Camilla stood inside the massive walk-in closet. She mechanically pulled her clothes off the velvet hangers.

She folded them and placed them into her suitcase. Her movements were slow and careful. It felt like a funeral. She was burying the last four years of her life.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the living room. Then, a familiar, high-pitched laugh pierced the quiet air.

Camilla's hands stopped moving. Her stomach knotted. Her eyes turned instantly cold. She dropped the sweater she was holding and walked out of the bedroom.

Billie was sitting right in the middle of the living room sofa. Her legs were crossed. In her hands, she was tossing a small, delicate wooden music box.

It was the only thing Camilla had left from her dead mother.

Diane stood near the kitchen island. She held a glass of red wine she had poured for herself. She looked around the apartment with a smug, entertained smile. "Don't look at us like that," Diane said, taking a leisurely sip of her wine. "Carlisle sent us to supervise your packing. We are here to ensure you don't walk away with any Stark family heirlooms you have absolutely no right to."

Billie saw Camilla walk in. She held the music box up high in the air. Her smile was pure poison.

"Look what I found!" Billie laughed. "A cheap little toy. Fits you perfectly, doesn't it?"

Camilla's voice was low. Her chest vibrated with suppressed rage.

"Put that down, Billie. It's not yours."

Billie stood up. She walked closer to Camilla. She shook the music box right in front of Camilla's face.

"Or what?" Billie taunted. "You'll cry? You're nothing but a discarded, useless piece of-"

Before Billie even finished her sentence, she opened her fingers.

The music box dropped toward the hardwood floor.

Camilla's pupils dilated. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her body moved completely on instinct. She dove forward and shoved her hands out.

She caught the wooden box just inches from the floor.

The sharp metal hinge on the bottom sliced deep into the palm of her hand. Bright red blood instantly welled up and dripped onto the floor.

Camilla pulled the box tight against her chest. She looked up at Billie. The fire in her eyes was lethal.

Billie just laughed harder.

"Oops! My bad," Billie sneered. "But really, it's just trash, like you."

Diane took a sip of her wine and added fuel to the fire.

"Billie, don't waste time with her," Diane said. "Carlisle wants her gone. Why don't you help her pack... by throwing her things out the window?"

Billie's eyes lit up. She spun around and grabbed a heavy crystal vase off the coffee table. Camilla had picked that vase out herself in Italy. Billie raised it above her head, ready to smash it.

Camilla's patience snapped.

She lunged forward. She ripped the heavy vase right out of Billie's hands. She slammed it back down onto the glass table. The loud bang shook the room.

Billie jumped back, clearly startled by the aggression. Then, her face twisted into pure fury. She raised her hand, her sharp acrylic nails aiming straight for Camilla's face.

"You bitch! How dare you-"

Camilla didn't flinch. She didn't back away.

Before Billie's nails could even touch her skin, Camilla raised her own hand.

Smack.

Camilla slapped Billie across the face with everything she had.

The sharp, cracking sound echoed off the high ceilings. Billie stumbled back. She grabbed her red cheek. Her eyes were wide with absolute shock. The room went dead silent.

Diane screamed.

"You hit her? ! You low-class-"

Camilla ignored Diane completely. She pointed a bloody finger straight at the front door. Her voice was freezing.

"I said, get out. And if you ever touch my things again, I'll do more than slap you."

Billie finally snapped out of her shock. She lunged at Camilla, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"I'll kill you!"

Right at that exact second, the front door swung open.

Carlisle stood in the doorway. The cold air from the hallway rushed in with him. His dark eyes swept over the chaotic living room.

Billie's entire demeanor changed instantly. She burst into fake, heavy tears. She ran to Carlisle and grabbed his arm.

"Carlisle! She hit me! That crazy woman hit me!"

Diane rushed over, pointing an accusing finger at Camilla.

"Carlisle, you see? She's violent! Unhinged! You need to call the police!"

