007

Camilla’s mind raced, but she remained composed. Her calm exterior betrayed none of the storm that churned within her. Mrs. Margaret’s question was pointed, direct, and laced with an undertone of suspicion. It was clear she had been waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Taking a measured breath, Camilla lifted her chin slightly. “I didn’t realize you were so interested in my personal life, Mrs. Margaret,” she said, her voice soft yet edged with a quiet defiance. “What Mr. Louis and I shared—or didn’t share—is hardly relevant now, don’t you think?”

Margaret’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Don’t mistake my curiosity for interest, dear. If this marriage is to succeed, I need to understand the kind of person you are. And stabbing someone, especially someone like Mr. Louis, raises... questions.”

Camilla tilted her head, feigning a contemplative expression. “Questions for whom? For you? Or for your son? Because, from where I stand, it seems the only concern here is how I’ll ‘play my role.’ Isn’t that right?” She folded her hands neatly on the table, her demeanor poised.

Margaret didn’t respond immediately, her lips pressing into a thin line. She had underestimated the girl sitting across from her. Beneath Camilla’s outward politeness lay a sharpness she hadn’t anticipated. But Margaret Sterling wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

“Let me remind you,” Margaret said, her voice cooling, “that this isn’t just about you. A scandal like that—whether justified or not—has implications for this family. Cyrus may not care for you, but his reputation is tied to yours now. And I will not allow you to drag this family’s name through the mud.”

Camilla’s eyes hardened, the mask slipping for just a moment. “You mean, you don’t want me to tarnish your perfect little empire. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Her tone was calm, but her words were a dagger.

Before Margaret could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the tension. A maid entered, her head bowed, announcing that breakfast was ready. Margaret glanced at Camilla, a silent warning in her eyes, before standing.

“Let’s eat,” Margaret said curtly, heading toward the dining room.

Camilla followed, her expression unreadable. She had expected questions about Louis eventually, but she hadn’t anticipated them so soon—or from Margaret, of all people. As they sat at the dining table, the tension between them lingered, an invisible barrier that neither woman was willing to breach.

---

Meanwhile, outside the Sterling mansion, Cyrus paced in his office, his fingers drumming against the polished desk. His earlier encounter with the reporters still irked him, but what unsettled him more was Camilla’s unexpected intervention. She had spoken with such authority, such confidence. It was almost... impressive.

“Sir,” Carter interrupted his thoughts, stepping into the room. “I’ve gathered some information about the reporters. As we suspected, they were hired by someone outside the company. A private contractor.”

“Who?” Cyrus demanded, his tone sharp.

“We don’t have a name yet,” Carter admitted. “But whoever it is has connections. They knew about the board meeting before anyone else.”

Cyrus clenched his jaw. “Find out who’s behind it. I want names. And Carter... be discreet.”

“Yes, sir.” Carter nodded and exited the room, leaving Cyrus alone with his thoughts.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The pieces weren’t adding up. Who would benefit from spreading rumors about him? And why now? His gaze drifted to the window, where he caught a glimpse of Camilla walking through the garden with Margaret.

A scoff escaped his lips. She was playing her part well, no doubt trying to curry favor with his mother. But he wasn’t fooled. Women like her always had an agenda. And yet... there was something about her that he couldn’t quite pin down.

---

Back in the garden, Camilla walked beside Margaret, her mind still replaying their earlier conversation. The older woman had been careful not to push too hard during breakfast, but Camilla knew the question about Louis was far from forgotten.

Margaret stopped by a bench, motioning for Camilla to sit. “Camilla,” she began, her tone softer this time, “I understand that this arrangement isn’t ideal for you. But I need to know that I can trust you. Cyrus has enough enemies as it is. The last thing he needs is a wife who might turn on him.”

Camilla raised an eyebrow. “You think I’d betray him?”

“I think you’re a survivor,” Margaret said simply. “And survivors do whatever it takes to stay afloat.”

Camilla couldn’t help but laugh, a bitter sound. “You’re not wrong about that, Mrs. Margaret. But let me make one thing clear: I have no intention of betraying Cyrus. I agreed to this marriage because I have no other choice. My parents made sure of that. So if you’re worried about my loyalty, don’t be. I’ll do what’s expected of me.”

Margaret studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

---

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Camilla found herself alone in her room. She sat by the window, staring out at the sprawling estate. Her mind wandered back to Louis and the events that had led her here.

Louis had been her escape once, her chance to break free from her parents’ suffocating control. But he had turned out to be no better. The memories came rushing back—his betrayal, his lies, the way he had humiliated her in front of everyone. She had acted in self-defense that night, but no one had cared. Her parents had been more concerned with saving face than protecting their daughter.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. “Come in,” she called.

To her surprise, it was Cyrus. He stepped inside, his expression unreadable. “We need to talk,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Camilla folded her arms, leaning back in her chair. “About what?”

“About those reporters,” he said, his voice clipped. “And about you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Me? What about me?”

Cyrus stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t trust you. I don’t know why you stepped in earlier, but let me make one thing clear: I don’t need your help. Stay out of my business.”

Camilla met his gaze, unflinching. “Is that all?”

“No,” he said, his voice lowering. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Camilla, but I’m watching you. One wrong move, and you’re out.”

Camilla smiled faintly. “Good to know where we stand, Cyrus. But let me remind you of something: I’m not here because I want to be. I’m here because I have to be. So if you think I’m playing some kind of game, maybe you should take a closer look at yourself.”

Cyrus stared at her for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then, without another word, he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Camilla let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. This was only the beginning, and she knew the road ahead would be anything but easy. But she had survived worse. And she would survive this too.