The Husband's Ultimatum

The sharp, deafening crack of hard plastic smashing against stone tore through the serene afternoon quiet of the back garden. Water splashed across the sun-baked tiles, pooling around the jagged, fractured remains of the green watering can. The pristine white roses Camilla had been tending to swayed gently, oblivious to the sudden eruption of hostility.

Margo Ashford stood right at the center of the mess, her chest heaving, her eyes blazing with raw, unadulterated fury. Her manicured fingers dug like iron hooks into the soft flesh of Camilla’s shoulder, the sharp acrylic nails pressing hard enough to bruise. The grip was punishing, a physical demand for submission from a woman used to getting her way.

Despite the sudden assault and the blooming ache radiating down her arm, Camilla did not flinch. She merely absorbed the shock, her posture remaining upright and composed. The gentle spring breeze caught the hem of her pale blue house dress, shifting the soft fabric around her calves, giving her a fragile appearance that contradicted the quiet iron in her spine. She folded her hands neatly in front of her stomach and met her mother-in-law’s burning, hateful glare with a steady, unyielding stare.

"Are you out of your mind?" Margo shrieked, her voice seething with venom, echoing off the high stone walls of the estate. She shook Camilla’s shoulder, trying to force a reaction out of the younger woman. "How dare you make such a shameless, desperate request of my son?"

Camilla remained silent, her expression guarded.

"You know very well that Roman is on the verge of marrying Valerie!" Margo continued, her volume rising, her face flushing a deep, angry red. "The preparations are underway. The exclusive guest list is finalized. The catering, the venue—everything is set for the event of the year. Everyone knows. And yet, you still have the sheer audacity to beg for Roman’s attention like some pathetic, love-starved beggar?"

Instead of breaking down or shedding the tears Margo clearly wanted to see, Camilla offered a faint, wistful smile. It was a small curve of her lips, devoid of joy but full of a strange, steely courtesy.

"I am not asking for Roman’s love, Mrs. Ashford," Camilla clarified, her voice soft but unwavering. She maintained eye contact, refusing to look away from the older woman's wrath. "All I asked for was time. Just thirty days of his time. Nothing more."

"And what do you think you can accomplish in thirty days?" Margo stepped forward aggressively. The heel of her expensive designer shoe came down hard on the broken shards of the plastic watering can, crushing the pieces into the stone with a harsh, splintering crunch that mirrored the fracturing of Camilla's own spirit.

Margo leaned closer, her voice dripping with poison. "You harbor these delusional hopes of making Roman fall in love with you. Let me make this clear to you right now—that is never going to happen. Burn that into your mind. Roman loves Valerie. He always has, and he always will. You are nothing but a pathetic obstacle ruining Valerie's dream wedding for the sake of a nameless orphan's final, selfish request."

The words struck true, sinking deep into Camilla's chest. Her heart ached as the familiar, suffocating contempt washed over her. From the very first day she stepped foot inside the Ashford household, this was the treatment she received. The servants ignored her orders, the extended family mocked her origins, and everyone looked at her as a parasite, a cunning intruder who ruined their perfect lives.

The only exception had been Elle. Sweet, warm-hearted Elle, the older housekeeper who treated Camilla with the tenderness of a mother. When others locked Camilla out of family dinners, Elle would sneak warm meals and tea into her room. Elle was the only person in this sprawling, cold mansion who saw Camilla as a human being. She was the singular light that gave Camilla the strength to endure the constant mockery and loathing.

Drawing on that hidden reservoir of strength, Camilla refused to break. She exhaled slowly, steadying the storm inside her chest.

"I never wanted to ruin anyone's happiness," Camilla asserted quietly, her tone firm. "I just want to end this marriage in peace. Yes, I am a nameless orphan. I have no wealth, no status, and no power. But I still have my dignity, Mrs. Ashford. And I only wish to hold onto it."

"Dignity?" Margo scoffed loudly, tossing her head back in disbelief. "You talk about dignity while clinging to a man who does not want you?"

Before Margo could unleash another barrage of insults, the distinct, rhythmic sound of heavy footsteps echoed across the stone path. Both women turned their heads.

Roman appeared from the glass double doors leading out to the garden. He looked incredibly weary, the toll of a long day at the office evident in the tight lines around his mouth and the slight slump of his broad shoulders. He had loosened his silk tie, but despite his exhaustion, his tailored dark suit sat perfectly in place, radiating authority and control. He commanded the space the moment he stepped into it.

Seeing her son, Margo immediately released Camilla’s shoulder and launched into a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her chest.

"Roman! Thank goodness you are here," Margo demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Camilla. "You need to give me answers. This woman is trying to sabotage your impending wedding. She made some absurd request to delay everything, and you actually agreed to it? What is wrong with you?"

Roman ignored his mother’s theatrics. He did not spare Margo a single glance. His dark, sharp eyes fixated on Camilla. He studied her pale blue dress, her folded hands, and the faint red marks blossoming on her collarbone where Margo had grabbed her.

"She only asked for one month, Mother," Roman stated in a flat, emotionless tone. His deep voice carried across the garden, cool and indifferent. "And I agreed to the arrangement."

