A Seat at the Table

"Have you lost your mind?"

Paige’s voice broke the quiet hum of the cafe, her eyes wide and fixed on the woman sitting across from her. She stared as if she no longer recognized her best friend.

Camilla did not flinch. She kept her gaze lowered, her fingers wrapped tight around a ceramic mug of tea. The liquid inside had long gone lukewarm, but she held onto it anyway, seeking whatever fragile comfort the smooth clay offered. She had just laid out her plan, baring the darkest, most desperate corners of her heart. She shed no tears while telling Paige. The pain she carried inside had carved itself too deep into her bones for crying. Tears belonged to surface wounds. This was a hollow, aching void.

"You can call me crazy," Camilla said. A faint, melancholic smile touched her lips. "Say whatever you need to say. But this is the only chance life has given me. I have to take it."

Paige let out a sharp breath, running a hand through her hair in pure frustration. "You have me, Camilla. You are not alone. I have told you a thousand times, that family is poison. The Ashford world is ruthless. They eat people like you alive. You have a gentle heart. You cannot survive in a house that thrives on toxicity and coldness."

Camilla looked down at the dark surface of her tea. Her reflection stared back, pale and exhausted. "I know," she whispered. The sound barely carried over the ambient noise of the room. "If I had a choice, if I could turn the clock back, I would never have let myself get entangled with Roman. I would never have stepped foot into the Ashford world."

She lifted her head, offering that same bitter, solitary smile.

Paige leaned across the small table, her expression softening into sorrow. "Then why?" she pleaded. "Why delay the divorce? Why demand thirty more days? Roman is still going to leave you at the end of the month. You are just dragging out your own execution."

Camilla swallowed the hard lump in her throat. She looked at her best friend, stripping away the last remnants of her pride. "Because I am hoping for a miracle," she confessed quietly. "I am hoping that God takes pity on me. I want to get pregnant."

Paige froze. The breath hitched in her chest.

"I just need one night," Camilla continued, her voice gaining a quiet, desperate strength. "One single night of intimacy before the month ends. If I can just have a piece of him, a child to call my own, the pain of these past years will mean something."

"Are you hearing yourself?" Paige asked cautiously. "What if Roman finds out? He will destroy you. He will take the child."

"He will never know," Camilla said firmly, her brown eyes flashing with unwavering resolve. "It will be just another night to him, no different than the nights he spends with his mistresses. I will ask for nothing. No child support. No recognition. I will take the baby and raise them far away from this city. They will never know the oppressive weight of the Ashford name."

Paige exhaled a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping. She saw the iron will behind Camilla’s gentle face. The despair wasn't just a fleeting emotion; it was the foundation of a rock-solid plan. "And the house?" Paige asked. "Are you really going through with it?"

"Yes," Camilla said without hesitation. "I am selling my mother's house."

"Camilla, no," Paige whispered. "That house is your childhood. You and your mother made every good memory you have in those walls."

Camilla slowly released her grip on the tea mug. She folded her hands in her lap. "I need the money to start over. And more importantly, I do not want to leave a single trace of myself in this city. When I walk away from Roman, I am erasing my existence here. I am leaving, Paige. For good."

***

Hours later, the heavy oak front door of the Ashford estate clicked open. The sound echoed through the sprawling, silent foyer. Roman stepped inside, his polished black shoes striking the cold marble floor.

He pulled his keys from the lock and loosened his tie with a weary tug. His dark grey business suit looked uncharacteristically rumpled. As he moved into the warm glow of the hallway, a cloying, sweet scent drifted from his collar. It was Valerie’s perfume. The unmistakable fragrance clung to his clothes, a cruel, lingering ghost of the secret dinner date he had just returned from.

Roman sighed, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension of the day. He expected the usual routine: dropping his briefcase, pouring a drink in the study, and sitting in the quiet, empty expanse of his massive home.

"Welcome home."

Roman halted in his tracks.

Camilla stood at the threshold of the dining room. She wore a simple, elegant beige dress, her hair pinned up softly to frame her face. She offered a warm, sincere smile, acting as though the heavy scent of another woman on her husband’s clothes did not pierce her chest like a blade.

He stared at her. Usually, he would dismiss the greeting with a grunt or walk past her without a glance. But tonight, he paused.

"I made dinner," Camilla said, her voice soft and inviting. "The weather turned chilly this afternoon. I thought you might want some warm beef soup and fresh bread."

Roman’s gaze drifted past her shoulder. The grand dining table was set with meticulous care. A steaming bowl of rich broth sat next to a basket of golden, homemade bread. A single candle flickered in the center, casting a gentle, dancing light against the walls.

"I already ate," Roman stated flatly. His voice carried its usual hard edge.

"That is alright," Camilla replied, her smile never faltering. "But it would be a shame to let it go cold. You could just sit and have a few bites."

She did not push. She did not beg. She simply offered the space.

