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?

The morning sun sliced through the gap in the heavy curtains.

Camilla groaned. Her head pounded with a vicious hangover. She slowly opened her eyes and looked around. She was lying in a large, modern bed. The walls were painted a dark grey.

Panic spiked in her chest. She sat up quickly. She looked down and let out a massive breath. She was still wearing her black slip dress. Nothing had happened.

She recognized the minimalist decor. This was Cristobal's apartment. Memories from the club hit her in broken flashes.

She rubbed her temples, grabbed a throw blanket, and walked out of the bedroom.

She heard a low voice coming from the kitchen. Cristobal was standing by the marble island, talking on his phone. When he saw her, he quickly ended the call.

He walked over, his eyes full of concern.

"You're awake. How are you feeling? I made some coffee."

Camilla winced as a sharp pain shot through her skull. Her voice was raspy.

"What... happened last night? After we left the club..."

Cristobal handed her a warm mug. His smile was gentle.

"You fell asleep in the car. I brought you here because I didn't know where else to take you. Nothing happened, I promise."

Camilla felt a wave of relief, followed instantly by deep embarrassment.

"Thank you, Cristobal," she muttered, looking down at her coffee. "I should go..."

Before she could finish her sentence, a loud, violent crash echoed through the apartment.

Outside in the hallway, Carlisle had just lowered his phone. He had spent the last hour forcing his head of security to illegally track the GPS on Cristobal's private vehicle, hunting them down like prey. The front door was kicked open.

Carlisle stood in the doorway. He looked like a hurricane. His suit was wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with murderous rage. Two massive bodyguards stood right behind him.

Camilla gasped. The coffee mug slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor.

Cristobal immediately stepped in front of Camilla, shielding her with his body.

"Carlisle?" Cristobal demanded, his voice hard. "How did you find this place? You have no right-"

Carlisle let out a dark, ugly laugh. He didn't even look at Cristobal. His eyes were locked onto Camilla, staring daggers into her.

"No right?" Carlisle yelled. "In this city, there is no place you can hide her from me! And as your husband, I have every right to know why my wife spent the night in another man's bed the very day we signed divorce papers!"

Camilla's face went pale. Her heart hammered against her ribs. But the fear vanished, replaced by a sudden, burning anger. She stepped out from behind Cristobal. She looked Carlisle dead in the eye.

"Your 'wife'?" Camilla spat. "I believe you made it clear last night that title no longer applies. And where I spend my nights is none of your business."

Carlisle took a threatening step forward. His hands were curled into tight fists.

"None of my business? You're still legally my wife until the divorce is finalized! And you act like a cheap-"

Cristobal shoved Carlisle's chest hard.

"Watch your words, Carlisle. Camilla is not what you think."

Carlisle snapped his head toward Cristobal. His eyes were wild with jealousy.

"And you would know? How long has this been going on, West? Were you warming her bed while I was married to her?"

A wave of pure nausea hit Camilla. The hypocrisy was suffocating. She couldn't breathe. She raised her voice, letting all her suppressed rage explode.

"How dare you? You're the one who threw me out for your precious Celine! You have no right to question my actions!"

Carlisle flinched slightly at Celine's name, but his face quickly hardened.

"Celine has nothing to do with your lack of morals! I thought you were at least decent, but you're just-"

"Decent?" Camilla screamed, cutting him off. "You want to talk about decent? What about your emotional affair with Celine for the past three years? The gifts, the calls, the 'business trips'? I wasn't blind, Carlisle!"

Carlisle's pupils shrank. He clearly hadn't expected her to know about that. But he quickly recovered, his lips curling into a cruel sneer.

"So, this is your revenge? Throwing yourself at the first man who looks at you?"

Camilla let out a dry, sarcastic laugh.

"Revenge? You flatter yourself. Last night, I was drunk and Cristobal was kind enough to make sure I was safe. That's it. Unlike you, I don't use people."

She turned to Cristobal. Her eyes were firm.

"Cristobal, I'm sorry to involve you in this. I think it's time I leave."

Cristobal looked at her. A flash of deep pain crossed his eyes, but he nodded.

"I'll take you wherever you want to go."

Carlisle stepped sideways, blocking the hallway. His voice was absolute ice.

"You're not going anywhere with him. You're coming with me. We need to settle this properly."

Camilla looked at him like he was a stranger.

"There's nothing to settle. The papers are signed. It's over."

Carlisle ground his teeth together. "It's over when I say it's over. Until then, you will conduct yourself with some dignity."

A bone-deep exhaustion washed over Camilla. She was so tired of his control. She walked right up to him.

"Move, Carlisle. I'm leaving with Cristobal, and you can't stop me."

She pushed past his shoulder. She walked toward the broken door. Cristobal followed right behind her.

Carlisle didn't try to grab her. He just stood there. But as her hand touched the doorframe, his voice rang out behind her. It was cold and utterly ruthless.

"Fine. Go. But know this, Camilla Mcneil: as of this moment, I am publicly announcing our divorce. And everyone will know exactly why."

Camilla's footsteps paused for a fraction of a second. She didn't turn around. She walked out.

The drive in Cristobal's car was completely silent. Camilla stared out the window, her stomach churning with dread.

Three hours later, her phone started vibrating non-stop.

Carlisle's personal PR team and private legal counsel had just released an official statement to the city's top media outlets and gossip columns. Carlisle Stark officially announced his divorce from Camilla Mcneil. The statement heavily implied "inappropriate conduct" on Camilla's part. It expressed his "deep disappointment and disgust."

The internet exploded. The comments flooded in. Camilla was instantly branded a cheating whore. Minutes later, photos of Carlisle and Celine having coffee leaked online. The public narrative was set: Carlisle was the heartbroken victim, finding comfort in his sweet first love.

Camilla stared at the screen. Her hands shook violently. Her reputation was completely destroyed.