Chapter 8

Ollie watched Camilla's retreating figure and finally burst into full-blown sobs, crying and shouting, "I hate Mommy! I hate Mommy the most!"

Amara rushed over and scooped him up, soothing him while complaining, "Really, what's Camilla thinking, yelling at a child like that?"

Heath frowned but said nothing.

Camilla didn't say another word to any of them. She silently made her way to the storage room in the corner and found a box.

Inside weren't valuable jewels or accessories—just some of her parents' old clothes, family photos of the three of them, things like that.

Holding the box, Camilla left the villa. Theodric strode after her and quickly blocked her path.

Camilla stopped and looked at him.

Theodric's expression was ugly. "You went too far today. Ollie's just a child. Why are you yelling at him?"

Camilla said nothing.

"What does he know? He's a kid. Are you really going to hold a grudge against him?"

Camilla looked at him and suddenly felt like laughing. "Are you done?"

Theodric froze.

"If you're done, move." Camilla hugged the wooden box and walked forward. "See you at the courthouse Monday. Don't forget."

She walked past Theodric without looking back.

Theodric stood there, watching her figure disappear around the corner. He suddenly felt something was off.

Divorce—was Camilla actually serious?

He let out a scornful laugh.

Impossible.

A woman who'd been a housewife for so many years, who couldn't do anything—where could she go without the Clifford family? In a few days, she'd come crawling back, begging him.

And when that happened, he definitely wouldn't forgive her easily.

Monday.

Outside the courthouse.

When Camilla arrived, Theodric was already waiting.

He wore a dark gray coat, standing on the steps with a cigarette between his fingers. Seeing her approach, he stubbed it out. "Right on time."

Camilla ignored him and walked straight inside.

The process was quick. Signatures, fingerprints, photos, divorce certificate.

The clerk handed them the divorce papers and said perfunctorily, "Divorce proceedings complete."

Camilla took the certificate and glanced at it.

In the photo, two people sat side by side, as if separated by a river. She tucked the papers into her bag and turned to leave.

Theodric followed behind, that uneasy feeling growing stronger and stronger.

She was too calm. From start to finish, no tears, no scene. She hadn't even looked at him once. As if...

As if he really didn't matter anymore. The moment that thought surfaced, panic flared inexplicably in Theodric's chest.

The two walked out of the courthouse one after the other. Just as they descended the steps, a white sedan pulled up to the curb.

The door opened. Niamh jumped out and waved at Camilla. "Camilla! Over here!"

Seeing her, Camilla's lips curved slightly. She quickened her pace.

Niamh grabbed her hand and glanced into the car, waggling her eyebrows. "Camilla, look who's here!"

The driver's door opened. A man stepped out.

Early thirties, wearing a simple white shirt and black pants, handsome features. He looked at Camilla, his gaze carrying warm amusement. "Camilla, long time no see."

Camilla blinked in surprise, then recognized him. "Atticus?"

Atticus Habsburg nodded with a smile, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment. "Niamh told me you got divorced. I happened to be free today, so I came to pick you up."

He said it naturally, like commenting on nice weather.

Before Camilla could respond, a cold voice came from behind.

"Camilla, you work fast."

Theodric walked over, his gaze sweeping across Atticus, his lips curling with mockery. "As soon as divorce papers are in hand, and you've already lined up the next one?"

Camilla turned to look at him.

Theodric met her gaze, expecting her to look hurt like before, to explain.

But Camilla only said coolly, "Theodric, are you bitter because you can't have something, or did you only realize you got a bad deal after the divorce?"

Theodric's expression stiffened.

Camilla looked at him, her tone calm as if discussing someone else's business. "Who I eat with, who I associate with—none of it concerns you anymore. If you're really that bored, go keep your good friend Serena company. Don't stand here being an eyesore."

With that, she turned and got into the car.

Atticus glanced at Theodric but said nothing, returning to the driver's seat.

The car started and drove away.

Leaving Theodric standing there, face livid.

In the car, Niamh glanced at Camilla through the rearview mirror, suppressing a laugh. "Camilla, that was so badass! Did you see Theodric's face? It turned dark!"

Camilla leaned back in her seat, looking out the window with a small smile.

Niamh continued, "Oh, by the way, Camilla—I've got something to take care of in a bit, so I'll have to leave. You and Atticus haven't seen each other in forever. Catch up properly."

Camilla nodded. "Okay. Go handle your business."

The car stopped in front of a restaurant. Atticus and Camilla got out. Niamh waved at them and drove off.

The two sat down inside and ordered. Atticus looked at her, his gaze carrying gentle concern. "Camilla, how have you been these past few years?"

Camilla smiled faintly. "Not bad."

Atticus paused, then said, "My dad mentioned you the other day."

Camilla blinked. "Mr. Soren Habsburg?"

Atticus nodded. "He's getting older. Stopped teaching studio classes long ago, but he still talks about his old students sometimes. He said you had natural energy when you painted. Shame you stopped."

Camilla lowered her eyes.

Painting—that was back in college. She'd studied fine arts then. Soren had been her mentor, saying she had talent, that if she kept at it, she'd go far.

And then?

Then she married Theodric, got pregnant, had a child. She spent her days circling stoves and children. Her brushes had long since been lost somewhere.

"Camilla," Atticus said, watching her, "if you have time, go visit my dad. He'd be thrilled to see you."

Camilla looked up, meeting those gentle eyes. After thinking for a moment, she nodded. "Okay."

Four-thirty PM. Outside the kindergarten, parents gradually arrived to pick up their children. Ollie stood in line with his backpack, eyes constantly darting toward the gate.

The line moved forward. When it was Ollie's turn, he walked out slowly.

A little boy next to him, also waiting for his parent, looked at Ollie with confusion. "Ollie, why didn't your mommy come pick you up today?"

"None of your business!" Ollie snapped fiercely, startling the boy.

"Don't be mad," the boy said, pouting a little, looking hurt. "I just think your mommy is really nice. She's with you every day. Not like my mommy—she has to work every day and never spends time with me. I'm so jealous of you."

Ollie couldn't hear the rest. He stood there, staring blankly ahead.

Jealous of him? Jealous that his mommy was with him every day?

Now that he thought about it carefully, Mommy was with him every day—taking him to kindergarten, bringing him home, cooking delicious meals every night, telling him stories before bed...

His mommy really was very good. Ollie pressed his lips together. He suddenly realized he missed Camilla a little.