The Divorced Heiress Takes The Crown

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."