousines awaited them—a carefully orchestrated caravan to escort the family back to Cameron Mansion. The limousines gleamed under the bright Del Sol Valley sun, their polished exteriors reflecting the flashes of paparazzi cameras and the chaos of reporters crowding the gates. Security teams, managed by Fallon and Bear’s world-renowned protection firm, ensured the family’s safe departure, forming a barrier between the Camerons and the relentless press. Fans and onlookers peered over barricades, desperate for a glimpse of the grieving VIPs, while helicopters hovered above for aerial shots of the procession winding through Del Sol Valley’s lush streets.

But even the most meticulous security measures couldn’t account for every breach. As the family approached the waiting limousines, a paparazzo managed to slip through the barricades, his camera slung over one shoulder as he darted toward the Camerons. “Do you have a comment about the tragedy?” he shouted, his voice cutting through the controlled chaos. “The world lost one of its greatest stars and—”

Before the security team could intercept him, Fallon waved them off, her sharp bob bouncing as she stormed forward. Her voice, raw with grief and fury, rang out. “We just lost our dad, you asshole!” she spat, grabbing the man’s arm in a swift, practiced motion. In an instant, she had him immobilized, her grip unrelenting. “Do you wanna comment on my Louboutin up your ass or my knee in your balls? FUCK OFF, you tasteless idiot! We are fucking mourning here!” With a final shove, she sent him sprawling back over the barricade, where he landed hard on the pavement.

The crowd gasped as Bear stepped in, his towering frame and calm authority cutting through the tension. He waved in a few of his men, who swiftly moved to handle the now-bleeding paparazzo, ensuring he wouldn’t cause further disruption. Meanwhile, Bear turned his attention to Fallon, wrapping his arms around her as she thrashed in his grip, her rage still simmering. “Fallon, enough,” he murmured, his voice steady and grounding. “He’s not worth it.”

Fallon’s chest heaved as she glared at the man being escorted away, her fury slowly giving way to the steady presence of Bear’s hold. Her black hair, disheveled from the outburst, framed her flushed face as she finally stilled, muttering under her breath. Bear didn’t let go until he was certain she was calm, his grip as unyielding as his resolve to protect her from herself.

The rest of the family watched in stunned silence, the moment a stark reminder of the chaos that came with their fame. As the limousines finally pulled away, the Camerons left behind not just the cemetery, but the relentless gaze of the world that refused to let them grieve in peace.

The journey back to the mansion was no less eventful. The limousines drove in perfect formation, drawing even more attention as paparazzi cars followed closely behind, cameras still trained on the convoy. By the time they reached Cameron Mansion—the sprawling, opulent estate that had witnessed generations of Cameron family milestones—the gates were locked and reinforced, shutting out the chaos left behind. The mansion itself stood proud and untouched, a beacon of history and grandeur waiting to welcome its heirs.

Inside, the family regrouped in the large dining room, where a catered meal was served to mark the day. The room’s sleek and modern design—polished floors, muted tones, and floor-to-ceiling windows—provided a stark contrast to the emotional turbulence simmering beneath the surface. The basketball court and shimmering pool outside lay in peaceful silence, untouched by the chaos of the day.

The Last Will and Testament

When the meal concluded, the dining room was swiftly cleared and transformed for the next chapter: the reading of Blaine’s final will. The other Camerons—spanning generations from elders to infants—remained scattered throughout the mansion’s expansive spaces. Some lounged by the shimmering pool, their voices a faint, melodic contrast to the building tension in the dining hall. Others perused the walls lined with photographs and awards that chronicled Blaine’s extraordinary life and that of his parents before him, their murmurs and occasional gasps of recognition punctuating the quiet hum of the mansion. A few wandered the estate’s sprawling gardens, soaking in the scent of blooming jasmine and roses under the warm Del Sol Valley sun trading anecdotes and favorite memories. But as the heavy wooden doors of the dining hall clicked shut, sealing off the will’s attendees, the outside world seemed to recede into muted irrelevance.

Within the dining room, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The room itself, a modern marvel of sleek lines and muted elegance, now bore a palpable weight. Sunlight poured in through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting sharp contrasts between the polished concrete floors and the warm caramel tones of the long mahogany table. The faint aroma of espresso from the earlier meal lingered in the air, mingling with the clean scent of fresh-cut flowers arranged in subtle, tasteful displays at the corners of the room. Yet, the vibrant scents and warm light did little to dispel the tension brewing inside.

At the head of the table stood Jensen Camore, Blaine Cameron’s son-in-law and the family attorney. His calm professionalism belied the weight of the task at hand. As he prepared to deliver the details of Blaine’s will, the air in the room grew heavier, charged with apprehension.

