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“That’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever been more stressed in my life. And I’m an immigrant and a single mom, so I’ve been through my fair share of distress. Until recently,” Camila says as she stands and turns to face me.
“The fact that you decided to come after me and threaten to take away what is most precious in my life isn’t just despicable—it’s borderline criminal. You tried to scam Vicente into paying you for something you know very well is bogus,” Camila tells Owen, her hands spread on the table.
Fuck, my wife is hot when she’s mad.
I make a mental note to ask her to pretend to fight with me so we can have makeup sex. I bet we would be explosive.
“That might very well be, but there’s no chance in hell I’ll pay you for any emotional distress shite,” Owen says.
Camila stands her ground, and leans closer to him—she’s going for the kill.
“I thought you would say that. It’d be a shame if your wife…” Camila pauses for effect, gripping her chin with her thumb and forefinger, as if in deep thought.
“Gemma, is it? Yes, it’d be a shame if Gemma found out that you’re not only blackmailing your supposed best friend but also trying to claim the paternity of an ‘old loser Colombian’—someone you just fucked out of pity.”
Owen’s eyes grow wide as Camila’s confident smile spreads across her gorgeous face.
“That’s right, Owen. All those messages are in the folder,” Camila says, nodding toward the evidence on the table. “And I have plenty of copies to send to your wife.”
I can’t let her have all the fun.
Standing up next to her, I look at him and say, “I bet Gemma and her royal family wouldn't be very happy to learn this is how you plan to fund your next failed business.”
Owen pales at my words. “Would one million pounds be enough?” he asks, loosening his tie and shaking his hair.
I smirk and wink at Camila as I counter. “Ten million.”
Owen chokes, and Shultz passes him a glass of water.
“You know Camila deserves more, but ten million will do.”
He nods while Shultz shakes his head in defeat.
After shaking hands with Patrick, Camila and I leave the conference room. We’re done here.
“Mummy! Daddy! You’re back,” Ava exclaims the moment we enter our house, and I can finally breathe.
The drive back was quiet, adrenalinecoursing through Camila and me. But seeing our little angel so happy to see us makes everything better.
“Hey, duckling. How was school today?” I ask against her hair as Camila holds her.
“It was great, but even better was the surprise I got when I came home.”
Camila looks at me, her eyes widening. I shrug—then freeze as two figures materialize in front of us, and all the blood drains from my face.
“Mother? Father? What are you doing here?”
I sense Camila going rigid next to me. Instinctively, I move closer to her and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“Well, I didn’t want to waste more time being alienated from your life and came to talk things through,” my father answers.
Even though I’m still mad at the way he tarnished our wedding day, I can see sincerity in his eyes.
“If you’re here to apologize, I’ll be happy to speak with you. Otherwise…”
“Yes, son. That’s what we came for.”
He wraps his arm around my mother’s shoulders, and after kissing her temple, he walks toward us.