Carlisle's gaze moved past his mother and sister. He looked at Camilla. He saw her clutching the music box to her chest. He saw the fresh blood dripping from her hand onto the floor.

A tiny, almost invisible flicker of emotion crossed his eyes. But he blinked, and it was gone. Replaced by the same empty coldness.

He walked slowly toward Camilla. His gaze flicked to her bleeding hand, then back to her face, completely indifferent to her injury. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't care. "I don't care who started this," his voice held zero warmth. "There will be no physical violence in my property. Apologize to her and end this farce."

Camilla tilted her head up. She stared straight into his dark eyes. A bitter, sarcastic smile pulled at her lips.

"Apologize? For defending myself and my property?"

Carlisle's jaw clenched tight. His voice dropped an octave.

"I won't repeat myself. Apologize, now. De-escalate this."

A wave of sickening anger washed over Camilla. Her chest heaved. She refused to look down. She took one step closer to him.

"She tried to smash my mother's music box," Camilla said, her voice shaking with rage. "She attacked me first. I will not apologize."

Billie hid behind Carlisle's broad back. She sobbed loudly.

"She's lying! I just touched it!"

Diane pressed harder. "Carlisle, this is unacceptable. Your sister is the victim here."

Before Carlisle could speak, his cell phone buzzed loudly in his pocket.

He pulled it out. He looked at the screen. His jaw tightened even more. He answered it.

"Celine," he said simply.

He turned his back on the room and walked out onto the balcony, leaving the heavy, suffocating tension hanging in the air.

Carlisle stood on the balcony. The cold night wind whipped at his suit jacket. He spoke in a low, tight voice into the phone. The crease between his eyebrows grew deeper by the second.

Finally, he let out a harsh breath.

"I understand, Grandmother. We'll be there."

He hung up the phone. He slid it back into his pocket and walked back into the living room.

His eyes swept over the three women. His gaze finally landed on Billie. His eyes were so dark and threatening that Billie physically shrank back. She pressed herself closer to Diane.

Carlisle walked right up to his sister. His voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Billie, apologize to Camilla."

Billie's eyes bugged out of her head. She looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

"W-What? Me? Apologize to her? She hit me!"

Diane immediately jumped in, her voice shrill.

"Carlisle, are you out of your mind? Your sister is the one who-"

Carlisle snapped his head toward his mother. His glare was like a physical blade. Diane's mouth snapped shut. The words died in her throat.

Carlisle looked back at Billie. He spoke slowly, emphasizing every single word.

"I said, apologize. Now."

Tears welled up in Billie's eyes. This time, they were real tears of frustration and anger.

"But she-"

Carlisle suddenly leaned forward. He lowered his head right next to Billie's ear. His voice was a low, dangerous hiss, perfectly audible in the dead silence of the room. "Keep this up, Billie, and I will freeze your trust fund and cancel every credit card in your name by tomorrow morning. Think very carefully about your next move." Billie's face drained of all color. Her skin turned chalk white. Her body started to tremble slightly.

She bit her bottom lip hard. She stared at the floor. Her hands gripped the fabric of her expensive dress. Her shoulders hitched as she fought a massive internal battle.

Camilla stood perfectly still. She watched the scene with cold, detached eyes. She was surprised by Carlisle's sudden shift, but her guard remained completely up.

Finally, Billie lifted her head. She shot Camilla a look of pure, toxic hatred. She forced the words through her gritted teeth.

"I... I apologize for... for touching your things."

It was the most fake, forced apology in the world. But Camilla didn't care about the tone. She only cared about the result.

She gave a tiny, stiff nod. Her voice was flat.

"Apology accepted. Now leave."

Diane opened her mouth to argue, but Carlisle shot her one final warning look. Diane grabbed Billie's arm. They practically ran to the door. Diane shot Camilla one last dirty look before slamming the door behind them.

The living room was dead quiet. It was just Camilla and Carlisle. The air felt thick enough to choke on.

