"This could get messy, Camilla. Leon's a powerful man," Attorney Thompson warned.

"I don't care," I said sharply. "I want those divorce papers drafted and sent to me by the end of the day."

He sighed, knowing better than to challenge me when I'd made up my mind.

"Understood. I'll prioritize it."

"One more thing," I added in a low voice. "Ensure Cara doesn't get a single penny from my grandfather's estate. I want her cut out—no exceptions."

There was a pause before he replied, "We'll explore every legal route, but... she'll fight dirty."

"So will I," I whispered before ending the call.

Hours later, I stood in a crowded government office, hands trembling but determined. Every heartbeat felt like a countdown as my number was called.

"I'd like to request a legal name change," I told the clerk.

She glanced at me briefly and scanned the papers.

"Processing takes five days. Your new passport will be ready in seven."

Then her eyes met mine. "Just so you know, once this goes through, it'll be as if your old name never existed. Are you sure?"

For a heartbeat, I hesitated. Erasing my name meant erasing the girl who once believed in Leon, in love, in family. But that girl was already dead.

"Yes," I said. "That's exactly what I want."

I had just stepped onto the bustling sidewalk, lost in thought, when I saw them. They were outside the gates of The Gilded Lily, a restaurant Leon and I used to go to for every anniversary. Cara was laughing, her hand resting on Leon's arm, her head tilted back in a way I knew was meant to be endearing. My breath caught in a flash of anger that I tried so hard to control.

Cara saw me first. Her smile faltered with a flicker of guilt or triumph crossing her face before she quickly masked her expression with fake concern.

"Camilla! What a surprise. How are you feeling now?" she said.

Leon finally looked up. His sweet affection froze, replaced by a guarded neutrality. He didn't drop his hand from Cara's waist. He didn't even flinch. The lack of reaction cut deep. He was like a stranger.

"I'm perfectly fine, Cara," I said evenly. And met Leon's eyes directly. "And you? Enjoying your afternoon?"

Cara leaned closer to him, almost possessively. Leon answered smoothly, "We're meeting investors for lunch. Cara wasn't feeling well, so I thought the restaurant would be more comfortable than the office."

The lie was so smooth it made me want to scream. But screaming wouldn't change anything. Instead, I just nodded slowly, my gaze went to Cara's ears. A pair of rare diamond and pearl drop earrings hung from her lobes. They were a gift from Leon to me on our first wedding anniversary. They were one-of-a-kind, designed by a jeweler friend of his, and had mysteriously gone missing from my jewelry box months ago.

"Those are beautiful earrings, Cara," I commented. "They look... familiar."

Her hand twitched toward her ear, panic flickering before she plastered on a smile.

"Oh, these? Just something Leon gave me."

She smiled, a beautiful, triumphant grin.

"He said they reminded him of me."

My blood turned to ice. Leon hadn't just taken my love. He'd stolen the symbols of it and handed them to her like cheap trinkets.

"Did he now?" I asked softly.

The silence that followed spoke louder than any scream. Leon's jaw tightened. Cara's smile stiffened.

"We should go," Leon muttered, pulling Cara along. "We have a reservation. We'll be late."

I watched them turn, Cara shooting one last venomous glance over her shoulder. They were so caught up in their own little world that they didn't see a rogue cyclist speeding down the sidewalk, swerving to avoid a pedestrian. In the next instant, there was a deafening screech of tires, a startled shout, and the blur of a body hurtling toward them.

My eyes went wide. I screamed Cara's name. Leon turned at the sound of the crash. The cyclist was going to hit them. He shoved Cara with a force that sent her sprawling onto the pavement, out of harm's way. The cyclist's front wheel clipped his leg, sending him off-balance, but he was protected. She was safe.

And I was standing right behind them, a split second away from being a casualty myself. The cyclist veered to avoid Leon and Cara but was now on a direct collision course with me. My feet were cemented to the ground. A wave of sickening dread washed over me as the bike bore down, and Leon, seeing my danger, didn't move. He stood there, frozen, his eyes on Cara, checking to see if she was okay, not on me.

It was in that half-second, as the bike swerved at the last moment, narrowly missing my shoulder, that I knew. Leon's love for her was an instinct; his care for me was an afterthought. I wasn't just betrayed; I was invisible.

The cyclist picked himself up and sped away, muttering curses. Cara whimpered, and Leon rushed to her, his hands running over her body, checking for injuries.

"Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?"

I stood there, feeling the wind from the passing bicycle. My entire body was numb, and emptiness filled the space where my heart once was. I looked at Leon, who didn't even spare me a glance. He was focused entirely on Cara. He was comforting her, cradling her head against his chest, as if she had been the one who had been almost hit.

I didn't even remember how I reached home. But I went straight to the liquor cabinet, pouring myself a heavy-handed glass of scotch. My hands were still shaking. I closed my eyes and let the scotch calm me a little, then pulled my phone. I went to my contacts and found the last person I thought I'd ever call. He answered on the second ring.

"Camilla? It's been a while. How are you?" Dante said.

I took a long swallow of scotch before answering, "I'm calling in that favor you offered me seven years ago."

There was a moment of silence before Dante said, "Anything. You know that. What do you need?"

"I need a husband. Will you marry me... in seven days?"

“Great. But I’ve got one more condition,” Dante said.

I blinked. “And what’s that?”

“Let me court you. Until I win your heart and turn it into a real marriage.”

For a second, the sheer audacity of it made me laugh. But the sound died in my throat, choked by the memory of Leon's arm cradling Cara earlier.

“Fine. Yes.”

After we hung up, I downed the rest of the scotch. The burn did nothing to ease the shaking in my chest. Leon’s indifference, the image of him holding Cara while I was nearly hit, replayed over and over like a broken reel.

My phone vibrated, bringing me back to the present. Atty. Thompson had emailed the drafted divorce papers. I skimmed through them, and it represented the cleanest cut possible, legally severing every tie, including financial and estate claims. Perfect!

I printed the divorce papers and took them to Leon’s study, where a stack of merger contracts lay in disarray. I slid them into those merger contracts, flagged the exact pages he needed to sign, and took them downstairs with me when I heard his car at the garage.

Leon strode in, already on the phone, deep into a discussion about his new franchise investments. He barely spared me a glance which was normal these days and headed straight for the stairs.

"Your assistant wanted you to review the Carver merger and sign the final documents tonight," I said before he could climb up.

It was a lie. I didn’t care. I needed his signature.

He groaned, rubbed his forehead, and pulled the papers toward him.

“Smith is on my ass about the financials. I need to review these for the third time.”

He sat, his hand hovering over the pages, when his phone rang and displayed Camilla’s name. His entire posture shifted; the stressed executive vanished, replaced by a panicked lover.

He answered, his voice instantly soft, “Cara? What’s wrong?”

Cara’s voice, though muffled, sounded breathless and urgent. I couldn’t grasp everything, but I heard the words – baby, cramps, doctor, I’m scared.

“Don’t move,” Leon hissed, gripping the phone tightly. “I’m on my way. I told you, if something happens, you call me immediately.”

He slammed the phone down, shoved the documents at me, and grabbed his car keys. His eyes were already on the door when he said, “Just sign the contracts for me, will you? I don’t have time. There is an emergency with one of the partners.”

Of course. It was always an emergency with Cara. It's why he was barely home. But it didn't matter. I'd be leaving soon.

“Leon, I can’t sign legal documents for you,” I stated calmly, my heart thrumming a silent prayer for him to just sign the papers I'd inserted.

I slid the thick stack back at him, tapping the flagged spots with a pen. He was so panicked, too rushed to truly read the content. He signed them quickly, one after the other.

“Done. Just drop those off with Smith in the morning. I’ll call him later,” he commanded, halfway out the door. “Don’t wait up.”

He didn’t even wait for my response and just rushed out. The last time he'd looked that genuinely worried about me was during the first few months of our marriage. It still stung, even though I'd begun to accept that that Leon was long gone. I took a deep, shaky breath and smiled. Everything was going as planned. And spent the rest of the night packing peacefully.

The next night we attended the Legacy Gala. Leon had insisted that appearances mattered. He steered me toward donors, flashing his practiced and blinding smile.

Minutes later, Cara appeared in an ice-blue gown, almost a copy of my custom-made ocean blue designer dress Leon had given me during our engagement. She moved straight to us, seizing Leon’s arm, while we were talking to a textile mogul.

“Leon! Sorry to interrupt,” she trilled, pulling him away. “I was just with your mother when a journalist cornered me about Camilla. They’re running a story about the car accident and… awful rumors.”

Leon’s jaw tightened. My eyes widened.

“What rumors? I handled the media that same night. The car accident didn’t go public,” Leon said in a low voice.