Though the grandchildren had been explicitly excluded from the closed-door meeting, Connor Cameron sat quietly among his parents, aunts and uncles. Blaine had insisted on his presence, a decision as deliberate as it was controversial. At forty-six, Connor was a towering figure—both literally and figuratively—with a sterling career as Chief Medical Officer in San Sequoia. Yet, the glances and whispers directed his way betrayed simmering resentment and suspicion.

Vivien, ever the sharp-tongued eldest sibling, broke the silence first. “Why is he here?” she demanded, her emerald eyes narrowing as she gestured toward Connor. “Children and grandchildren weren’t supposed to be invited.”

Before Connor could respond, Hailey, seated beside him, straightened in her chair. Though petite beside her son’s imposing frame, there was nothing small about her presence when her ‘Momma Bear’ instincts kicked in. She fixed Vivien with a hard, unwavering stare. “Connor is here because Blaine wanted him here,” she said, her voice steady but steely. “It’s written in his instructions.”

Jensen raised a hand to restore calm. “Hailey is correct,” he affirmed. “Blaine explicitly requested Connor’s presence for this meeting. He entrusted Connor with responsibilities that required him to be here.”

“What responsibilities?” Fallon asked sharply, her bold tone cutting through the simmering murmurs.

“We’re getting to that,” Jensen replied, his voice steady as he addressed the feisty twin sister of his wife, Blythe—a figure who had remained uncharacteristically quiet since the funeral earlier that day. “Shall I begin?”

The murmurs died down, though the tension in the room hung heavy, a palpable undercurrent of unease. Jensen cleared his throat, lifting the thick document that embodied Blaine Cameron’s will. The official testament began the way most would: a solemn declaration.

“I, Blaine Everett Cameron, being of sound mind and body, hereby declare this document to be my last will and testament,” Jensen read aloud, his measured tone steady despite the weight of the moment. “It is my desire that my wishes, as stated herein, are executed faithfully and without dispute.”

The next section was procedural, Jensen assigning line by line the sprawling assets that Blaine had built through decades of hard work and vision. Each item reflected not just wealth, but the significance Blaine had placed on his family legacy. Properties in Sulani were gifted to Blake, ensuring his continued retirement in paradise. Vivien and Liam received access to Blaine’s charitable music foundation, allowing them to expand its influence. Chase and Hailey were granted control of Blaine’s media investments, trademarks and music rights, the list was long. Blaine gave away a few of his treasured guitars from his huge collection to some musically inclined grandchildren. Cars found new owners, and so on and so forth.

The assignments were meticulous, but as Jensen turned the page, the room seemed to collectively hold its breath. The pivotal section, the one that had stirred so much unease, was about to be read.

“To my grandson, Connor Cameron, I entrust the legal guardianship of my youngest son, Blaine Junior,” Jensen read aloud, his voice unwavering despite the ripple of tension that passed through the room. “I am leaving the family home, Cameron Mansion, to my youngest son Blaine. Vivien, as the eldest, will act as caretaker of Cameron Mansion and of Blaine Junior, ensuring it is preserved until Blaine Junior comes of age, then it shall be his. Connor will oversee her efforts and, if necessary, name an alternate guardian.”

The room erupted into chaos. Vivien shot to her feet, her composure fracturing. “Guardian? Oversee me as I get to babysit my own brother? I am in my eighties, I have done all my child-rearing long ago! This is ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “I’ve built a music empire, for God’s sake. And I inherit the right to change diapers and take care of a house, like a maid?! Not just that, now my nephew is supposed to supervise me as I change diapers? At my age? What was Dad thinking? This is outrageous and insulting! What have I ever done to him to treat me this way, make his final act an insult to me?! Seriously, what?!”

