Chapter 4

His gaze swept the room like a blade. Stanley crossed the study in three long strides, reached for Camila, and pulled her against him with an authority that brooked no argument.

That broad chest carried a familiar warmth—but it couldn't make her feel safe anymore.

"Grandpa, you've crossed a line." Stanley's voice was steel wrapped in frost, carrying the unshakable command of a man accustomed to absolute power.

Baron's face darkened at being challenged to his face. "Stanley, is that any way to speak to your elder? Everything I've said is for your benefit—for the future of this family!"

"My future is mine to decide. I don't need anyone interfering with my marriage under the banner of looking out for me." Stanley drew Camila closer, his gaze locked on the old man without a flicker of retreat. "My wife—in this life—is Camila. Only Camila."

"You—" Baron's chest heaved, one gnarled finger jabbing toward Stanley's face. "You're a fool! Are you truly willing to let this family's bloodline die out for the sake of a woman who can't give you children?"

"If the Martinez legacy requires tormenting my wife to continue, then I don't want it." Stanley's tone was arctic, every syllable laced with finality. "Grandpa, you're getting on in years. Enjoy your retirement. My personal life is no longer your concern."

He didn't spare Baron's ashen face another glance. His arm around Camila, he turned and walked out.

From start to finish, he performed the role flawlessly—the devoted husband who'd burn the world down for his wife.

If Camila hadn't already seen that ultrasound report. If she hadn't heard Laura's taunts with her own ears. She might have been moved by this display of unwavering loyalty.

Instead, all she felt was cold. A bone-deep, marrow-freezing cold.

Outside the Martinez estate, the evening air carried a sharp bite.

Stanley immediately shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Camila's thin shoulders, guiding her into the back seat of the Maybach with careful hands.

The door closed, sealing out the world.

He pressed a button, and the privacy partition rose between them and the driver, transforming the rear cabin into their own sealed universe.

He turned, gathering her into his arms, his chin resting against the crown of her head. His voice was thick with guilt and tenderness. "Camila, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to endure that today."

Camila leaned against his chest. The familiar scent of cedarwood filled her nostrils—but beneath it, barely there, she caught something else. Something floral and cloying. Laura's perfume.

A wave of nausea surged violently through her. She clenched her jaw, fighting down the revolt in her stomach, and said nothing.

Stanley mistook her silence for hurt. He cupped her face in both hands, his dark eyes swimming with concern. "Grandpa's old-fashioned. Stubborn. Don't take a single word of his to heart, okay?"

Camila lowered her lashes, hiding the frost in her eyes. Her voice came out quiet, almost casual. "But what if... another woman really were carrying your child?"

"Impossible." The answer came without a heartbeat's hesitation. Not a tremor of doubt. "I don't even look at other women, let alone— Camila, you're the only woman in my life. The only one there will ever be."

His vow was earnest and impassioned, every word dripping with honey-coated poison.

Camila laughed silently behind her ribs.

Doesn't even look at other women. Then what, exactly, was growing inside Laura's belly? Immaculate conception?

Remarkable, really—how effortlessly the lies rolled off his tongue now. How righteous he sounded delivering them.

But this wasn't the moment to rip off the mask. So she wore the face of a woman who believed him.

"Hey—stop thinking about all that." Stanley pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his large hand stroking slow circles on her back. "Tonight I'm all yours. No work, no calls, nothing. We'll stay in and watch that old movie you love. Sound good?"

"Sure." Camila's response was barely a whisper.

At that precise moment, Stanley's phone—discarded carelessly on the seat beside him—lit up with a soft vibration.

In the silence of the cabin, the sound was deafening.

Stanley's hand stilled on her back.

He reached for the phone, his eyes scanning the screen for barely a second.

One second. That was all it took. But Camila caught it—the flash of urgency, the flicker of worry that darted through his gaze before he could smother it.

He placed the phone face-down on the leather seat. A crease formed between his brows, so subtle most people would have missed it entirely.

"What is it?" Camila watched him, perfectly still.

Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration and reluctance warring across his features. "Something's come up at the office. The Lumaria acquisition—legal hit a snag. The other side is threatening to pull their funding, and my senior team doesn't have the clearance to handle it. They need me there for an emergency meeting."

He turned to face her, his eyes brimming with apology. "Camila, I'm sorry..."

Camila said nothing.

She simply looked at him. At that flawless face. At the perfectly calibrated guilt in his expression.

His acting was extraordinary. Truly world-class. If she hadn't already known the truth, she would never have detected a single crack in the performance.

"Is it urgent?" she asked.

"Tens of billions in capital flow at stake. If I don't deal with it now, the company's in serious trouble." He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was soft and lingering. "I'll have Rob take you home. Take a bath, get some rest, and I'll be back the second I'm done. I promise."

Camila didn't pull away from his kiss. She didn't return it either.

She just watched him—cold, detached—the way one might watch a mediocre actor sweating through a one-man show, desperate for applause that would never come.

She was tired. Too tired even to call him out.

"Fine. Go." Camila turned her gaze to the window, watching the city lights streak past like falling stars. Her voice held all the warmth of a January sidewalk.

Her coldness rattled something loose in Stanley's chest.

He reached out, trying to touch her cheek, his voice coaxing and low. "Camila, I promise—this is the last time. Once this deal closes, I'm clearing my schedule. It'll just be us."

Camila tilted her head away. His fingertips met empty air.

The rejection left a sour taste in Stanley's mouth—something heavy and unpleasant settling in his gut.

She wasn't angry. She wasn't crying. She wasn't demanding explanations.

That was worse. Far worse.

He exhaled heavily, making a silent vow to himself.

Once he'd sorted out the situation with Laura, he would make this right. He'd make it up to Camila—whatever it took.

Stanley stepped out and hailed another car.

Camila leaned her temple against the cold window glass. The climate-controlled warmth of the cabin couldn't touch the chill that had seeped into her marrow.

He was going to Laura.

Armed with a flimsy excuse he knew she couldn't challenge—off to comfort another woman. A woman carrying his child.

Camila closed her eyes. Memories flickered behind her lids like an old film reel.

There was a time when even a short business trip to a neighboring city was unbearable for him. He'd drive through the night just to hold her for a few hours before dawn.

Now he sat in another car, mere miles away, and the distance between them might as well have been an ocean.

So this was how love died. Not with a bang—but with a quiet, devastating whisper. A slow bleed you didn't notice until you looked down and found yourself standing in a pool of it.

Her hands tightened in her lap, nails biting crescents into her palms. The sharp sting kept her anchored.

Before she left for good, there was one last thing she needed to do.

Laura's words today had reminded her.

"Rob," she said suddenly, her voice so steady it barely seemed human. "Turn around. Take me to the Gonzalez estate."