Chapter 121

Chapter 121

"Let me be your strength. Will you?"

The man repeated the question.

His voice was low, but it struck like a hammer, shattering the fragile shell Camilla had used to fake her strength.

During those years with the Clifford family, she'd heard nothing but mockery and scorn.

Theodric had always told her she wasn't good enough. Serena had always schemed against her in the shadows.

She'd grown used to facing all that malice alone.

But now, this man who stood at the very top of the pyramid had publicly declared his protection, shielding her beneath his wings in front of the entire internet.

It hurt.

All the grievances she'd buried—ignored, trampled on, pushed down for so long—finally burst through the dam.

Camilla's eyes stung fiercely. Her vision blurred.

Fat tears spilled uncontrollably down her pale cheeks.

Caspian watched her cry, his brow furrowing sharply.

He didn't offer her a tissue.

Instead, surrounded by flashing cameras and a wall of bodyguards, he leaned down.

His warm lips brushed against her cheek.

The gesture was restrained, gentle—kissing away each scalding tear.

Camilla froze completely, her mind going blank.

Before she could process what was happening, Caspian's hand cupped the back of her head.

With firm, deliberate pressure, he tilted his face and kissed her lips.

The noise around them—the clamor, the camera shutters—seemed to vanish in that instant.

Camilla's hands pressed against his chest, her fingers instinctively clutching the fabric of his shirt.

She should have pushed him away.

But his scent was crisp and reassuring.

Slowly, her tense body relaxed.

This was the first time, while fully conscious, that she'd allowed this man close.

In silence, she accepted his protection.

The bodyguards began clearing the scene forcefully.

The reporters knew when to quit. They'd gotten their bombshell—Caspian's public confession. Sticking around and pissing off the Mitchell family would only end badly for them.

The crowd dispersed quickly.

Atticus stood a few steps away, watching the scene unfold. First shocked, then amused, he smiled knowingly.

He walked over and picked up the contract that had fallen to the ground earlier, dusting it off.

"Camilla, you still need to sign." Atticus handed her the pen, his tone teasing. "If you don't, the landlord's probably gonna get scared off by Mr. Mitchell's entourage."

Camilla's cheeks flushed.

She stepped out of Caspian's embrace and adjusted the oversized suit jacket draped over her shoulders.

She took the pen and signed her name on the contract.

The venue was officially secured.

On the drive back, the car was silent.

Camilla leaned against the leather seat, her head turned toward the window, watching the cityscape blur past.

Her pale face reflected faintly in the glass.

Caspian sat beside her, flipping through a document.

He didn't press her with questions. Didn't demand an immediate answer.

He gave her all the space she needed to process everything that had happened today.

That consideration only made her heart ache more.

That evening, at the Mitchell Villa.

The door to the second-floor guest room was locked.

Camilla sat alone on the edge of the bed. The overhead light was off; only a warm yellow lamp on the nightstand glowed softly.

She pulled a yellowed diary from her canvas bag.

Opened it.

Inside was a neatly folded hospital diagnosis report.

Camilla stared at the words on the page, her fingers trembling uncontrollably.

Terminal.

Less than six months left.

Earlier today at the signing, Caspian had said he'd give her his entire fortune as an engagement gift.

In that moment, her heart had stirred.

But after the flutter came a deeper, bottomless despair.

She was a dying woman who didn't even know where tomorrow would take her. How could she accept Caspian's sincerity?

He wanted someone who could spend the rest of his life with him.

All she could leave him was a tombstone with her name carved into it.

Camilla closed her eyes and tucked the diagnosis back into the diary.

Tears slid down her face, landing on the back of her hand.

She couldn't say yes.

She absolutely couldn't.

The next morning.

Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the kitchen.

Camilla had woken early. Wearing an apron, she stood at the counter, stirring a pot of porridge.

The clay pot bubbled gently, releasing the fragrant aroma of rice.

Hurried footsteps echoed from the staircase.

Holden, dressed in fuzzy bear pajamas and barely wearing his slippers, rushed into the kitchen.

The little boy threw his arms around Camilla's legs. "Camilla!"

Camilla turned off the stove, wiped her hands with a towel, and crouched down. "Why'd you run down here without putting your shoes on properly? You'll catch a cold."

She reached out to pinch his chubby cheek.

Holden leaned in closer, tilting his head up, his big eyes sparkling as he stared at her.

"Camilla." His voice was sweet and clear. "Daddy said on TV yesterday that he's pursuing you."

Camilla's hand froze.

"Vida said that if someone pursues you, you can get married." Holden clutched the hem of her shirt with both little hands, his face full of hope. "So... can you be my mommy?"

The kitchen fell silent.

Camilla's heart felt like it had been stabbed with a poisoned needle.

The pain made it hard to breathe.

She looked into Holden's eyes—eyes desperately yearning for a mother's love.

This child was so starved for affection.

His birth mother had died early. He didn't even remember what she looked like.

If, in the remaining six months she had left, she really became Holden's mother...

What would happen after those six months?

When she died, this three-year-old boy would have to endure losing his mother all over again.

That kind of pain would be too cruel for a child.

Camilla's eyes slowly reddened.

Her stiff fingers brushed over Holden's fluffy hair, her fingertips gently stroking.

"Holden."

She forced down the lump in her throat and managed a gentle smile.

She didn't answer his question directly.

Instead, she said softly, "I'll stay with you as you grow up, okay?"

Holden blinked.

Though he was only three, he was incredibly perceptive.

He noticed the absence of the word "mommy" in her answer.

The light in his big eyes dimmed a little, and his mouth drooped slightly.

But he was still a good boy. He leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on her cheek.

"Okay." Holden buried his face in Camilla's arms, his voice muffled. "As long as you don't leave."

Camilla held the soft little body tightly, tears nearly spilling over.

At the second-floor landing.

Caspian stood in the shadows, dressed in a dark gray loungewear set, one hand in his pocket.

From his vantage point, he watched the two figures embracing in the kitchen.

He'd heard every word of their conversation.

His brow furrowed slightly.

Half an hour later.

Camilla knocked on the study door.

She looked even paler than she had at the hospital yesterday, exhaustion plain in her eyes.

"Mr. Mitchell, I'd like to visit the chapel on the western outskirts."

She didn't explain why.

The terminal diagnosis tucked into her diary had kept her awake all night, making even breathing feel labored.

Modern medicine had sentenced her to death.

With nowhere else to turn, she could only seek out God—hoping, perhaps, for some impossible miracle.

Caspian noticed her trembling fingertips.

He didn't ask a single unnecessary question. He simply nodded.

The western outskirts chapel.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine stone steps wound their way upward.