Blake, quiet until now, furrowed his brows and interjected, his voice measured. “Vivien, you’re looking at this all wrong. Dad trusted you with his greatest treasure: his youngest son. And all our childhood home. Why would you inherit the house, none of your kids or grandkids could live here, even if they wanted to, which they won’t. Same is true for all of us. We are all set, each and every one of us. The only one to give the house to is the youngest Blaine, and he can’t exactly run it himself now. Dad asked you to raise our youngest brother the way we have been raised, and because you are older, as we all are, he assigned Connor, who is in his prime, has many years left, hell, our nephew is so fit, he will probably live to be 200 years old. Viv, like it or not, but you and I both are on borrowed time. Neither of us is going to see Blaine’s 18th birthday and Dad knew that.
Dad also gave you Mom’s precious charity, because your daughter is a queen and it looks great for you to have that as the mother to a queen and you can hand it down to her or your grandchildren, as royals they can use that, but they couldn’t use music rights or recording studios, but Chase can, especially with Bri now soaring with her own music career. You know how Mom and Dad were about us kids. It’s an honor, not a punishment. We’re all gonna help, it’s our little brother too, weird as it may be. No matter how wealthy they got, we, all 8 of us, were their greatest achievement, greatest treasure, most beloved pastime.
I lost my mom young, and Scarlett just stepped right in, despite everything and not just that, raised my half-sister like her own. Heath can speak to growing up as a foster kid here. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother, none of us could. Or a better father. I honestly don’t care what people think about there being so many of us, or that they had a baby at a late age. Who cares?! There are huge gaps in between several of us, you and I are close, but you and Chase have 14 years in between, Chase and Cait grew up besties and still are, yet there are 5 years between them, Mom and Dad announced they were having the twins at Chase’s 18th birthday party, Gavin’s 2 years younger than them and now there is Blaine, who could be our great-grandson, not our little brother, but so what? They could afford it. We all can afford it. You can afford nannies if you don’t want to be hands on. Connor’s not expecting you to do the dirty work and neither did Dad. He wants you the remember Dad and Mom to him, as you’ve known them longest.
Had Mom not died, I am convinced Dad would still be with us. And Connor’s more than capable to make sure everything is done in the best interest for Blaine Junior. My grandson Chandler already lives here, he’s been helping dad with Blaine Jr., he’ll help you too. Connor’s brilliant—graduated high school at sixteen, became a doctor before most of us finished college, and his career speaks for itself. He is the right man for that job.”

But Vivien dismissed Blake with a cutting glare. “YOU never even went to college, Blake. And thanks for the refresher, I may be the oldest, as you like to keep pointing out, but some of us age better than others, I could still run circles around everyone in this room, including Connor, and I am neither feeble nor senile! I can take care of a child; I do not need nannies. I have two great-grandchildren, a third incoming, and I very much can handle them. As for Connor, being a doctor doesn’t mean he knows a thing about Dad’s life, his music empire—or what it takes to manage this family. I do, so I should be supervising ALL of you, including our Connor here, he’s less than half my age, means I have twice the experience of who and what Mom and Dad really were, so what does he really know,” she snapped, her eyes locking on Connor. “No offense,” she added coldly, though her tone suggested otherwise.

“Well, offense taken, though.” grumbled Connor.

Before Vivien could retort, Chase, Blaine’s third-born, fourteen years Vivien’s junior, leaned forward in his chair and, for what might have been the first time in their lives, spoke up against his elder sister. His voice was steady but carried a rare edge, slicing through the tension. “Shut up Viv, I don’t want to hear another peep out of you at my boy or questioning Dad’s final wishes! Connor is here because Dad wanted him to be here, and because he earned the right to be here, Vivien. While you were busy with…whatever it is you call ‘living your best life,’ Connor was there for Dad. ”

Hailey’s patience snapped. Rising to her feet, she bristled with righteous anger. “Chase is right! Connor’s done more for Blaine—and for this family—than most of you ever bothered to, especially when Blaine needed us the most. You were all so busy with your own oh-so-important lives, so it was us, especially Connor, who despite 12-hour shifts at the hospital and raising a teen boy, often drove all the way out here from San Sequoia to make sure Blaine and Blaine Jr. were doing okay. And not just once or twice, guys,” she said, her voice a mix of fire and conviction. “So instead of flapping your gums, maybe you should think about why Blaine didn’t choose you for the supervisory role before questioning his decisions. I guarantee you Connor will be here more often than you would like to help with the little guy, and Chase and I are more than happy to pitch in. Our daughter lives down the street, Iris and Jasper will help, they got a little girl about Blaine Jr.’s age anyway so they can have playdates. That baby Blaine left us, isn’t just some annoying little diaper-shitter. It’s a part of Blaine and of Scarlett that lives on. Don’t you all see that? Look at the baby’s eyes and tell me you don’t see Blaine in them. Look at him smile and tell me you don’t instantly think of Scarlett. So, chill the fuck out, woman, and know that Blaine trusted Connor because Connor earned that trust. If you can’t see that, that’s on you.”

Connor remained seated; his jaw clenched as he weathered the storm of drama. His hands rested tightly on the edge of the table, his silence a quiet testament to the weight of the trust Blaine had placed in him. Hailey’s hand found his shoulder, her grip firm and reassuring. Though he normally towered over her, the strength of her presence was unshakable—a mother defending her son with unwavering resolve.

Finally, Jensen’s voice cut through the noise, calm but commanding. “Enough of this now,” he said firmly. “Blaine’s wishes are not up for debate, nor do they have to be justified. Blaine wanted it this way, and this way it will be. He made me the executor and I will see to it that every little items on his list will be carried out exactly as he intended, to the T. Vivien, if you want to decline your inheritance, it will just go to the next in line, namely Blake.”

