One Month as a Real Wife

The heavy silver spoon clinked against the porcelain edge of the coffee cup, a sharp, metallic sound that shattered the suffocating silence of the dining room. Roman Ashford set his cup down on the cold white marble table, his breakfast untouched.

"I am getting married again," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth or hesitation. "I will not repeat myself, and I am not asking for your permission."

Camilla stood frozen near the kitchen island. Her fingers, wrapped tightly around the handle of the spatula, began to tremble. A cold wave washed over her, settling deep in her chest like a slow-acting poison, but she refused to let her face betray the sudden ache. She lowered her gaze, watching the steam rise from the stove, and forced her breathing to remain slow and even.

"With Valerie?" she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, almost swallowed by the vast, high-ceilinged room.

Roman did not bother to look at her. He pulled back his dark sleeve to glance at his watch, his movements fluid and indifferent. "Yes," he replied coldly. "Who else would it be?"

Her husband of one year had never loved her. His heart belonged to Valerie Monroe, and everyone in Veridia City knew it. To Roman, this marriage was nothing but an inconvenient glitch in his perfect life, a temporary roadblock that kept him from the woman he truly wanted.

But Camilla had never had a choice.

She had not sought out this marriage. A year ago, all she had wanted was a quiet, proper funeral for her mother. She had been prepared to face the world alone, carrying her grief in silence. But Eleanor Ashford, Roman’s formidable grandmother, had refused to let her go.

It was Roman’s car that had caused the accident that took Camilla’s mother. Consumed by guilt and a desperate need for atonement, Eleanor had used her authority to corner her grandson. She saw Camilla as a vulnerable girl with no family left, and she demanded that Roman marry her as a way to make amends. Camilla had accepted her fate, surrendering to the circumstances because she was too exhausted to fight.

Bound by duty and his grandmother’s failing health, Roman had complied. But he had made sure Camilla paid for his confinement every single day. He treated her like an intruder, a ghost haunting the corners of his grand house. To him, she was a constant reminder of his guilt and a barrier keeping him from the woman he truly desired—Valerie Monroe, the rising supermodel whose face graced every high-fashion billboard in Veridia City.

And now, the only shield Camilla had was gone. Eleanor had succumbed to her illness two weeks ago. With her passing, the fragile thread holding this forced union together had finally snapped. There was no longer any reason for Roman to pretend. For the past two weeks, the Ashford manor had been quiet, Roman's presence marked only by his silent departures and late-night returns.

The estate had always felt less like a home and more like an elegant mausoleum. Its grand marble floors and gilded mirrors reflected her face but offered no warmth. Camilla closed her eyes, letting out a long, quiet breath. A faint, bitter smile touched her lips—not of joy, but of resignation. She reached out and clicked the dial of the stove, turning off the flame. With deliberate slowness, she set the spatula down on the counter, using those few seconds to lock her emotions away behind a wall of calm.

"I won’t stand in your way," she said, turning around to face him. Her voice was soft, yet it carried clearly across the quiet space. "We both know I never had a place in your heart."

Roman remained silent. He did not deny her words, nor did he offer any comfort. Instead, his dark eyes narrowed, watching her closely as she took a few slow steps toward him. He looked impeccable, as he always did, his dark tailored suit without a single crease, a stark contrast to her simple house dress.

He seemed braced for a scene. He expected her to break down, to cry, or to fall to her knees and beg him to stay. He expected the desperate clinging of a woman losing her golden ticket.

But Camilla did none of those things.

She stood tall, her posture straight and composed. Her long black hair fell loose down her back, contrasting with the pale fabric of her simple house dress. Her light brown eyes, usually warm and expressive, were now blank, showing him nothing but a quiet, steady resolve.

Looking at him now, she realized how little she actually knew of the man she legally called her husband.

"Give me one month of your time," Camilla said, her tone remarkably steady. "Just thirty days. Let me be your wife for real."

Roman’s brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I will sign the divorce papers. I will walk away, just as you want, and let you marry the woman you love," Camilla said, though each word felt like a physical weight pressing against her ribs. "I promise to disappear from your life forever. But before I go, let me know what it feels like to have a husband. Not a stranger who simply shares my roof."

The dining room fell into a heavy, tense silence.

Then, a harsh, mocking laugh escaped Roman’s lips. He leaned back, shaking his head as if he had just heard a ridiculous joke. He stood up, his tall, imposing figure easily dominating the space between them. He stepped closer, his dark eyes scanning her face, searching for a hidden trap, a secret play for his wealth.

He was Roman Ashford, the brilliant CEO of Ashford Enterprise. In Veridia City, his name was synonymous with power and immense fortune. He was used to people—especially women—trying to manipulate him for a piece of his empire. His mother, Margo, had spent the last year warning him that Camilla was a quiet viper waiting to strike. He had clearly absorbed those warnings, viewing her every action through a lens of profound distrust.

"Are you serious?" Roman asked, his voice laced with deep skepticism. "This isn't a cheap soap opera, Camilla. What are you actually trying to pull?"

"I am not asking for your love," she replied, her voice dropping to a quiet, bitter tone. "I know better than to ask for something you cannot give. I only want the simple things. Have dinner with me. Talk to me when you come home. Show me a little affection, even if we both know it is fake."

She clenched her hands into tight fists behind her back, her nails digging into her palms to keep her hands from shaking. "Thirty days. After that, I will walk away quietly. You will be free to marry Valerie."

Roman squinted, his mind racing. He was irritated, yet there was a flicker of curiosity beneath his anger. Her request was so simple, so devoid of the massive financial demands he had anticipated, that it caught him off guard.

"Why not ask for something more reasonable?" Roman said, his voice cold. "If it is money you want, just say it. I will write the check right now."

"No," Camilla said, her refusal instant and firm. She looked directly into his eyes, refusing to back down. "I do not want your money."

"You really don't know how to give up, do you?" Roman sneered, his lip curling.

"I have already given up, Roman," she said softly, her eyes holding a deep, quiet sadness. "But I want to keep one genuine memory for the rest of my life. Before I walk away and never return."

The silence returned, thicker this time. Roman stared at her, his sharp gaze probing her expression for any sign of deceit. But there was only a calm, devastating sincerity in her eyes. It annoyed him, yet it also intrigued him. A month was a brief compromise if it guaranteed her quiet, permanent exit without a public scandal.

"I am not promising to be kind," he said finally, his voice low.

"I never expected you to change," Camilla answered.

With those words, an unspoken agreement was forged. Thirty days. A short span of time for Camilla to experience the life she had hoped for a year ago. She felt a quiet sense of relief; at least he had not rejected her final request.

"Only thirty days, Camilla," Roman warned, his tone turning razor-sharp. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "After that, you pack your things and disappear from my sight forever."

"I understand," Camilla said, nodding obediently.

"And remember this," Roman added, his lips curling with disdain. "If you try to play games, or if you expect more than what I am willing to give, I will not hesitate to throw you out on the street."

Camilla kept her gaze steady, refusing to let him see her flinch. "I won't break my word."

"You had better not," Roman warned, casting one final, piercing glare at her. "If you break this promise, do not blame me for destroying your life."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway. Camilla stood alone in the quiet kitchen, the cold marble table the only witness to the deal she had just made.