Roman looked at her, his jaw clenching. He thought about the promise he had made her. She had demanded thirty days of him treating her like a real wife. He hated the deal, but a begrudging sense of honor tethered him to his word. Sitting at a table to eat a meal his wife cooked fell under the terms of their foolish bargain.

Without saying a word, Roman walked past her. He pulled out the heavy wooden chair at the head of the table and sat down.

Camilla took her seat quietly beside him. She poured a glass of water and set it near his hand. She did not serve herself any food. Instead, she rested her hands in her lap and watched him pick up his spoon.

"How were your morning meetings?" she asked gently.

Roman took a slow bite of the beef soup. The savory warmth of it caught him off guard, but his face remained a blank mask. He swallowed and kept his eyes on the bowl. He did not plan to answer. He never discussed his corporate life with her.

"I was reading about the Korean textile merger," Camilla continued, her tone conversational but precise. "The one planning to expand into Veridia. They are positioning themselves as a competitor to Ashford Enterprise, aren't they?"

Roman’s spoon paused halfway to his mouth. He lifted his dark eyes to look at her. "They are not a direct competitor," he muttered, his voice low. "They focus on secondary markets. But they do have connections to the raw material suppliers we have been targeting."

Camilla nodded thoughtfully, leaning forward just a fraction. "That is why I assumed you would approach them with an alliance strategy rather than open competition. If you try to outbid them for the raw materials, it drives up your operational costs. But a joint venture secures the supply chain for both sides."

Roman set his spoon down on the pristine white tablecloth. The clinking sound echoed sharply in the quiet room. He turned his head and stared at her. The cold, dismissive disdain that usually clouded his gaze whenever he looked at her vanished. In its place was a flicker of genuine intrigue.

"You understand a fair amount about the corporate sector," Roman noted aloud. It wasn't a question. It was a realization.

Camilla offered a soft smile. Her heart beat a little faster. She knew she had finally captured his undivided attention. "I follow the business portals," she explained. "I pay attention to the news."

Roman leaned back in his chair, studying her face as if seeing her for the very first time. "Why?"

"Because I want to understand the things that make up your world," Camilla said. She held his stare, refusing to look away. "If I am going to leave you forever, Roman, I want to depart knowing who my husband truly is."

The word "leave" dropped between them like a stone in a quiet pond. It hung palpable and heavy in the tense air.

Roman did not scoff. He did not offer a cruel retort about how fast he wanted her gone. Instead, a rare, strangely comforting silence settled over the dining room. The distance between them felt, for a fleeting moment, manageable.

He picked up his spoon and finished the soup in silence. Camilla sat still, letting the quiet intimacy of the moment wash over her. It was a domestic peace she had craved for years.

Roman finally pushed the empty bowl away. He reached for his water glass, took a sip, and cleared his throat. The fragile peace broke, replaced by his usual commanding presence.

"There is an upcoming diplomatic dinner in two days," Roman said, his tone uncompromising and flat. "It is taking place at the Veridia Embassy. The Japanese Ambassador will be hosting."

Camilla nodded slowly, processing the sudden shift in conversation. "That sounds like an important event for the company."

"The Ambassador has taken a specific interest in Ashford Enterprise," Roman continued. "He extended a personal invitation. I have been asked to attend with a partner."

A sharp, unexplainable ache pierced Camilla’s chest. The air in her lungs turned thin. She knew exactly what this meant. High-profile events required the perfect image. Roman would naturally take Valerie. The mistress who fit the glamorous mold. The woman he actually loved. She did not know why he was bothering to tell her this, rubbing salt into an open wound.

"I am sure Valerie will be thrilled," Camilla managed to say, her voice tight.

Roman’s dark gaze snapped to hers. His eyes locked onto hers with intense focus, burning with an authority she could not question.

"The invitation was specific," Roman stated. "I was asked to attend the event with my legal wife. I am taking you, Camilla."

Camilla’s breath hitched. Her hands gripped the fabric of her dress beneath the table.

"Get ready to attend the event by my side," he ordered.

Before she could form a single word in response, Roman rose abruptly from the dining table. He turned his back to her and walked toward the grand staircase. His heavy footsteps echoed in the silent hall.

Just before he reached the first step, he paused. He did not turn his head back to look at her.

"The soup was good," he added quietly.

Then he continued up the stairs, disappearing into the shadows of the second floor.

Left entirely alone in the massive dining room, Camilla sat frozen in her chair. The rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway was the only sound left. She raised her trembling hands and pressed them desperately against her cheeks. Her skin felt suddenly flushed and feverishly warm.

She stared at the empty doorway, her mind spinning in utter bewilderment. He had eaten her food. He had listened to her thoughts.

"Am I dreaming?" Camilla muttered to herself. Her voice shook in the empty room.

She could hardly believe what had just happened. Roman had offered a compliment on her cooking. But more than that, he had demanded her presence. He had asked her to step out of the shadows, out of the hidden corners of this cold house, and walk into the public eye as his true wife.