Vivien relaxed, looking down at her hands in her lap, tears starting to fall as she shook her head, and everyone understood she lashed out because she was just in a lot of pain, as they all were.

The room fell into a tense silence, but the sadness lingered in the air like an unresolved storm. Beyond the windows, the shimmering pool and bright Del Sol Valley sky remained untouched by the fractures threatening the Cameron family. Inside, however, the cracks in their unity deepened, the future of Blaine’s legacy now resting on fragile and uncertain ground.

When the reading concluded, Jensen folded the will and placed it in his leather briefcase. The tension in the room, though still palpable, had shifted into a somber quiet. As Jensen opened the heavy mahogany doors, it felt as though the air itself had been holding its breath. The muffled hum of voices, laughter, and life from the rest of the family suddenly broke through, flooding the solemn silence with a strange, almost preternatural vibrancy.

The siblings, their spouses, and Connor filed out of the room, their faces marked by varying shades of grief, frustration, and contemplation. The soft echoes of children playing by the pool, the gentle clinking of glasses from the patio, and the faint strumming of a guitar filled the air. By the poolside sat Ryan Cameron, Vivien and Liam’s grandson, a young attorney in his own right, playing one of Blaine’s guitars, Briar Rose, Chase and Hailey’s daughter, a singer/songwriter by profession, singing lead vocals while several other voices sang along to a familiar tune—a ballad written and performed by Blaine, one of his most cherished compositions, “A Silver Gaze,” a heartfelt tribute to Scarlett. The melody intertwined with the ambient sounds of the estate, creating an almost eerie symphony of normalcy—a stark contrast to the emotional storm that had brewed within the dining hall.

From the living room, the warm, resonant notes of piano music drifted out. Queen Aria Grace herself, a prodigy in her youth and avid music lover still—sat at the grand piano, playing another of Blaine’s treasured ballads, this one inspired by his love for his children, mentioning how each of them is different, special in their own way, but all together made him a better man, which was also the title of the song. The tune, poignant and deeply moving, evoked memories of Blaine’s mastery not only as a rock musician but also as a composer of ballads that transcended genres. It was as if the house itself was breathing his legacy through the music scattered across its many rooms.

Blake, Blaine’s second-born, paused as they reached the edge of the sprawling patio overlooking the glittering skyline of Del Sol Valley. The view stretched endlessly, the city sprawled out in a tapestry of lights, fading into the hazy horizon where the ocean kissed the sky. The scene was both breathtaking and oddly unfamiliar, as though the world itself had shifted into something unrecognizable.

Blake stepped outside, letting the warm breeze tug at his jacket. His gaze swept across the estate and its inhabitants—the younger Camerons splashing in the pool, the elders chatting quietly on garden benches, and the myriad of cousins and relatives scattered across the grounds. Everything looked the same, yet it all felt irrevocably different. The mansion, once the beating heart of the Cameron family’s unity, now seemed like a museum piece—preserving memories of a life that no longer existed. He felt for his father, he himself had lost his wife Mila already some years back before Scarlett’s death, and he knew the struggle of a life that would never be the same ever again. He didn’t blame his dad for eventually giving up. He had thought about it many times.

And then it hit him, a thought so heavy it rooted him in place. Scarlett had always been the glue that held them together. No matter how far they roamed, how wildly different their lives became, she was the thread that wove the Camerons into a cohesive family. Her warmth, her unwavering presence, had kept the sprawling empire intact. When she passed two years ago, the cracks had already begun to show. The gatherings grew smaller, the calls fewer. And Blaine—Blaine had tried, but even his monumental presence couldn’t fully hold what was already fraying at the edges.

Now Blaine, the last pillar of their unity, was gone. Blake could feel it in his bones: the Cameron legacy wasn’t ending, not entirely, but it was splintering. What had once been a singular empire was dissolving into fragments, each sibling charting their own course, creating their own dynasties. The ties that bound them together now felt fragile, and he wasn’t sure how long they would hold.

Blake’s breath hitched as the enormity of it settled over him. The golden light of the setting sun faded into a deep amber, casting long shadows across the estate. He turned back toward the patio doors, where his siblings were quietly dispersing to rejoin the larger family. For the first time, he saw not just the end of an era, but the end of the Camerons as they had always been. He just knew that this right here would be the very last time they all would be together from now on.

And as he stood there, staring out at the glittering expanse of Del Sol Valley, Blake felt the undeniable weight of a world without Blaine and Scarlett Cameron—a world where the legacy they had built would live on, but never again in the way it once had.

(Title image: A family photo of Blaine & Scarlett with their children and their spouses from happier times long ago)