Carlisle didn't look at her. He turned and started walking toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" Camilla asked. Her voice was completely empty.

Carlisle stopped walking, but he didn't turn around.

"To see Eleanor," he said. "She wants to see you too. Get your coat."

Camilla's stomach dropped. Eleanor. Carlisle's grandmother. The only person in the Stark family who had ever shown her an ounce of kindness. She knew Eleanor was the reason Carlisle had forced Billie to apologize.

She swallowed the heavy lump in her throat. She didn't say a word. She walked to the closet and pulled out her black wool coat.

They walked out of the apartment and rode the elevator down to the parking garage in total silence. Carlisle didn't even bother to open the car door for her.

The black Maybach sped through the dark streets of New York. The inside of the car was dead silent. The only sound was the soft hum of the heater.

Camilla stared out the window at the blurred streetlights. Her mind raced. What did Eleanor want?

The car pulled through the massive iron gates of the Stark Estate. The giant stone mansion loomed in the dark. Looking at it made Camilla's chest feel tight. This place was supposed to be her family home, but she had always been an outsider.

Martha Finch, the head housekeeper, was waiting by the front doors. When she saw Camilla, a look of deep sympathy crossed her wrinkled face.

"Madam Eleanor is in her study," Martha whispered. "She's been waiting."

Camilla gave her a small, grateful nod. She followed Carlisle down the long, quiet hallway. Every step felt like walking on broken glass.

Carlisle pushed the heavy wooden doors open.

Eleanor Stark sat in a high-backed leather chair by the roaring fireplace. Her silver cane rested against the table. She looked old, but her eyes were sharp and piercing.

When she saw Camilla, a warm, genuine smile spread across her face. She waved her hand.

"Camilla, my dear, come here."

Carlisle stood stiffly by the door. His face was a blank mask. Eleanor acted like he wasn't even there. She turned her head slightly toward him.

"Carlisle, leave us. I need to speak with Camilla alone."

Carlisle frowned. He adjusted his cuffs. "Grandmother, it's late and-"

Eleanor's eyes turned cold. She tapped her silver cane hard against the wooden floor.

"Did you not hear me?"

Carlisle's jaw flexed. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. He turned around and walked out. The heavy doors clicked shut behind him.

Eleanor looked back at Camilla. The warmth in her eyes faded into something heavy and complicated. She let out a long sigh.

"My dear, I heard what happened tonight. Sit down, let's talk."

Eleanor pointed to the plush armchair across from her. Camilla sat down slowly.

Eleanor's gaze dropped to Camilla's hand—the one still wrapped in a napkin she had hastily pressed against the wound in the car. A faint red stain was already seeping through the white linen. Eleanor's expression flickered with concern, but she said nothing about it, not yet.

Eleanor reached for the silver teapot on the small table between them. She poured a cup of steaming tea and pushed it toward Camilla. Her movements were gentle, acting as if the violent fight at the penthouse had never happened.

"Camilla, tell me the truth," Eleanor said. Her voice was soft, but it demanded an honest answer. "What happened tonight? And don't spare the details about Carlisle."

Camilla wrapped her uninjured hand around the warm porcelain teacup, keeping the wounded one cradled in her lap. The heat seeped into her skin, but her chest remained freezing. She forced the corners of her mouth up. She pasted on a perfect, slightly shy smile.

"It was just a silly misunderstanding, Eleanor," Camilla lied smoothly. "Carlisle and I... we had a little argument, that's all."

Eleanor stared right into her eyes. It felt like the older woman was looking straight into her soul.

"A misunderstanding that ended with you signing divorce papers?" Eleanor asked quietly.

Camilla's hands jerked. A few drops of hot tea splashed over the rim and burned her fingers. She didn't flinch. She kept the fake smile glued to her face.

"Carlisle was angry," Camilla said. Her voice didn't shake. "He didn't mean it. We'll work it out."

Eleanor sighed heavily. She turned her head to look at the orange flames dancing in the fireplace.