Margo gasped, stepping toward him. "Rome, you cannot be serious! Valerie—"

"Valerie is fine with it," Roman interrupted, his gaze never leaving Camilla. "I already spoke with her. She did not mind giving me thirty more days to resolve this issue. Our relationship is secure enough to withstand a minor delay."

Hearing him casually discuss his lover's understanding was a fresh knife to Camilla's ribs, but she kept her face blank, swallowing the bitter taste on her tongue.

Unable to sway her son's hardened resolve, Margo turned her frustration back to the core issue. She narrowed her eyes, demanding a strict guarantee. "Fine. If you insist on entertaining this madness. But I want a firm guarantee, Roman. I want assurance that when this month concludes, this shameless woman will vanish from our lives permanently."

Roman remained silent, letting the burden of the promise fall on his wife.

Camilla looked directly at Margo. "I know exactly where I stand in this house. Once my time is up, I promise to leave in peace. I will disappear."

Margo let out a harsh breath through her nose, her lip curling in disgust. "I will never see you as part of this family," she spat.

With that final word, Margo turned on her heel and marched away, her sharp footsteps fading as she vanished down the hallway and back into the sprawling house.

The garden grew deadly quiet. The breeze rustled the leaves of the white roses, but the tension in the air felt heavy enough to choke on.

Left alone with her, Roman stared at Camilla. His dark eyes swept over her face, his gaze cold and mocking.

"I never realized my wife was so stubborn," Roman remarked, his deep voice slicing through the silence. A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. "Do you truly want to be my wife that desperately?"

Camilla unclasped her hands, letting them fall to her sides. She met his mocking stare. "Are you already regretting your agreement, Roman?" she asked softly.

Roman shook his head slowly. The corner of his mouth twitched with disdain. "No. I do not regret it. I just find this entire situation ridiculous."

He did not wait for her reply. He turned his broad back to her and began walking toward the glass doors, eager to leave her behind and retreat into the comfort of his home.

Camilla stood rooted to the spot, watching him walk away.

But just before he stepped through the doorway, his leather shoes stopped. He stood framed by the glass, his broad shoulders tense. Slowly, he turned his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder.

"If you are so insistent on being a real wife for the next thirty days," Roman drawled, a provocative, loaded edge creeping into his tone. "Does that mean you are ready to share my bed tonight and consummate our marriage?"

The sudden escalation hit Camilla like a physical blow. She stood stunned, her eyes widening. Her breathing faltered. She had asked to be his wife in every sense, to experience the life they never had. By making that request, she had essentially given him permission to touch her. To claim her body.

Her hands trembled. She quickly curled her fingers inward, her short nails biting into her palms, her fists clenching tightly at her sides against the soft fabric of her dress. Intense fear coursed through her veins, chilling her blood. The thought of lying beneath a man who despised her made her stomach twist. But she could not show weakness now. She had to follow through.

Fighting through the tremors wracking her body, she lifted her chin.

"Yes," she answered resolutely.

Roman shifted his weight, fully facing her again. His expression remained hard, an impenetrable mask of ice. He looked her up and down, taking in her pale face and clenched fists.

"Too bad," Roman shot her down with a cold, dismissive sneer. "I am not interested."

The blunt rejection was designed to humiliate her, to strip away whatever dignity she had managed to preserve in front of his mother. He expected her to look away, to flush with embarrassment and retreat into the shadows.

But stripped of her shame and clinging desperately to her remaining pride, Camilla held her ground. She fired back, her voice steady.

"You already made a promise, Roman."

A dark, humorless laugh escaped his throat. The sound was low and dangerous, rumbling through the quiet garden.

He stepped away from the door and walked back down the stone path. Each step he took was slow, predatory, closing the distance between them until he breached her personal space. He stood dangerously close, his tall frame towering over her, casting a long shadow that swallowed her whole. The scent of his crisp cologne and the faint trace of smoke enveloped her senses, making her head spin.

Camilla’s instinct screamed at her to step back, but she forced her feet to stay planted.

Roman reached out. His large hand closed the remaining gap. His strong fingers brushed roughly against her jawline before gripping her chin. The hold was firm, bordering on harsh, forcing her face upward so she could not look away. She was trapped in his piercing gaze, her pulse hammering wildly against his thumb.

"You really want to play this game?" Roman asked, his voice low and terrifyingly calm. He locked her in place, his eyes boring into hers with intense, fiery intimidation. "Fine. Tomorrow night, I will come home. And I will not return as the man you married on paper."

His thumb pressed harder into her skin.

"I will return as the husband you insisted I become."

Camilla’s breath hitched sharply in her throat. Her lungs burned as she stared up at the dark, sexually charged promise in his eyes. The sheer masculine dominance rolling off him was suffocating.

Roman pulled his hand back slightly, letting his fingers trail across her skin before dropping his arm. He leaned in just a fraction of an inch closer, his breath ghosting over her trembling lips, delivering a chilling final remark.

"I hope you are ready, Camilla. Because once I start, I will not stop to ask if you have changed your mind."