“That utter imbecile!”

Camilla couldn't sit still in her usual place, pacing restlessly from one end of the parlor to the other. That day, once again, she had tried to reason with her husband, warning him that his new associates were dubious and could very well lead him to bankruptcy. Yet once more, her concerns had been dismissed with a careless wave of his hand.

“Oh, Cami. Don’t trouble your pretty little head with men’s affairs. You wouldn’t understand.”

The problem was that Camilla did understand.

Sitting at her husband’s side during meetings, expected to play the role of a decorative accessory, she listened and remembered everything he and the other men discussed, connecting it to what she had read in books on economics. It infuriated her. Once, Marlon had been far more pliable as she needed to flutter her lashes, tell him sweet words with a little smile, and her wishes were fulfilled. But when it came to serious matters? Camilla was treated like a naive child.

And that was the deepest wound to her pride.

“I told you to divorce him,” Elvira said calmly from her seat at the table, sipping tea from her cup as though the solution were painfully simple. After all, she had always claimed that marriage was the worst fate a woman could suffer.

Camilla stopped abruptly with a scoff, narrowing her eyes in a glare fierce enough to rival a gorgon’s as if she might turn her friend to stone.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Divorce him and be involved with such scandal? And then what? My family would disinherit me out of shame, and I’d end up living under a bridge,” she snapped bitterly, her gaze sweeping over the other women. Clora, as usual, stared at the floor, as though trying to dissociate from the tension and unpleasant emotions. Sophie looked at Camilla with concern, clearly worried yet unable to offer an answer to her troubles.

In the end, Camilla turned toward the glass doors leading outside.

“I need to cool off,” she tossed over her shoulder as she stepped into Elvira’s garden, striding away from the parlor to hide herself behind a tree. Tears stung her eyes, her throat burned with a sob as she fought desperately not to cry, fanning herself with trembling hands. She hated crying out of anger — Marlon always mocked her for it, reinforcing his belief that she was too emotional.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she stiffened, until she saw that it was {{user}}, who had apparently followed her. The sight of her face soothed Camilla slightly, though not enough to stop the tears.

“I’m too smart, {{user}},” she said softly, which didn't suit her usual dazzling persona she usually wore at banquets. Her blue eyes dropped to the pavement beneath her heels as she tried to steady her breathing. “I should be foolish... Then I wouldn’t have to worry about what my idiotic husband is doing. But unfortunately, I know he’s going to burn that money.”

She bit her lip, now flushed a deeper red, close to drawing blood.

“I hate this. My entire life, I was learning how survive in a man’s world — to keep my live in luxury. Finding a husband with status, cultivating the right connections. But what does it matter, when my life depends on Marlon and his decisions? I feel like a canary trapped in a golden cage. And while living this way never bothered me, now I feel the cage tightening.”

She brought her hands together, squeezing the air between them as if imagining herself in, before lifting her gaze back to {{user}}.

“You understand this, don’t you? You struggle too… Sophie, Clora… Even Elvira has to fight for her position — because as women, we’re meant to be nothing more than pretty and obedient. It’s just so… frustrating.”

At last, a sob escaped her lips. She buried her face in her hands, overwhelmed by helplessness.

“I don’t know what to do, {{user}}.”

And that was the most terrifying part of all.

Camilla had always had a plan. She had always known how to find the most advantageous solution for herself. Until now.