Chapter 5 5

The Journey to London

Camilla's POV

The first time I boarded a private jet, I felt like I was trespassing in someone else's dream.

The leather was too soft, and the silence too thick. Everything smelled like money and decisions made in quiet power circles. I kept smoothing my skirt, as if trying to erase the wrinkle of the life I was leaving behind.

Damian sat across from me, dressed in a tailored black suit, reviewing reports as if he were flying economy. His expression was so real, calm in that infuriating way that made you feel small and also unsure.

He hadn't spoken since we arrived at the private hangar.

I glanced out the window, watching the world shrink beneath us. Milan - with its cobbled streets, and it noisy traffic I'd called home - was fading into a memory.

My mother's scent of garlic and soap. My father's cough echoing down the hallway. It all seemed so far away.

But what had I done?

I was wearing a diamond ring that wasn't mine, married to a man who barely looked at me, flying to a country where I knew no one.

And yet...

For the first timr, my name was on something real.

CEO – Camilla De-Canio

It had a ring to it. Elegant. Almost dangerous.

And if this was a performance, I had no choice but to play the role.

The London townhouse Damian had arranged for us was far in Kensington, behind wrought-iron gates and rose-covered walls.

It looked like something from a dream-white floors, glass chandeliers, a sweeping staircase, and rooms that echoed loud when I walked through them.

A maid greeted us with a gentle curtsy. Damian handed her a schedule and vanished into his study without a word.

That night, I stood in the walk-in closet longer than I needed to.

It was fully stocked-designer suits, a silk blouses, a coats with fur trim and an handbags arranged like a boutique showroom.

Sizes that fit me perfectly. Colors I didn't even know flattered me.

It was surreal.

Just two weeks ago, I was hand-washing my only blazer and reheating soup in a chipped bowl. Now, I owned a wardrobe that cost more than my parents' annual income.

But no one gives you these things for free.

There's always a cost.

And I'd already paid the first installment.

The next morning, a silver car waited outside the rich mansion. The driver opened the door without a word. I climbed in, clutching my new leather-bound planner like a shield.

The building I was taken to was all glass and steel, rising like a crown above the Thames. My name was already on the company roster.

DE-CANIO DESIGNS

A branch under De-Rosie Tech. A fashion brand, modern and minimal, focused on sustainable textiles and clean aesthetics. My name, my idea-but of course, it was Damian's money, his power and of course, is game.

Still, when I stepped into the mansion office, when the assistant handed me a tablet with the day's schedule and called me "Mrs. De-Rosie," something shifted.

I wasn't the girl behind the glass anymore.

I was the glass.

And people were watching.

The transformation was slow but certain.

Damian insisted on weekly PR consultations, a stylists visited twice a week. I was trained in media etiquette, posture, investor relations, and French dining. I learned to speak with poise even when I was shaking inside.

My signature changed-from shaky loops to confident slashes.

My clothes evolved-from modest neutrals to sharp lines and couture tailoring.

My voice softened in volume but hardened in tone.

I wasn't just dressing the part.

I was becoming it.

And slowly, the London business world started paying attention.

I was featured in a local fashion magazine as "The Mystery CEO with the Billionaire Husband." Investors approached me at galas.

Journalists asked for interviews. One even said, "There's something refreshing about you, Mrs. De-Rosie. You don't carry power the way most people do."

I smiled politely.

Because they didn't know that underneath the blouse and flawless makeup was a girl who still checked in on her father's health through broken international calls.

A girl who slept in a separate room from her husband and a girl who hadn't stopped being scared.

Especially now.

Because I still hadn't told Damian what happened with his brother Daniel.

The signs were coming slowly, but constant.

I felt nauseous most mornings, dizzy in elevators, and oddly emotional when my father's voice cracked over the phone.

I kept a pack of mints in every handbag and always had crackers nearby. I avoided alcohol at events, claiming I was detoxing. I told no one about the night, not yet.

Not even Damian, my contract husband.

Because I didn't know what this would mean to him. To us and to the contract.

This wasn't part of the deal. My secret night with Daniel would complicate everything-his inheritance, the company's image, the power balance between him and Daniel.

And worst of all...

It wasn't with him, but his twin brother who drags the company with him.

He noticed something in me one evening, weeks later.

We were reviewing partnership proposals in the study when I leaned back, pressing a hand to my forehead. I'd felt the wave of dizziness coming, but I hadn't expected it to hit so hard.

"You're pale," he said, pausing his review. "Are you unwell?"

"Just tired." I lied.

He stood, came around the desk, and looked at me-not as a boss or a business partner-but almost like... a husband.

"Have you seen a doctor?" he asked.

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes. I'm fine."

He hesitated. "You've been different."

I looked away.

He didn't press further.

But I knew he was beginning to suspect something, I do too.

Let it be not what I'm feeling and thinking! I yelled to myself.

Still, despite the fear, there were moments of unexpected softness between us.

At a winter fundraiser, he offered me his coat without asking.

At a press dinner, he pulled me into a dance when someone commented on how distant we looked.

At home, he started leaving notes in the kitchen-reminders to rest, to eat, to call my mother.

They were small things.

But they mattered.

Because beneath the contract, beneath the strategies and ambition... something real was starting to grow.

Maybe it was respect.

Maybe it was something more dangerous or something hope.

One night, unable to sleep, I walked out onto the mansion balcony. The city was quiet, the sky cloudy, lights flickering like scattered thoughts.

Damian found me there.

He didn't say anything at first.

Just stood beside me, hands in his pockets, watching the same stars.

"You've changed completely lately," he said finally.

I turned to him. "For better or worse?" I asked.

"For stronger," he replied with a polite smile.

We stood in silence.

Then, softly, he added, "You know... when I offered you the contract, I never expected you to become this."

"This?"

"This powerful."

I looked at him, surprised.

He turned to face me, his expression was so tensed but... softer.

"You don't need me anymore," he said. "And I think that terrifies me more than I'm willing to admit."

I didn't answer.

Because I wasn't sure if I needed him either.

But a part of me wanted to.

And that part...

There was already some part of me that was no longer just mine alone.

It belonged to his twin brother growing inside my head.

The one secret that could change everything, if my thinking was right, after this strange dizziness in me.