Cara widened her eyes, a perfect picture of panic.

“They’re saying Camilla gave a phone interview from the hospital… that the crash wasn’t an accident. That she was drunk and tried to… kill herself and the babies.”

The blood drained from Leon’s face. Only the three of us and the doctor knew what happened. Leon had paid a huge amount to seal the medical records and to silence the media. His business expansion couldn't handle bad press. Slowly, he turned on me, his face a terrifying mix of fury and fear.

“You did a phone interview?” he spat. “Only we knew about the babies. You leaked this to ruin us!”

I stood mute, paled with shock. I hadn't spoken a word to any journalist; the pain had been too profound to speak to anyone. Even until now, I was still grieving the loss.

“Leon,” Cara whispered, laced with fake concern. “Don’t blame her. Maybe the grief was too much. The reporter claimed Camilla said you refused to save the children. It sounded like a scandal.”

My eyes threw daggers at Cara. I blurted, “But I did not!”

Leon’s fury snapped. “You utter fool! You will ruin the business expansion!”

“Leon, I couldn’t even…”

“Shut up!”

He cut me off and raised his hand, ready to strike. Suddenly, his formidable mother, Eleanor Anders, appeared at his elbow, stopping him.

“Leon, stop!” she commanded in a low voice. “The entire room is watching. You will be a headline tonight if you don’t.”

She looked at Cara, then fixed her icy gaze on me. “Take Cara and start silencing those reporters. They are asking questions to almost everyone now. Camilla, come with me.”

Eleanor steered me toward a velvet-draped alcove, far from the cameras and thousands of guests. In the crowd, Leon mounted a dais and began a public denial, smoothing the story into nothing but a joke.

In the alcove, Eleanor gripped my arm, hard enough to bruise and making me winced.

“Why do you look so pale? Are the rumors true, Camilla?”

She didn't wait for an answer, tightening her grip until her nails dug into my skin.

“If you’re going to kill yourself, at least do it privately. Don’t involve the press.”

She pulled me closer to her, forcing me to meet her murderess eyes.

“Listen very carefully. The moment you walk out of here, you will smile and deny every word of this scandal. You will protect the Anders name, you will protect Leon and his business, otherwise, I will kill you myself.”

Cara suddenly appeared at the alcove’s edge, away from the photographers, with fake sympathy.

“It’s okay, Eleanor. Leon handled it very well. But Camilla… I saw you eyeing the champagne earlier. Please, don’t drink too much. Try not to hurt yourself again.”

Eleanor raised a warning eyebrow at me, then turned to walk back to the crowd. Cara moved closer and touched my chin with a single mocking finger, whispering, “Be careful, sister. People think you’re a murderer. They say you murdered those poor babies.”

Something snapped inside me. How dare she point fingers when she was the reason my babies died. Pain, shame, fury, and everything rushed through me, and I shoved her hand away, making me look aggressive and uncontrolled.

Cara shrieked as if I pushed her. Eleanor turned, wheeled back, and hit me so hard that I lost my balance and stumbled to the ground.

“You will not bring shame to this family!” Eleanor hissed, her voice shaking with disgust. “Not on Leon’s night! You even tried to harm your own sister. Are you that shameless!?”

I bit my lip to stop the yell and the tears, watching as she immediately rushed to Cara, pulling her into an embrace.

“Are you hurt, darling? Don’t worry. I will make sure Leon punishes that creature.”

Just then, Leon walked in. Instead of comforting me, or asking what happened, he didn’t even look my way. He went straight to Cara's side as she burst into tears like a fragile little girl.

My cheek burned where Eleanor’s hand had landed. I slowly stood, shaking and in tears, watching the two of them comfort the snake who had surely started the rumors. Then, I turned toward the back door before I lost my temper and throw my high heels at them and before anyone else noticed.

The rain hit my face like a thousand needles as I stepped out the back door, expecting silence. Instead, chaos swallowed me whole.

A dozen reporters surged forward, umbrellas snapping open, camera flashes blinding me like lightning strikes. The sound—shouting, clicking, snapping—was deafening.

“Mrs. Anders! We heard you push Cara to the ground, is it true?”

“What caused the fight?”

“Is it true you tried to take your own life after the accident?”

“Did your husband refuse to save your children? Was it because of your affair?”

Each question sliced through me like shards of glass. Their words blurred, voices overlapping, forming a cruel symphony of accusation. I couldn’t breathe. My palms trembled as I tried to push through them, but they closed in tighter like predators circling a prey.