"You've always been too kind, my dear," Eleanor murmured. "Too willing to sacrifice yourself for this family's peace."

Eleanor turned back. Her eyes were suddenly sharp and urgent.

"But this family needs more than peace. It needs an heir. A Stark heir to secure the trust and the future."

Camilla's stomach twisted violently. The words hit her like a physical blow. She understood now. Eleanor was the only one who was nice to her, but at the end of the day, Eleanor only cared about the bloodline. She was just a vessel to them.

Camilla's fake smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She forced it back into place.

"We... we've been trying, Eleanor," Camilla whispered. "These things take time."

Eleanor leaned forward. She gripped the handle of her cane.

"Time is something we don't have, Camilla. My health... isn't what it used to be. I need to see this family secured before I go."

The pressure in the room was suffocating. Camilla felt a deep, hollow sadness carve out her insides. She had given up her own dreams for this marriage. And this was her reward.

She took a deep breath. She made her final decision right then and there. Her smile grew wider, looking completely genuine.

"I understand, Eleanor," Camilla said. "Carlisle and I will... make it a priority. I promise."

Eleanor nodded, looking deeply relieved. The warm, grandmotherly smile returned to her face.

"Good. That's all I needed to hear. Now, go home and talk to Carlisle. Work things out."

Camilla stood up. She gave Eleanor a respectful nod. She turned and walked out of the study. Her legs felt like lead. Every step was exhausting.

She walked out the front doors of the estate. The freezing night air hit her face, waking her up.

Carlisle was leaning against the black Maybach. He was smoking a cigarette. When he saw her, he dropped the cigarette onto the pavement and crushed it beneath his expensive leather shoe. He didn't move to open the passenger door for her. She opened it herself and slid inside without a word.

The drive back to the penthouse was even worse than the drive there. Camilla stared out the window. Her mind was completely made up.

The car parked. They rode the elevator up in silence. Carlisle unlocked the door and they walked inside.

Carlisle didn't even look at her. He walked straight into the master bedroom. He pulled a duffel bag from the closet and started throwing his clothes into it. He clearly wasn't planning on sleeping there tonight.

Camilla stood in the center of the living room. She watched his broad back.

"Wait," she said. Her voice was dead calm.

Carlisle stopped moving. He didn't turn around.

"What now?" he asked coldly.

Camilla took a deep, steadying breath. She walked across the room and stood a few feet behind his broad back. "Regarding the divorce," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a shard of glass.

Carlisle finally turned around. He looked at her, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

"You thought I might change my mind?" she asked, her tone flat.

Camilla nodded to herself. Her eyes were clear and completely empty of love.

"Yes. And I meant it. I'm moving out tomorrow. The penthouse is yours."

Carlisle's posture stiffened for a fraction of a second. He stared at her empty hands, realizing she wasn't here to beg or offer a new negotiation.

A cruel, mocking smirk twisted his lips.

"Good. You're being sensible," Carlisle sneered. "Don't worry, I'll have my lawyer handle the rest. You'll get what's stipulated."

Camilla didn't react to his insult. She just looked at him.

"Goodbye, Carlisle."

Carlisle didn't say a word back. He grabbed his duffel bag, walked past her, and headed straight for the front door. He didn't look back once.

The heavy door clicked shut.

The second he was gone, the mask on Camilla's face shattered into a million pieces. Her knees gave out. She slid down the wall and hit the floor. She buried her face in her hands and let out a silent, agonizing sob. Her chest physically ached.

But the breakdown only lasted five minutes.

She wiped her wet face. She pushed herself off the floor. She walked into the bedroom and started packing for real.

She took every single thing that belonged to Carlisle-his ties, his watches, his cologne-and threw them into black trash bags. She carefully packed her own things. The things that belonged to Camilla Mcneil.

She stood in the half-empty closet. She looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her eyes were red, but the sadness was gone.

"This is the last time I cry for him," she whispered to the empty room. "From now on, I live for myself."