Chapter 8
Camila had been waiting for the spiced honey cake at home for quite some time. Finally, she decided to head straight to Valentino’s villa. When she saw him slumped on the couch, she flashed a knowing look, which quickly turned into a pout.
“Valentino, wasn’t the cake supposed to come with you?” she asked in a slightly annoyed tone. “Is Paris causing trouble again? It’s just a cake. There’s no need to let her get under your skin.‘
Valentino’s expression remained somber. Only now did he realize how every word Camila spoke carried a hint of sarcasm. “She’s not causing trouble; she’s gone,” he said quietly.
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Camila’s face briefly lit up with joy, a fleeting moment that Valentino noticed.
She settled onto the couch, feigning innocence. “Oh dear, she just doesn’t
know how to empathize. She’s young, it’s normal to be a bit self–centered. Not
like me, a widow braving the world, enduring so much without a peep.”
Typically, Valentino would have started reassuring Camila by now, but this time, he didn’t. He silently observed Camila’s relentless complaints. It dawned on him that perhaps he was the one who had always endured in silence. Only now was Valentino confronting this truth.
He picked up the melted spiced honey cake from the table and took a bite. The recent heat had made the cake spoil a bit. Yet, this was the kind of cake he always brought home, and Camila always claimed to enjoy it. But it wasn’t the cake she liked; it was the attention he showed her. Even a tiny bit of care felt sweet to her. Still, what had he truly done?
Valentino could no longer bear Camila’s endless chatter. He spoke calmly, “Let’s get divorced.”
Camila froze, stunned. “It doesn’t matter if the child carries the King family name. I’ve thought it through. It’s not what my late brother wanted, nor is it what I want. I love Paris, and I need to find her.‘
“”
Watching Valentino’s retreating figure, Camila nearly broke down. “What are you talking about? Since your brother passed, you’ve always been there for me. Do you really not care for me at all? Was it all just a sense of duty?”
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She held onto Valentino’s hand desperately, “You’ve done so much for me, yet
you say you truly love Paris? Isn’t that crazy?”
One by one, Valentino gently pried her fingers open. “I’m sorry, but the woman
in my heart has always been Paris. I chose to marry you and offer the child the status of heir because I was gravely ill and grateful for you and my brother’s support during those times.”
Camila collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
Soon, the news of Valentino and Camila’s divorce became a hot topic, much like when the media had splashed their marriage all over the headlines. But this time, the King’s deliberate effort made the news widespread, as if they wanted someone specific to notice it.
Even in Paris, people occasionally talked about it. Those who knew I was from Valentino’s city would ask me about it. They’d inquire if it was true, as suggested online, that Valentino deeply loved another woman but was pressured by his family into marrying his widow sister–in–law, only to regret his choices after losing his true love.
I always smiled and replied, “Who can say?”
No one knew I was the mysterious woman they spoke of. In Paris, I was just a designer pursuing my dreams. After five years of hard work, I achieved what I wanted and was appointed Brand President for the Europe region. On the night of my return to the States, I ran into Valentino at a dinner event.
