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."

The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floorboards of Club Xanadu.

Camilla sat in the dark corner of a VIP booth. She was wearing a tight, black slip dress that hugged her curves. It was a dress the "perfect Stark wife" would never wear. The glass table in front of her was littered with empty shot glasses.

Her eyes were hazy from the alcohol, but a wild, reckless sense of freedom burned in her chest.

She picked up a half-full glass of tequila. She raised it to the empty air in front of her.

"To divorce!" she slurred, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "To freedom! To being a 'useless, barren' ex-wife!"

She threw her head back and swallowed the burning liquid. It burned her throat, but she welcomed the pain.

A random man in a cheap suit slid into the booth next to her. He leaned in too close. He smelled like cheap cologne and desperation.

"Hey beautiful, alone tonight?" the man purred. "Let me buy you a-"

Camilla slowly turned her head. She gave him a look so cold it could freeze water.

"Not interested. Get lost," she spat.

The man scowled and quickly slid out of the booth, disappearing into the crowd.

A few seconds later, the velvet curtain to the VIP booth was pushed aside. A tall, incredibly handsome man walked in. It was Cristobal West.

He took one look at the empty glasses and Camilla's flushed face. His jaw tightened. He walked straight over to her.

Cristobal reached out and gently pulled the empty glass from her fingers. His voice was soft, but firm.

"Camilla, that's enough. You're drunk."

Camilla blinked heavily. She looked up at him. It took her brain a second to recognize the face of her childhood friend and her father's business partner. A sad smile touched her lips.

"Cristobal? What are you doing here?"

Cristobal sat down right next to her. He naturally wrapped a warm, supportive arm around her shaking shoulders.

"Your father called me," Cristobal said, his voice laced with quiet concern. "He said Carlisle was acting erratically and that you weren't answering your phone. I came looking for you. You shouldn't be alone like this."

The warmth of his body broke the last of her defenses. The alcohol made her weak. She leaned her head against his shoulder. A thick lump formed in her throat.

"He divorced me, Cristobal," she whispered, her voice cracking. "For his first love. Said I was useless..."

Cristobal's hand rubbed gentle circles on her back. His eyes darkened with pure anger.

"He's a fool, Camilla," Cristobal said fiercely. "A blind, arrogant fool."

Camilla suddenly lifted her head. Her eyes flashed with stubborn pride despite the tears.

"I'm not useless. I'm not. I can be more than his wife..."

Cristobal looked down at her. His heart ached. He reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I know you can. I've always known. You're talented, smart, beautiful..."

Camilla stared at him. The alcohol blurred the lines of reality. She reached up and let her fingertips brush against his jawline.

Cristobal... you always..." she mumbled, her eyelids drooping.

Cristobal caught her uninjured hand. He held it against his chest. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

"I'm here for you. Always."

Right at that exact moment, the velvet curtain was pulled back again.

Gregorio Cooley stood in the entrance. He was Carlisle's best friend. His eyes went wide as saucers as he stared at Camilla and Cristobal huddled together.

Gregorio quickly stepped back into the shadows before they could see him.

Inside the booth, Cristobal stood up. He gently pulled Camilla to her feet.

"Come on, let me take you home. You need to rest."

Camilla leaned heavily against his side. They walked out of the booth together. As they walked down the dark, neon-lit hallway, Camilla's purse slipped from her shoulder. Cristobal quickly bent down to catch it. His arm wrapped tightly around her waist to keep her from falling. In the dim light, they looked incredibly intimate.

Gregorio stood behind a pillar. His hands shook as he held up his phone and recorded the entire thing.

He immediately dialed Carlisle's number.

"Carlisle, you need to get to Club Xanadu now," Gregorio said, his voice rushing. "It's about your wife... I mean, ex-wife. She's here with some guy, and they're..."

There was two seconds of dead silence on the other end of the line.

"I'll be there," Carlisle's voice was pure ice.

Outside the club, Cristobal helped Camilla into the passenger seat of his sports car. He leaned over her to buckle her seatbelt. Camilla was already half-asleep.

"Never again..." she mumbled into the leather seat.

Cristobal looked at her sleeping face. His eyes were heavy with years of hidden love.

"I'll take care of you, Camilla," he whispered. "Starting tonight."

He shut the door and drove away into the night.

Ten minutes later, Carlisle's Maybach screeched to a halt in front of the club. He stormed through the front doors, his face dark with fury.

He found the empty VIP booth. He saw the empty shot glasses. He demanded the club manager show him the security footage.

Carlisle watched the screen. He saw Cristobal wrapping his arm around Camilla's waist. He saw them leaving together.

A violent, sickening wave of jealousy crashed into his chest. His veins popped against his skin.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Cristobal's number.

"Cristobal West," Carlisle growled, sounding like a demon. "Where are you taking my wife?"

Cristobal's voice came through the speaker, calm and mocking.

"Your 'wife'? I thought you divorced her tonight, Carlisle. She's not your property anymore."

Carlisle grabbed an empty glass off the table and hurled it against the brick wall. It shattered into a hundred pieces.

"I'm asking you one last time. Where. Is. She?"

Cristobal laughed coldly. "Somewhere you'll never find her. Don't bother."

The line went dead.

Carlisle stood in the middle of the ruined booth. His chest heaved. He stared at the broken glass on the floor. He had wanted this divorce. He had demanded it. So why did the thought of her with another man make him want to burn the entire city to the ground?