The Tycoon's Awakening: Losing My Wife

The freezing concrete of the stairwell had seeped into Camelia's bones by the time her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. It was a cold, brief text from Sloane Bishop, Duke's assistant: 'Madam Matilda expects your presence at the Hamptons estate for dinner. The car is waiting downstairs.' There was no room for refusal. Camelia had slowly pushed herself off the ground, swallowed the lingering dread in her throat, and limped out into the gray afternoon.

Camelia sat in the back of the Morrow family's black SUV. The vehicle was speeding down the highway toward the Hamptons estate.

She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped the Instagram icon.

The first post on her feed was a breaking news alert. A high-definition photo of the Sotheby's auction house floor filled the screen.

The bold headline read: Morrow Group CEO Drops $5 Million on Rare Diamond Necklace.

The second photo was a side profile of Duke holding up an auction paddle. The comment section was exploding with gossip, everyone guessing which lucky mistress the necklace was for.

Camelia's face remained completely impassive. She pressed the lock button. The screen went black. She tossed the phone back into her Hermes bag.

She turned her head and stared out the tinted window. The lush, green trees of Long Island blurred together as the car sped past.

The SUV turned off the main road and glided through the massive wrought-iron gates of the Morrow estate. It came to a smooth stop in front of the grand fountain.

Ronnie Fitzpatrick, the estate's private driver, hurried out and opened the heavy door for her.

Camelia stepped out. She forced herself to walk normally, hiding the limp in her right ankle as she climbed the wide stone steps to the main entrance.

Hazel Wright, the head maid, was waiting in the foyer. She silently took Camelia's coat.

Camelia followed Hazel down a long, echoing hallway lined with priceless oil paintings. They reached the glass doors of the sunroom.

Matilda Morrow, the matriarch of the family, sat rigidly in a floral armchair. A cup of Earl Grey tea steamed on the table beside her.

When Matilda saw Camelia, the harsh lines around her mouth softened into a warm smile. She waved a wrinkled hand, gesturing for Camelia to sit on the sofa next to her.

Matilda tapped the tip of her wooden cane against the glass screen of an iPad resting on the coffee table. The Sotheby's article was open on the screen.

"Did my grandson buy this gaudy piece of trash for that Christabel woman?" Matilda demanded, her voice sharp and authoritative.

Camelia looked at the older woman. She didn't want to spike Matilda's blood pressure. "It's just corporate PR, Grandma," Camelia lied smoothly. "Client entertainment."

Before Matilda could respond, the heavy oak double doors of the sunroom were shoved open.

Duke strode into the room. He was wearing a tailored navy suit. The air around him crackled with cold hostility.

His dark eyes instantly locked onto Camelia, who was sitting close to his grandmother, speaking in low tones.

Matilda slammed her cane hard against the marble floor. The sharp crack echoed in the glass room.

"You have no shame, Duke," Matilda scolded harshly. "Buying jewelry for an outsider and letting your legal wife become a laughingstock in the tabloids!"

The muscle in Duke's jaw feathered. He shot a look at Camelia that could cut glass.

"Very clever, Camelia," Duke sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Running to the elders to play the victim and tattle."

Camelia met his furious gaze without flinching. "I didn't say a word about you," she said, her voice perfectly level.

Duke let out a dark chuckle. He didn't believe a single syllable. He looked at her like she was a snake in the grass.

"Enough!" Matilda barked. "You will stay here tonight, Duke. You will have dinner with your wife at this estate, and that is final."

Duke knew better than to cross the woman who controlled the family trust. He yanked out the chair opposite Camelia and dropped into it.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing an email. He didn't spare Camelia a single glance.

Camelia lowered her eyelashes. she folded her hands neatly in her lap. She sat perfectly still, letting the temperature in the sunroom drop to absolute freezing.