I could still feel Eleanor’s hand on my cheek; the sting of the slap burning hotter than the rain. My vision blurred from humiliation. I must’ve looked exactly like what they wanted: the frantic, unstable wife.

Then the main doors burst open. Leon strode out, his face taut with fury, his tie askew, and his hand gripping the door like it might break. Behind him, Cara followed, fragile and perfect, her eyes glistening with artful tears as she leaned into Eleanor’s arm.

“Leon!” she cried, voice trembling. “She’s doing it again!”

The cameras pivoted instantly.

Leon’s gaze locked on me, cold and hard. There was no confusion. No sympathy. Just the kind of disgust that could kill a person faster than a bullet.

Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around Cara, shielding her from me as if I were the danger.

“My wife is under extreme duress,” he said to the cameras, his tone rehearsed and righteous. “These rumors are vile and not true. Please respect our privacy.”

He didn’t even look at me. Not once.

He ushered Cara into the waiting car, his coat draped over her shoulders. And then they were gone. The crowd followed them like moths to light, leaving me stranded under the rain, mascara bleeding down my cheeks.

I leaned against the cold brick wall, trembling. The alley smelled of garbage and gasoline, but I couldn’t seem to mind. When I finally ordered a ride, the app indicated a 30-minute wait.

Thirty minutes of standing in the downpour. Thirty minutes of being no one.

It was nearly one in the morning when I reached home. And as I stepped inside, laughter greeted me.

The living room glowed warmly, with a golden, intimate ambiance. Cara was curled on the couch, her hair damp, her bare feet tucked beneath her. Leon stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, rubbing gently.

For a moment, the sound in my head stopped. The dripping of my coat, the ache in my bones; it all went quiet.

“What is she doing here?” I whispered.

Leon turned slowly, his face unreadable, though irritation flickered in his eyes.

“She was shaken up. Did you not see the reporters? She’s staying here for now.”

I blinked at him. “For now?”

Cara looked up, slightly smirking, but her tone was careful, almost apologetic.

“Leon insisted. I didn’t want to intrude, Camilla. You’ve already had such a hard night.”

Such a hard night. I nearly laughed.

“This is my house,” I said, voice low, shaking.

“Our house,” Leon corrected sharply. “And as long as I live here, I decide who stays under this roof. Cara needs protection from the media circus you caused.”

“I caused?” My laugh cracked. “Your mother slapped me. The reporters nearly tore me apart. And you...you left me.”

Leon’s eyes darkened. “Don’t twist this. You embarrassed me tonight. You humiliated my family. Cara has shown more grace than you ever have.”

Cara looked down, a perfect image of guilt and gentleness.

“Leon, please… don’t be harsh. I can stay at a nearby hotel if that’s what Camilla prefers...”

“No,” he said firmly, his arm tightening around her. “You stay here. If anyone needs to leave, it’s her.”

The words landed harder than Eleanor’s slap. I turned away before either of them could see me break. Upstairs, the walls of our bedroom felt smaller than ever. Every photo, every memory mocked me. But I hurriedly changed, went to bed, and ignored the joyous laughter I hear downstairs.

By morning, my reflection in the mirror was unrecognizable. My face was swollen from crying, my eyes bruised from sleeplessness. The coffee on the counter had gone cold hours ago.

Leon entered, freshly showered and crisp in his suit.

“I canceled your plans today,” he said.

I looked up slowly. “What plans?”

“You’re not going anywhere. The press is outside again. Stay quiet. Don’t make things worse.”

“With her?” I asked, eyeing Cara, who was waiting outside the door.

He didn’t even hesitate. “Cara’s leaving for a spa appointment. I’m driving her. She needs peace after what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done?” My throat tightened. “You’re locking me like a prisoner while she’s treated like...”

“Enough, Camilla.” He cut me off, eyes like steel. “Then next time, learn to behave.”

He turned and left.

The silence afterward was unbearable. Then, my phone rang. Dante.

“Change of plans,” he said, his voice rough, impatient. “I’m done waiting.”

“Dante, I can’t. My divorce, my passport...I can’t just leave.”

“Then I’ll make it happen tomorrow,” he said, and the line went dead.

I didn’t feel confused; I felt a violent, shattering hope. Leon wanted me gone. Cara had taken my place. Then, I would do it earlier than planned.